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Best Poems Written by Michael Wayne

Below are the all-time best Michael Wayne poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Who Wrote This Poem

Consummated under sheets of inspiration,
Conceived in cryptic dreams,
Created from cloudy concentrations,
The words flowed onto a wrinkled sheet of paper.

I concealed the verse under my pillow,
Entombed beneath my peaceful slumber,
Safe from grating barbarians.
For I do not reside in a steel fortress.

But the poem demanded breath,
And I obliged with wary trepidation.
Exposing naked insights of thought,
To public opinions and consumption.

I was misunderstood in some quarters.
My uneven stanzas documented in dorm rooms,
Lack of rhythm noted in offices,
And style criticized in coffee shops.

But my work was greeted warmly from African savannas,
Treasured in Scotland,
Saluted in London,
And praised from India’s sacred rivers.

In the heartland, school girls knew my name.
Southern belles toasted my talents.
I was pondered over breakfast in Florida,
Embraced in backwoods hamlets.

When I look within,
Searching for the brilliant author,
I question his existence.
The trance, that special state of mind, has passed.

In conscious lucidity I ask the stunning question,
“Who wrote this poem?”

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Starvation Rules This Spinning Globe

Starvation rules this spinning globe.
Energy is seized.
While goats and cattle strip the grass of peaceful light,
Vultures shred the organs of disadvantaged game.
As packs of wolves surround the heard,
Eyeing the weak and lame.

Buzzards circle overhead seeking every chance,
To pluck out the eyes of the men who fail to understand,
That he must take life to continue his own.
Those who don’t consume life’s rich plate,
Will fail to reach its end in strength.

Is nature blind to the suffering of the weak?
When so much blood is spilled.
Or is strength built through heartless savagery?
Who would not defend his offspring from cunning man,
Hungry beasts, and the vicious pains of hunger?
Some will say man has risen above such talk.
We stand exalted from the fray.
But larvae will not avoid those with foolish pride.
While lovely worms consume the flesh of broken stride.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Life Stages of a River

Rain falls on granite.
Glaciers unwind.
Snowflakes decrystallize.
A murmuring stream collects,
in the confluence of the melt.

A river is born.

Her banks expand.
Nutrients collect in the torrent.
Rocks tumble in the frothy white water.
Speed and power intensify,
with the reshaped swell of common elements.

A river grows.

Transformation is slow and muddy.
Men build obstructions,
harness the river with turbines.
Irrigation canals siphon liquid gold for crops.
Barges navigate goods over current.

A river is tamed.

Sediments build in the depths.
Reflections dominate.
A serene shoreline nurtures abundance.
The hasty flow has noticeably slowed.
Every mile traveled increases breadth of verity.

A river ages.

Some vanish with anonymity in vast deserts.
Others clash violently into endless seas.
A few form rich, braided deltas.
Inland lakes, without drainage, capture some.
Geologists and children are in agreement. 

All rivers end………

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Across the Globe With Smriti Jha

My country formed in violent revolution over the taxation,
Of sugar, tea, and stamps from mother England.

My country enslaved with a narrow vision of traditionalism,
Drowning in the sea of religious fanaticism.

You should come in July when we celebrate Independence Day.
You can find me in the park watching the display.

The promising October will enrich your vision.
As the female deity; Durga is worshiped every season. 

I will take you to a major league baseball game.
We will root for the home team, and pray it doesn’t rain.

We will sit and watch Tendulkar the icon of cricket,
And applaud enthusiastically for each and every wicket.

An introduction to American cuisine begins with chili cheese fries,
And ends with deep dish pizza that never goes to your thighs.

At the Rajasthan Kitchen the flavored curd will whet your appetite,
With the sweets giving you unfathomable delight.

Let’s take a drive to the Colorado River where time cuts through rock.
The deepest canyon in the world will leave you in amazed shock.

The holy atmosphere here near the Ganges will calm your mind.
For it is one river, so pure and divine. 

I hope you enjoy your tour of our lands.
Where people of all colors will walk hand in hand.



Written in collaboration with a wonderful poetess named Smriti Jha.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Naked Pixels

Your words travel the globe
machine to device,
wire to line.
Captured I am in adoration.

The syllables stand bare,
without shame or embarrassment,
perfection in form and verse.
Lustfully, I dwell on your arrangements.

But I am not satisfied!
Pixels do not quench my desires.
I need your aroma to pleasure me,
and to commingle our unique essence.

The euphoria of our first intense touch
will return us to virgin purity.
Standards will fall.
Barriers broken.

I will risk the darkest prison.
No! The most permanent Hell!
and all my treasure I will trade,
to spend one blissful night with you.

If I die before meeting you,
injustice will lodge in your heart.
I will have loved only your words,
naked pixels of enduring transcendence.

Will word reach me if your life ends?
Your tender poems will cease.
I will spend years combing the earth
looking for the ashes left from your golden temple.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

From the End of a Jetty

The formless expanse of water meets a colorless night.
My sense of smell is heightened  in the low visibility.
I taste the churning, airborne brine.
I stop at the Jetty’s dark end.

The pull of the moon brings in the high tide,
along with the surf perch and sand sharks.
My hooks are baited with small crabs
gleaned from the rock I stand.
I wait, meditating on this world of borders.

Danger prowls on a Jetty after sundown.
Lovers are soaked by the salty mist.
Lobster poachers sometimes lose footing.
Forlorn fisherman have been swept out to sea.

