Waylay Poems | Examples

The Lord Lights my Lamp

When the dismal darkness of the deceivers' camp 
overwhelms and I have deserted the way,
a harsh winter of doubt governs cold and damp. 
When conniving, selfish men parade and prey,
despair grips me tight with disapproval's stamp. 
My candle is dimmed down inviting their waylay. 
My deafened ears cannot hear the Lord's voice;
my blinded eyes are quick to make the wrong choce.

Sapped, my faith still knows only God can revamp.
Obedience first, I have learned I must pray
asking forgiveness for letting Satan cramp
my trust which I confess I let go astray.
Springtime returns as the Lord re-lights my lamp 
with the dawn of redemption on this new day.
Wisdom and strength restored, I can now rejoice
surrounded by the Lord’s peace and heaven's joys.

IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY

Let your remaining joy locate you now without any further delay,
Even if more success and more prosperity have to join in a fast relay,
The goal is that all the best things of life should find a way to where your head every night lays,
God is in firm control of your life so 'nough of any trouble placed in your life to waylay.

The mirrors are blessed with a peep in of the elegance of your good looks,
Your infectious smile is comely like food cooked by a good cook,
Your intelligence is ever pleasing as if it was learned from a best-selling book,
Your wisdom brings joy like when a fisherman caught a big fish by his fish hook.

Good fortune seems to know the best way to your home,
But it has never come without showering you with blessings of its own,
You have given success so much joy that you have stopped it from all its aimless roams,
No wonder, your greatness is the pain that causes your enemies a deep moan.

Let then this your birthday bring you more joy,
May it fortify you more to overcome your enemies' evil ploys,
As babies take delight in playing with their toys,
May you also have a lot of pleasure in savouring successes that never cloy.

In My Spiel and Storied Telling

In my deaf and time-closeted
pockets unpack pockets,
string bags hang under the closed eyes
of all-seeing watchers.

Eulogies for the living
are etched on wet lips and kitchen towels.
Owls as mute as hollow urns
turn to flute their mournful why, what,
and who’s.

The edge of IF, is most hard to see;
‘if’ is a lobster pot full of moonlight
woven to waylay and trap the long drowned.
Gutters coughing in a midnight summer
these glad me not,
yet are kept like the sly smiles of devilish women.

In my book of lies
there are truths still worth distorting,
times killed by a compulsive retelling,
fields plowed over too long
where the dead are uncovered
only to dance again on their own graves.

The drunken gallimaufry of head-games
left unfinished
pace back and forth,
yet here I am, the one person,
still blinking my way through a black-light sky,
while majestic wings hover over
to grab me up;

yes let them come,
for all glad gods have wings.

Uncalled

Uncalled,
quite uncalled, 
Stood the unexpected
rap.rap.rapping,
rapping at my door.

Disaster’s specters
   blocked my way,
As through the window
   slipped the unimaginable,
While down the chimney 
   howled the unthinkable,
Hovering near, encircling,
   nailing windows shut,
   pulling all the shades
blackening to black all within.

Ah, yet to be sure, yes,
   yes, to be firmly absolute,
To absolutely squelch 
any lingering shadow light... 
If be it there
   hiding, 
cowering and afraid...
They so bespoke their chorus,
   echoing
in solemn judgement:

To waylay our stay 
   there be no way,
   For many many 
   days on days
   muchmany a day 
   Here shall 
   we be we be.
   Shall here 
   we be. 

Uncalled.
Uncalled we’ve come.
Come to stay 
With you.
   Here.
In the dark.
In your dark.

A Hodgepodge of Cat Footles

The Rodents’ Bane

Sphynx cats
jinx rats

A Most Unlikely Scenario

Shorthairs
court bears

Cat Catalogers

Shorthairs
sort wares

When Cats Go Formal

Bombay
Prom Day

Tranquil Lost Feline

Calm stray
Bombay

Detain the Cat

Waylay
Bombay

What Gangsta Cats Do

Rag Dolls
Snag Molls

A Cat Oration

Birman
Sermon

The Howling Sensations

*Main Coons
Feign tunes

Wet Mongrel Cat

Soggy
moggy

Sept. 15, 2022 
for a Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest

*Note: This is name for a strong, large longhaired cat that is also very sweet. Maybe it's only known about in the USA??

Perversions Brood

To stand to the line, no other choice I find'
That sand is where, the truth must now dare.
The earth having  been  ever  the same
Since dawn of time, too fleet lifes wane'
I never drew this line untrue'
Articles of conflict; yet along it grew!
It was devised by perjured souls, 
Who rail at eterity and Freedom whole
I say be glad your not their kin'
Their truth is lies, much steeped in sin!
The blackest circle of hell reserved I say
For such as who, devise these ways
To waylay truth, to twist pervert
I say resist these lies divert
Imagine to be born of them.?
Unfeeling almost anderiod; alien men
What woman could with such Congress?
All thought all input recoils, in complete digress.!

Love Poetry Needs Your Help

Love may stifle and kill,
may break a tenderness over jagged rocks.
Love lingers after its burial,
it crashes into slow burns.

If you look for love it will evade,
waylay and capture, it may
entice you into a haunting fire.

Fall in love anyway
God made you a chemical reaction
so that you could be a catalyst
for the prayers of the penitent.
Love will bring lasting joy
when you suffer it to remake you.

When you love
in the very gene pool of life,
that pool will be your ocean,
it will become you
as you become it.

At the very least
it will produce true or raw poetry.
Poetry you can keep updating
as you travel on.

