Let’s start with some rhyme..
I started the morning microdosing iced coffee
and scrolling the endless Internet sea
Similar to Odysseus’ travels in the Odyssey,
my sales were swelled by fashion amenities
and I was waylaid by sirens of curiosity
enough of THAT..
Ok, I have regrets. Last night I was talked into going to an after-party, when honestly, I was ready to go home. Why does Peter let me do that?
We were having enough fun where we were.
So, in this group of 10 or so, on foot, we tottered into an elegant restaurant where tiny plates that cost €40 held 4 actual bites of delicious food. We were sharing (with 1-3 other people). So, picking up the tab, I paid €400 and got what? Two bites?!
Still, with the energy of a club after midnight,
we finally got to the after-party and it was a delight
but with absolutely no food in sight.
Except two olives.
This morning I’m as ravenous as a Cyclops.
My order, placed early, would fill a triceratops.
For room service I’m toe-tappingly waiting
because the staff’s moving as fast as a Monet still-life painting.
.
.
A song for this:
Beauty and the Beast by Jump5
April rain comes hastily,
unexpectedly, like the fleeing rogues of
flaming, crackling farms, clattering on the
roofs of waylaid shelters on
the roads of banishment —
uncompromised,
singing light songs from a
heavy-storming sky band, grey and grieving.
Follow in the footsteps of April rain —
so light, so infrequent, and cautious,
though it rains down thin spikes of
frazzled water, young and ravenous,
for the initiation of roaming soils.
Last Friday was shall we say? An un-remarkable day.' Yet George Galloway
I sadly say was then 'waylaid' by counter
Terrorist forces.' Now he must have had
An idea? Such could happen.' To me that
Much is clear.! So i suggest he would hold
No info.? To cause him un-needed aggro.'
When leaving Moscow at the get-go.' So was this exerscise of article three purely
Theater (liza Do-little) invades my mind at
This point impertently.! He was detained for (thirty minutes) phones items checked
Yet no-things emminent were innit.' En-it..
Was this a waste of all our time.? And a
Cheapening of the defence act against terroristic crime..A stick of politic.? To shut him up if so 'its sick' and a show of
Poppy red.' What sense can be in starmers head.? I gaze amazed at such antics..In truth we all should hurl bat-bricks.' Metaohorically of course.! I think
Labour are indeed un-horsed.' Though of
The hobby type ' I only inferr of course'
A whiff of my kitchen, a medicinal pill,
the side order of rain drools at a windowsill.
An utterance precedes a service; the rumble,
the window slides itself shut. A bumble
bee ricochets off a glass pane
moaning louder than our train
of thought waylaid with bacon sizzling up a storm.
There's an anxiousness trapped inside as warm
as indoors petrichor's marshmallow mood
steamed under nostrils fused above burned food.
A swirl follows itself in a perfect circle
on a smartphone screen. The attentive middle
of somewhere where I don't know where I am headed
while time and place are forgettably wedded,
O lips lit up, no doubt, by the whitening screen,
words digitize what would otherwise burn green.
A black cloud envelops my sky
Threatening to rain down a torrent of pain
Oceans of commotion swirl in my brain
And I try to bandage the wounds in vain
I see only the receding vistas of light
And night prowling like a stealthy thief
The past chills the mind like hanging icicles
And I feel so heavy with frozen grief
I inch my way up like an ugly snail
My life is riddled with contradictions
Oh, I am waylaid, lost and beaten
From every corner, I meet only oppositions
Yet dreams break forth in my heart
Amidst darkness shines a light
A call to spirit to seek the gift of recovery
Transforming pain into strength and delight
I must break loose of all the tethers
Let my soul embrace all that is dear
From this cage, I must fly out
The sky beyond me lies blue and clear!
Even at moments when we feel,
God has forsaken us, time assures;
However bad things are, recovery is possible,
When God is there quelling all our fears.