So I’m alert to the changes around me.
But it is hard not to give in to the ocean lullaby,
surging and ebbing at my damp feet.
I lay back basking in starlight,
high from the nocturnal velvet.
 
Heading towards the harbor,
a flashy yacht cruises alongside  my lookout.
Artificial lights illuminate the party on deck.
Champagne glasses clink and cigars slowly burn.

On this rocky platform, with my back to the city.
Of the passengers on board, I try not to pity.
The edge of the sea is all that I need.
Where my soul is recharged and joy is my feed.
I stop at the Jetty’s bright end.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Idaho Essence

Folded mountains settle into the Snake River plains.
Where golden fields flow with rows of tall grains.
His rising peaks sprout juniper, cedar, aspen, and pine.
Whose wild beauty will not be confined.

Sunflowers shriek in the thin mountain air.
Alongside roaming wolves and foraging bears.
Cattle graze grasses on peaks and on plains.
The elk and the moose migrate through valleys untamed.

Spring’s late snow covers the young tulips reaching for light.
The thawing soil gives tender roots streams of delight.
The buds of the trees grow with each hour.
It can’t be much longer before lilacs form their fragrance on flower.

The endless daylight of summer gives pleasure to all.
As cornstalks and chokecherries grow upright and tall.
If you haven’t swam in a cool mountain lake,
You’ll never be happy, you don’t have what it takes.

The fruit of the vines must be shielded from the frosts of the fall.
The raspberries ripen and to birds and small children dutifully call.
The leaves of the trees must return to the dust before long.
As the birds head for the south, after singing sweet songs.

His people fish for trout and hunt for big game,
And can alter their phrases from pious to profane.
Fear of outsiders runs deep to the bone.
From the powers that be, they long to be left free and alone.

Idaho’s women are not shy or refined.
They are comfortable in fishing boats and muddy duck blinds.
Some wrangle cattle from atop mighty steeds.
Most devote themselves to families and take care of their needs.

I was not born in this rugged, good looking land.
It was love at first sight as I clapped my still hands.
If my death is recorded is some foreign state,
I request that someone return my ashes to one of his lakes.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Native Song

On arrival in the American Outback I was warned.
“ Beware of the red man.”
“ He is a lazy drunk.”
“A dishonest gambler.”
“And  makes an unworthy neighbor.”

In the late summer heat of a state fair,
I discovered an expansive white tent.
A native greeted me with respect at the entrance.
He granted my children each a small gift,
and invited  us to watch a performance. 

I warily seated my family on folding chairs.
The floor beneath us piled with fresh straw.
A handful of locals drifted in from distracted crowds.
The din of the tractor pulls, cattle auctions,
and singing celebrity impersonators carried under canvas.

Moccasins ushered in a distinctive young woman,
wearing a deer skin vest fringed with tiny beads,
an outfit untouched by machine.
Her long black hair brushed to a single braid,
hung perfectly on her proud back.

She summoned a hand carved wooden flute 
from her pack, and lifted the object to trained lips.
Slow, haunting notes ran together without seam,
falling like dry, colorless leaves upon sacred ground.
The tone, somber yet peaceful, filled the still air.

A conveyance of subjugated emotion sprung forth,
from a language untranslated yet comprehended.
The sorrows of centuries washed into my blood.
No longer did I sit at a common fair.
The melancholy song of the native maiden had transported all.

The seeds of iniquity, spread by the winds of fear,
washed from my being. Mystically cleansed,
by music from a pure source.
This native woman had cast a spell.
The prison of ignorance crumbled before me.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Saturday Morning Ritual

Commingled human sweat permeates the atmosphere.
Grunts and clanging iron greet the ear.
Leotard clad women, without body fat, spring.
Pumped up upper bodies of tattooed men expand.

The smoothie bar dispenses recovery drinks.
Stationary bicycles travel miles, without leaving the room.
Joggers hypnotized by music turn treadmills.
The pulleys of the muscle machines sing.

The locker room calls after a brief and intense workout.
Does the fattest guy in the building have to walk around naked?
The jets in the spa remedy any muscle pain.
Relaxing, I watch an old woman pacing the bottom of the lap pool.

The heated pool is occupied by goggled children,
their swimming lessons taught by a woman in a sensible swimsuit.
They must conquer natural fear of the water,
and demonstrate proper swimming form, as parents look on.

 A steam room awaits those who can stand the intense, wet heat.
The wooden walls of the sauna room smell of eucalyptus oil.
Water thrown over hissing, heated stones creates a wall of vapor.
They say the perspiration it induces cleanses toxins.

I am not so sure……but I will return next week.

Details | Michael Wayne Poem

Destiny Is Yours

You have inspired sunshine to illuminate dark woods.
Anything remotely associated with you sends birds to song.
Rivers overflow with my emotions.
My gaze melts snow, when I think of you.

There is no wound that my love can not penetrate.
No tear that my devotion will not absorb.
Take your fears and cast them onto my sturdy shoulders.
Let my warmth lift your lowest days.

It is not too late to issue a reorientation.
Disembark from your present course.
Alter destiny’s compulsion.
You are free to pursue liberty.

You will know where to find me,
on the lonely mountain communing with the wind,
stoking an unconditional fire.
Follow the trail of sweet smelling smoke, 

until you find me.