Waxen Poems | Examples

My Love In Candlelight

My Love In Candlelight (c) by Russ Dodson 1963, 1985, 2025

The burning candle flickers low 
and in the dancing, darting flame
I see your face and now I know 
what longing is, I call your name.

I know you hear but you won't heed 
my plaintive cry and all the while
my heart cries out it's greatest need, 
you do not speak, you only smile.

This isn't real, it can't be true. 
You're with him in some other place!
Yet still I feel your presence near, 
and still I see your lovely face.

Again I say you can't be here! 
I knock the candle to the floor,
but still within the fluttering flame 
I see your face, just as before.

Then the candle, flickers, dying,
as it sheds a waxen tear,
can it be that you are crying, 
as if afraid the end is near?

The candle now gives up the fight, 
the feeble flame begins to wane
and then goes out, and I was right,
for in the dark you're gone again.

67 Shelby

here we careen through the scheme
riding the vortex of the american dream
seen behind the blind scenes in hiding
keep fighting the design on the frontlines.

the career of a degenerative peer
is not measured by how they appear
or adhere the commandeer of said steer,
as long as they down beer and disappear.

clear as this fixates the mistake of the states
we would augmentate and drown hound fears
sheer will could astound the nouns quo
leaving them in tow with woe as one said so.

illuminate the sewn, find a darker home alone,
brash and beating the bone into the stone,
not grown eating scones of the blindly shown
that well-known handmade status throne.

grenade low tossed at the cost of some human loss
for fuel that is obsolete and crude at high-spreading moss
green fabric the waxen-elitism roster head boss
with a thumb gangrene, the color of his blood pulse.

down a flask of mezcal with a spliff of mary jane,
we aim to numb the pain from their dumb games -
switching lanes through the lazy river zaftig maze,
eyes glaze over, middle fingers raise at their gaze

Scarlet French Kisses

Long for the tender tormenting touch of her slips, a vermillion vice of the abyssal depths that lay within the merest brush of her breath, a zephyr's caress that set aflame the parched arid landscapes of my wasteland as sighs hollow echoes whispered promises grew, the inferno of my longing raged, a maelstrom of need that threatened to consume all reason, all restraint in the swirling crimson vortex of those velvets, the boundaries of our recurrent reality grew tenuous, and the tyranny of the flesh held sway as the flexuous uncharted curves of your caress became the acid test of my resolve, dissolving the fragile, varnished veneer of self control, as the confinement of thy desires began to dissolve like gossamer under the scorching waxen sun of ardent, copious passion.

As we entwined, visceral privilege awoke, like hydras flourishing in some foresworn elixir, every casual respite yawned vacant, sucked into the vampiric vortices of intolerably testy discontent. 

How provoking, this postponement of unbound reciprocity, tongue just grazing the tips of those plush velvet onyx lips, while catalyzing inveigling suspense

Our Droplet Ripples

Sailing the seas of life, we find ourselves adrift, carried away with no compass or map to guide our way.

Our bodies, two vessels destined for collision on the jagged cliffs of the fray, ensnared by death’s velvet chains bound our amatory embrace.

Shipwreck that leaves us both in the auroral abyss, lachrymose tide drops two ebb us away, but we chose not to fade.

I’ll hold you sapphire sanctuary of solace,
living or stuffed euphrosyne, my ensnared.

Our kiss connects, waves dissolve, waxen effigy
surrendering its form, boundaries blurring ravenous hunger for kisses pulled us through the thunderstorm.

Beloved, promise me, you won’t let go.

Icarus, Revisited

In a house, half-mad, with mother and dad,
And a labyrinth he couldn’t escape -  
He trudged the maze, with a string ball, so sad.
The sky’s warm, gay orb, too, was round in shape.  
So pretty was she, he dreamt as he marched,
And he constructed a bright plan in his head,
Sweating through shirts which his mother had starched,
He remembered what his father had said.
He would see his girl (the sun in the sky).
Augmenting his arms with two waxen wings,
A catapult shot him o’er clouds so high.
He burned, melted, crashed, his arms then in slings.  

Dad said, “too close”, but his expounding lacks -
It was - his wings were inferior wax.

Flowers In the Shade

"FLOWERS IN THE SHADE"

Once upon a dreary day, 
Over a thousand of curious dreams, 
While I laid for a  nap, 
There sprang a sparkling vission at a sudden. 
And appeared a beautiful flower blooming in the shade. 
Was not sure but confuse I was thus, 
Till I learned was my dream only. 
Yet, was a beautiful and a unique flower indeed.
That appeared in my dream alone. 
Nothing more to lament but, 
It is the 'Flowers in the Shade'

I cried out loud in the shade! 
Grieving how could this be? 
I longed to be out, away from the shade! 
Mourning how could the wind be? 
I dreamt, sang, waved, danced,
Shed tears in the shade and longed to query the light. 
But how could the light find so? 