Now I am on a journey of redemption
I tell myself- “Come out from this hell
Just start anew, nothing is beyond recovery
The dawn is near and all shall be well”
Cannot sense the time
There's no need to report
And nothing's left to find
For the days are now too short
No one did remain
To see the final act
The author went insane
When his Face book page was hacked
Curtains have come down
No encore has been called
No refunds will be found
Since the ticket sales had stalled
Actresses have cried
They're quickly unemployed
No sympathies supplied
For the careers destroyed
Doors have been boarded
The streets are empty now
Old flyers are hoarded
Though not worth much anymore
History will fade
From this old part of the town
Mem'ries been waylaid
Since Broadway had been shut down
Will come the time one must leave
With one behind left to grieve
The tears will come, the tears will go
And the spirits will fall low
Yet we will know, friend to friend
That our love will never end
We would hold hands when we walked
Near or far we always talked
Ever there throughout the years
Standing brave against all fears
Still there's hearts that will not bend
For our love will never end
Flowers once bloomed in the spring
The scents of life roses bring
Colors on the distant hill
Soon will fade with winter's chill
Through the cold soon to descend
Our true love will never end
Floating on the breezes high
Time goes moving swiftly by
Memories become waylaid
Passing us by as they fade
Messages are there to send
That our love will never end
There will be one that must wait
Where there is no use by date
Passing rivers which don't change
Souls break free from earthly chains
We'll meet up around that bend
Where our love will never end
Work Walk
Breath fogs the space between the situation I left, for the space I am to inherit.
Just by walking the meandering path to my employ,
Mustering strength waylaid by last nights drinking.
Berating in melancholy silence, the foolish choices, made as a whim, as a boy.
Dragging those thoughts along with my body,
Considering ways to abandon the weight of thinking.
Arriving to smiles that I reciprocate, in forfeit to my mornings reservations.
Hiding behind the ghost of a hangover,
Nodding, conforming, conspiratorial winking.
Work starts, Work stops, Walk Home, Wake up, Work Walk.
when dreams die, death isn't far
then hope leaves floating in a jar
search drawers cluttered closets too
neither are found
dreams scattered to the winds
but hope remained
someday, someday, in the future
was the constant refrain
health gone lost by the way
arthritis impedes talents waylaid
days there are hopes that health will come
then a sadness engulfs like a drum
somewhere enthusiasm disappeared
did someone else pick it up
or is it like the dust off tires by the roadside
has depression now settled in
algorithms
which art in zuckerberg
hollowed be the tamed
hide the kingdom come
oligarchs will us dumb
in our place as it is in cyberspace
deny us this data our waylaid brain
and foreclose all our expectations
as we confirm our programmers'
and lead us not into liberation
but deliver us for extraction
for yours is the sole right
and the power
totalitarian
forever
amen
I feel like a rusty key
that cant open any door
You waylaid my cloudy kingdom
Your butter knife
cut through my land
Through a secret glade
between the hope and dust
I detest what I've become
I painted my dreams
and waited to see
This sloth what I've become
is driven by a hearse
amongst the heavy pinions
THEY RATHER LIFT YOUR CASKET THAN YOUR DREAMS
Dreams are made
just like beautiful caskets.
Dreams can be waylaid,
even in reality outskirt.
Dreams do come true
but death has only one rule:
that is, the inevitability of death.
With colossal demands,
a dreamer rules the earth.
Despite your reprimands,
your corpse is lifted up
only to later undergo a drop.
To lift the casket of a corpse,
it takes 6 to 8 people max'.
Now, fathom the possibilities
and probability of the visiblities
of those 6 to 8 people,
eradicating portentous evil
in a man's life when actively alive
and save a soul about to starve.
Let's lift each other's dreams in life
rather than wait for the coming of death
to lift our casket while dissipating wealth.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? April 10th 2023.
I keep meetin 'em
don't really understand
why..
eyes always lookin ahead
calm..
slow to rile
yet quick to
lend a hand.
Kiss their mother on the cheek
sayin a last goodbye..
going off to chase their fortune
never knowin' why.
Boys most, not yet men,
practiced at the two step.
farmers some..
worked out on the plain
died in foreign holes
to lilting strains of
Lili Marleen.
So special a rare thing,
wearin a toothy smile..
singin' praises of home
we'll all be home
in just awhile.
Necks turned dark,
cracked and creviced
under so many suns
they were good sons
the ones I knew.
Such a steadfast course,
their bright future laid in,
hoping just the same
the pews they prayed in.
Full o' song with hearts unfurled,
now to waylaid dreams,
fine leaders of another world,
all better men than me.
A lizard in a leotard,
a leopard in a froufrou,
strolled off together, arm in arm,
in search of Desmond Tutu.
They stopped to drop some laundry off
while walking through Ukraine;
got waylaid when they picked it up,
were never seen again.
There seems little hope when the tires won't hold air.
Did God forsake us somewhere,
along the long and dusty path?
you and I, got wires crossed in despair...
left to suffer this day alone,
in His wrath.
Oh lord..
I carry my hammer low, lower still..
my nails all crooked,
torn away from oaken boards.
The back forty waylaid,
in early dawn's frost.
Still remembering strength..
that faltered, when all hope
seemed lost.
Don't tread on me heard once in the wind's voice.
The plowshare's greying field,
left forgotten and untilled,
so little left of youth's free choice.
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