Waxes Poems | Examples

Crayon Box Dreams

The fate of a crayon, it waxes and wanes,
From the engrossing grip of an artist's hand,
To a still life framed in a box of chains,
Where unmade strokes are jailed till scanned.

The sky was never cast so blue of hue.
The grass and trees so blushed with green.
The sun so brightly yellow and true.
Than when crayon pastels daubed the scene.

Each crayon remembers its last lip kiss,
Soft and compliant, in a sheath of dreams.
Kept concealed and wrapped up in bliss,
To enliven dull scenes with vivid schemes.

So unleash the dreams you've put away,
In a boxed-set of crayons for a rainy day.

Turning With The Days

Turning with the Days

Form: Tail Rhyme (AABCCB)
Gate 1 of “The Living Voice: The Moon Phases”

I.
The crescent wanes, then waxes wide,
As shadows stretch across the tide.
The stars begin their hush.
The morning dreams still cling to skin,
While silence hums its sound within.
The trees in stillness blush.

II.
I turn as does the sky above,
In rhythm with the pulse I love.
Each moment makes its mark.
The days unravel, coil, and spin,
Revealing truths once held within—
A torch beneath the dark.

III.
So let the spiral wind my name,
A song of light, of dust, of flame.
No path is ever lost.
I turn, the tide becomes my way,
The moonlight folds into the day—
And I, in breath, embossed.

A Time to Take Stock

    ~ 2024 ... 2025 ~ 


   A time to take stock
     to delve deep
   One glance in the mirror
     does not suffice

   The old year wanes
      the new one waxes
   Time to bury axes
      time to rack your brains

   Where have I been
      Where am I going
   Am I shrinking; am I growing
      Do I deign to sin... 

   A time to take stock
      fast beats the clock
   Pave the way this day 
     ~ should you like a say

AT LEAST HE TRIES

He’s been around a long, long time
(Put another way, he’s old)
By now he thinks he knows it all,
He does not if truth be told.

He likes to think he’s a poet
And he’s scribbling all the time.
But often the syllables are wrong
And it doesn’t even rhyme.

He tries to be hilarious
But his humour’s pretty grim.
And most of the jokes he uses
Are even older than him.

He waxes lyrical sometimes
When writing of love and life.
But it doesn’t impress the ladies,
Especially his wife. 

He’ll keep putting pen to paper,
In the hope that fame will appear.
But in his heart he knows full well
Shakespeare has nothing to fear.

Moonstone Melodies

Moonstone on a chain, as I follow my gaze
into your soundless, opaque world,
I stroll about, peering through your milky mist,
striving to comprehend.   
Inside your small body, the landscape is timeless and immense,
which makes sense,
given the beguiling round orb that is your namesake.
You were here long before I, or even mankind, existed,
and you will be here long after,
and, as the moon rules over the night, the heart's domain,
you grace the breast of one that organ beats within.   
So, eternal one, don't you have some wisdom to impart?
The woman whose exquisite neck you adorn
is also like Luna,  
as she waxes and wanes, and disappears, 
only to appear again.
Silent gemstone that you are,
I long in vain to hear you speak to me or sing your melody,
so, that I might finally fathom your depths,
as if then I'll understand her, 
and know what, perhaps I was never meant to know, 
and which I must now, no longer a fervent youth, accept.
She will never be mine, 
but I will always love her.

Fields of Glass

There 
Is a rhythm
I could never get

Until then.
Onstage,
Watching the conductor, my page.
I was set on getting it
And I did-
And the conductor smiles
A smile so big it reaches to hell
And back.
Well,
I smile back
A smile so big
It reaches to the ends of the Earth.

And I play on
And I laugh 
A laugh so sweet
That it makes flowers grow
Un-der-neath my seat.
And I laugh
A laugh so bitter
It waxes and wanes
And makes rats skitter.

And I crescendo my last and final thought.
Of whether to shift or whether to not.
And as the piece takes its final bow
I think about home
And the fields I plow
Fields of glass
And fields of stone.
Fields of brass
And fields alone.

But no,
Not here.
Friendship,
Family,
Call it what you will. 
But even when they leave,
We are together, still.
Together in art,
Together in part,
Together we make
Something smart.

Orchestra
Strings
Say what you may,
Even when they graduate,
We'll find a way.

The Primordial World of Love

White doves flutter and longing words whisper
silence waxes haunting as Angels sing
a lone filtered light turns a soft glister
casts fleeting shadows from a white dove's wing
this arrow of light has pierced the dusk-gray
to light the face where my heart will wander
where my eyes are welcome and I will stay
captured by my love's smoldering ardor
as stars gleam and the twilight surrenders
wrapped by the moonlight, love we'll discover
at this time for us, we'll find love's treasures
a wondrous wonder so warm and tender
this primordial world of breathless sighs
this passion's realm found in my lover's eyes

Sing a Song of Sixpence

"This is believed to be a version that I'd furthered a bit more," ... by Poet

Sing a song of gone-byes,
A pocket golden watch.
Four and twenty hours
Staked as top-notch.