Now I begin to imagine and seek in reality. 
The solitary, matchless, waxen alike, 
Pinkish-yellow flower that bloomed in the shade found thus blooming in reality.

Precious

Allusions of brewing brown 
that made its way to tinsel town. 

At dawn it turned to waxen white 
with gleaming glow against the light.

With warm embrace to fuming flow,
it wilted into glazing glow. 

With shifting shapes like honing hue,
its flare became the fad of few. 

October 3, 2022

Rape of Innocence

Blazing beauty, so young and innocent;
So soulful and magnificent
like a brightly blooming ghost flower 
in mystic month of November.

Her petals of waxen white 
tamed the blackness of the night;
She turned the darkness into light 
of gleaming glow and beaming bright.

But the savage souls of silver screens 
contrived to feast on her inborn innocence. 
The faultless flower, in her seeping spawn, 
lost her glow before the dawn.

How many flowers must have to lay 
and lose their glow before they shine?
How many hands must prey and slay 
in light of gold and drowse of wine?


*A tribute to a beautiful star who was robbed of her radiance and faded away young.*

September 27, 2022, 4:20 PM

Edited: November 13, 2022, for:

2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 20 Contest 
Sponsor: Mark Toney

My Broken Mandolin

In your anger; you smashed my mandolin
And along with it you also broke my heart
Thinking you were so clever, and so smart
So, I created you into a waxen mannequin

Making sure I took such care on your ears
And sat you down upon your old arm chair
Repaired mandolin in hand with you share
With such lament in your eyes, I see tears

Happy, as for my mandolin your ears bent
Finished, I stood before you to take a bow
Happiness, that you like my mandolin now
But alas, it was not what your tears meant

Red At Night

Great black clouds
Clot the blood-red sky, 
Pink stained shadows
Where daylights go to die.
Candlelit processions 
In valley ways awake,
Trickle waxen grief
Onto valley lake,
Threading bright the promise
Though choir has ceased refrain, 
Holding back the night
That dawn should come again.

A Fuse Melted Bow-

~Highlighter dumping iron mini Crayola colors left out on the driveway melting
                                     now fused together a waxen rainbow~



11/17/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021

Flames of Waxen Pillars

Flames glow with rhythmic fluttering,
casting dark shadows upon my wall.
Paraffin rivers trickle from candles,
spilling in flow that mimics my tears.
My voice whispers, calling your name.
I smother the wicks of waxen pillars.



October 31, 2021
Bite Size Poem no25 Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier

The Hour of All Hallow's Eve

Restless ghostly night,
      whilst full moon hangs bright
         drench in yellow with fright.

   The hour of All Hallow's Eve
      has chimed like a venal thieve;
         all in wild frenzy they leave.

   A shrill whistle in the distance
      behest by spirits persistence
         and wicked witches on broom assistance.

   Those brave to be out in the dark,
      stumble in their steps they mark,
         as lanterns in trembling fingers spark.

   Twilight soul into burnt cinder
      shadows and ghost linger,
         as cowering frightened dogs whimper.

   Luminously yellow eyes blaze,
      of the alluring vampire's gaze,
         in the dark a hypnotic maze.

   Goblins, gnomes, and black fairies
      dance around blood-red berries;
         a chilling ritual mummeries.

   Standing in the moonlight there,
      a few feet from toadstools; a pixie pair,
         merry tricksters everywhere.

   Waxen daylight creeps across the sky,
      arise a yawn from sneaking dawn nigh.
         Gone, in a wink All Hallow's Eve cunning and sly



10/25/2021

Children Story

Wind

Though crystal stars trans-pierce the sky,

The world we see is but a lie: 

The silvered moon that bathes the lea

In waxen light and filagree,

The rising sun that coats in gold

The topmost branches of each tree,

Are but a concept tired and old

Of painters’ brushstroke imagery.

 

And yet each time I watch them pass,

Collapsing waves of whispering grass,

The windblown gases of the storm,

The shadow clouds that skim the corn,

The black, the grey, the shimmering bright

Unbridled horses of the night,

I feel impelled despite my scorn

To hail the wind’s poetic form.

Seasons of the Sinner

When soft sudden bursts of buds begin 
and Spring sputters sprouts of golden green,
I look to you with reverence and pray; 
you are my Savior, my Spring day.

When sultry sunlight scorches the sand 
and Summer sweltering dog days’ land,
I welcome you with outstretched arm; 
you are my Savior, my Summer charm.

When wild whistling winds whirl into town 
and Autumn leaves have all blown down,
I ask your guidance as supplicant sinner; 
you are my Savior, my Autumn mentor.

When waxen whispers wane through the air 
and Winter chilling cold seems not to care,
I hear your voice with grateful ear; 
you are my Savior, my Winter cheer.

 *Expanded version of  You are My Savior (9/20/2020)

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