Tempting Time

Time, O Time!
Rest a while in my arms.
Cannot I waylay you with silken whispers,
sweetened promises, and love irresistible?
Come and drink deeply of my mortal sap.
Let it befuddle your senses and cloud your judgement.
Let it drive you to madness and obsession. 
Let it bring you before me begging and pleading,
for a taste of life and death upon my lips.
And then you will be still -
and we shall be eternal.

29 October 2021

Words To Live By

Words walk across the day
Lighting my path and way
Coloring me in hues to convey
The joy my laughter does betray

Words are whispered as I pray
Lifting spirits when they’re gray
Reminding me I’ve been led astray
By the verses and visions I portray

Words breathe hope into all I say
Believing that what comes is a ray
Caressing my thoughts with a bouquet
Written on my life in statutes to obey 

Words dance through my soul to relay
Love that lives within where I downplay
All the inspirations in my heart’s mainstay
Poetry alive with wonders inside on display

Words enchant my mind so that they outweigh
All the promises of a thought which does waylay
The songs of faith that come when my essay
Reveals a compassion that comes to life today

Words remind my soul to give away
The love I have inside so it won’t decay
From never being given to those who pay
In kindness and joy that is there to stay

Words desire to be given away
To hearts who always pray
For God’s will and His way
In a life who worships everyday







Your Best Monorhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
August 15, 2021

The Playground of Life

Life is a playground,
where folks ‘play’ around,
Catch-me-if-you-can, 
most favoured by man,
Some play badminton, 
with points they’re smitten,
Volleyball goes on, 
hit us with their con,
Basketball they play, 
with round nets waylay,
Yet others race on,
to the trophy drawn,
Happy noises heard,
enjoy game preferred,
Yes, life’s a playground,
with deep lessons found.


06.20.2021


For Shreya LN's "Playground" contest

5 syllables per line

A Thing

There is ever a thing to do
For there ever will be no time savor
Like birds twitter in dawn praise
Ever intimated from within
And singing they stage ever
Not mindful what a brooding jeopardy waylay
It matters not what a future lay
For all known to them is surety, 
What a beautiful dawn beckon

Cupboard

My cupboard would not be, by any standard held
considered neat or clean, nor free of crumb or dust.
But stores I keep abound, enough to nourish me
and keep me warm on nights, when hope is all but gone.

Across the hall there sits a basement door, unlocked
Where things that should not be await the darkened night
Their thrumming breath pulsates between the door and sill
And sunlight dances on the kitchen floor all day

My weary hands explore and blindly fish about
With each extended palm I strain to make a choice	
The shelving seems to stretch as if to mock and scold
And I retreat and turn and kick that basement door

And when the sun has stretched itself from end to end
She’ll tiptoe from the scene and leave her stage deplete.  
To let a chill set forth above the wooden berm
beneath the door unlatched, ajar, corrupt, contempt. 

A stirring from behind the cupboard door escapes. 
Subconscious brutes waylay the precious things I keep
as rations moan and shriek with horrors that don’t speak.
I’d sleep but I cannot for all that heinous noise.

If You Pull a Long Face - Part Xix

IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XIX

IF you pull a long plucky face
Even when I-Ee-You let you have your way
Placed no impediment for the divorce
Let you keep key to backstop exit doorway

You yet keep pulling that long stubborn face
Yes you want out when I want you to stay
House in utter disorder your comeuppance
Mary Queen of Scots no tough Liz will obey

If you keep pulling that long war-weary face
What must I do or say your fears to allay
The fault lies squarely on Henry the VIII's mace
Even Papal Borgias did male heirs coolly lay

Yet you keep pulling that long staunch face
Again and again for you Excommunication I delay
You want both : eat cake while pulling a long face
Even Luther would think twice such customs waylay

So if you must pull a long navel face
Build yourself a Wall right round : call it Isles of May
Expel your Blacks and Asians born with jus soli grace
Turn Old Vic plays into Tower Terror bloody display

© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 17, 2019

Villanelle: How Many the Men Gone Had Something Yet To Say

Villanelle: How many the men gone had something yet to say

How many the men gone had something yet to say
Had they not thought found they the answer to Riddle
Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, " Nay ! "

Had they not come to some end each in his own way
Camus with " suicide " the Riddle he would unravel
How many the men gone had something yet to say

Think of the millions whose lives they did waylay
Seize Life with gusto make every moment sizzle
Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, " Nay ! "

The disciple Mottram would lasting values slay
Others with less heed to creed their lives in a muddle
How many the men gone had something yet to say

Can Husserl's Abstract God replace the Yi Jing's sway
Do Golden Flower Secrets make men of mettle
Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, " Nay ! "

Yang-Yin interplay ephemeral men dismay
Find his way he must out of the Maze's puzzle
How many the men gone had something yet to say
Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, " Nay ! "

© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 5th., 2018

Shores of Doom and Gloom In Your Faith

Shores of doom 
Needn’t engulf the space in your mind
Where without your will gloom
Can’t inhabit until faithless fleas and spiritual sleaze find

Room and space to waylay and slay without delay
The faith you profess to possess
In a spray without a ray stray
Strung and hung when you dispossess

Your faith of the strength and depth
Which faith has sunk into its roots
In each significant step and faith breath
You smuggle and gaggle in the boots

You wear with pride as you deride the loss
You claim not to suffer in the dwarf
You call disbelief and the abandon toss
Spotted in the wharf

Where faith ought to find succor
By virtue of the pride of place
You claim to allocate to the anchor
Faith can’t in your mind squeeze from a disbelief trace in a lace

Shores of doom and gloom striving to mount
On your faith a determined assault
Within a number of sorties you dismount
As conscience pangs claim it’s no longer our fault.

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