When the time had entered,
The Cuckoo Clock did sing.
Wasn't that a dandyish,
As sunset be the king.

The king in his grandfather clock,
Tick tocking away.
The queen mooning the dark hour,
Waxes and wanes at bay.

The stars are in the heavens,
Hang amongst the clouds,
Then dawn came up and did astir,
Awaken sun aroused.

ORIGINAL

Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye.
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing.
Wasn't that a dainty (or dandy) dish
To set before the king?

The king was in his counting house,
Counting out his money.
The queen was in the parlour,
Eating bread and honey.

The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.

God's only son

Charred in solace of your embrace
reminiscences engrossed as imprint
harboured in placards of your grace

A birth, a thousand with no squint
in winter's pure pour of snow
reminiscences engrossed as imprint

Giggling with nights glow
in waxes and treelights
in winter's pure pour of snow

One who ignites in delights
grining in fire and refuge
in waxes and treelights

A festivity of tunes and rouge
that twirls in vitality
grining in fire and refuge

Presents reciprocated in sib purity
charred in solace of your embrace
that twirls in vitality
harboured in placards of your grace

A Walk Through Rain's Crack Minichu

Rain with her wet slippers assail
The senses affixed on my walls—
Through its cloudy sight, a sun dial.

Where pattering waxes to a haunting tune,
Blew out the candle from under time—
Cracks now wide in bright or dull blue.

Storm's find
Brass chimes
Odd shine

Rain with her wet slippers assail,
Blew out the candle from under time,
Odd shine.

She Leans Into the Paradise of Joy

She leans into the paradise,
Of her joy,
To keep its candle moon,
Aglow in the depths of Night,

A beauty,
with fine crescent eyes,
And its shores,
Sparkle with love,
Like the stars, sublime,

WithIn the lighthouse vistas,
The dolphin silhouettes,
Damp with the lavender,
Of her bliss,

A tear, sigh, and a flower,
Bloom in the gardens,
To be as chill as her beauty,
And joy,

She leans into the paradise,
Of joy, 
born from the dark,
and starry nights,

Seagulls soar, with love,
In its vibrant lavendar skies,
When she caresses,
Her joy and her love,
As Wings like petals,
Waxes the starry moon
Reynaldo Casison

Odd Cultural Topics

 Written: August 29, 2023
______________________________________________________________

In a world of normal minds, they say,
As thoughts are bound in an adducible way,
A crucial realm of wisdom, often quoted,
Resides in books, yet remains unnoted.

What matters to those commonsensical souls?
Who dread leaving their safe zones of control,
Who adheres to the standard despite harm,
A parody of crucial concepts is not a psalm.

Where imagination thrives,
Ordinary minds bear daring dives,
There lies the beauty of being unconfined,
To the limits of what's deemed normal, defined.

For in the realm of crucial views to foresee,
There is none here that is subject to a decree,
No restrictions on what can be said or done,
No evaluation; no need to comply or stun.

Here, vital ideas turn into comedy,
A playful dance of ideas and absurdity,
Where seriousness waxes a giggling matter,
And the mundane transforms into laughter.

So let us stray from the path well-trodden,
Embrace the unconventional and broaden
Our horizons beyond the ordinary,
In the wit of key views, clarity is a corollary.

Moon Waxes Lyrical

moon plays in phases
with its wax and wane cycle
from slack, lax and lame
to wanton wax lyrical
inspired lunar conundrum

The Moon's Sorrow

Pity the Moon!
As it survives only
by the thing it envies.

Pity the Moon!
As it waxes and wanes
merely reflecting the Sun's divine rays.

Pity the Moon!
As it lies in shame
bringing darkness wherever it goes.

Pity the Moon!
As it sees the world during its slumber
fulfilling its duty in the shadows.

Pity the Moon!
As it writhes in pain
longing to be the bringer of light.

Palm To Palm and a Gentle Kiss

With Spring's gentle sway, my thoughts take flight,
As weather stirs our festive mood with delight,
Strong winds shake trees, leaves dance and sway,
Like late October's colors on a grand display.

As heaven stirs passions with its cosmic play,
And desire whispers as the world waxes away,
Our love moves on, my fairest maid,
Whose heart speaks the same words as mine conveyed.

God approves, as roses bloom with grace,
But some creatures may spurn love's warm embrace.
I confess, as clouds weep and roses grow,
My love for you burns with a radiant glow.

In humble sin, I confess my love with ease,
With unworried hand and lips, like pilgrims on their knees,
That touched a rough touch with a gentle kiss,
And found love's treasure, in moments of bliss.

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