"waylaid" poems
We were poets,
Once,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Chiseled,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Though
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks,
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.
Glades decay,
Fade to grey.
We become poets once more.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
A solitary wanderer
Guided by the winds
Through lonely valleys
Sipping from streams
Sleeping under stars
Night’s canopy as tent
Rolling on soft grass
Lay supine, dreaming
Of the sparkling stars
Holding them in the eyes
Life sparkles with glee
Solitary wanderer
Waylaid from the crowd
Greener pastures
Greets the wanderer
Solitude is bliss
Wanderer finds meaning
Finding ones purpose
Turning away from the crowd
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
#*O Lord Jesus,
I want to live and walk and bow
in constant awe of You,
but I am so easily distracted and waylaid.
Fasten my eyes and heart on You,
for You alone are worthy.
I am not worthy to even peek at Your beauty,
but by Your own worthiness You've invited
me to dwell forever in Your presence,
yet how often I refuse the privilege.
Why would I ever do that?
What is wrong with me?
How hard-headed and hard-hearted I must be!
Save me from my messed-up self
and from this messed-up world,
for I am sorely helpless and lost without You.
Draw me by the force of Your love
into the light of Your glory and goodness,
awaken me to the healing touch of Your Word.
Capture and change me to the core,
for only You can, my Savior.
Rid my soul of its blinding
filth, muck, rot and **********
that I may freely sing, dance,
swim and soar in the wonder of You.
Cause me to crave You with an insatiable,
desperate appetite that expels my fleshly hunger.
Teach me to ever feast on You!
I need You and long for You, Jesus,
but send the burning, ripping ache
deeper, deeper, deeper until nothing
remains but desire for You.
Come and satisfy me, O Delight of delights,
in that glorious and awestruck place
of endless fascination and total possession
where my will is finally drowned in Yours.*#
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, ****** and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk--
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned--
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
4.2k
Sweeten, let’s, a coast of dun
Therefrom which, the tides erode,
A castle to blind the mighty sun
Affront to that Poseidon, and others
On the beach.
***** the walls and battlements
Fair crystal arm the turrets
The audience of the hermit *****
Pay silent homage to the throne
Intricate are its libraries, etched
Our history inside the tomes.
Only grains of perfect stock
From which antiquity, in full credit,
Will revere the lot
And poetry of human might
Shaped and forged to kiss the day of light
Only that may suffice.
In this endeavor, no ancients will tenet
Its salty beams but the children of the morn
For we shall build the universe
From when progenitors are born.
Before it began, we were dismayed
Our future, castle, by waves waylaid
Aspirations sink, now, from shape.
But, Gods, I curse you!
Let my destiny rise free!
Look now before you:
A stone in ocean of mediocrity!
All these that build up forts
Lack in that spirit to fight, retort
**** you, **** you, waters of my doubt
Turn false the shades of realism
Which I thought it all about
**** you, **** you sands of time
For now all that founds my dreams
Is erosion of the shoreline sand.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Consciousness,
mindfulness,
philosophical enlightenment -
Live for the **** of it.
Camus was right to breathe in spite of the tide of crushing emptiness.
The boulder gets heavy,
the bones grow weary,
the mountain is steep and we are steeped in irony.
For life can be deadly and death's rows of gravestones mark homes for freed slaves,
their crossed arms hiding scars
left by the teeth of nihilistic grief beatings and
surgery scalpels set to carve by
frequent false
alarms.
Sisyphus took but one break,
to hear the chains rattled from the gates,
hellish obsidian, vermilion flames licking lumps of silica grains
mixed with ash and a black tar splash.
And Orpheus sighed on the lyre and brought tears to the eyes of the most vile,
while Sisyphus
paused -
not long,
but a lifetime for those still free to subside
to dust, from blood and guts,
when their time arrives.
The trials of life,
the striving rites and lavish gifts of light to defy
the black and empty dusk still fail.
Eurydice grows pale as Orpheus turns to see her cheeks
losing every trace of peach hue,
eyes emptying,
lungs leaking their
last gale.
Struggling again, Sisyphus is sent
tumbling down the face of the great mountain,
grabbing gravel and sand and gashing gaps in his hard leather hands.
Bleeding ash,
not blood,
hot red mud dripping from the thick lacerations,
mixing with the sickening avalanche of wasted effort and waylaid plans.
Repeating the climb up the steep peak,
bones creaking like a clock's gears,
rattling off the seconds,
minutes,
hours,
years
until the watch stops its
panicked hands.
Until then we will toil unswayed
as we wear stones to clay,
carving winding paths in spirals up the mountain's waist.
No calm for those with breath,
no rest for beating hearts.
We must live in spite of life,
and then sink silent
to the earth.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
It feels good first
That punch you throw
Powered with adrenalin
Triumph! you crow
Losing control
Each threat you shout
Driving Emotion prevails
Anger has clout
Primal howling
I cannot speak
A volatile Damnation
Beneath my feet
A fiend unleashed
A dark winged thing
Wrenching the curtain aside
Madness is king
You’ve crossed the line
There is no doubt
Dimensions of cruelty
Madness wins out
No forgiveness
The devil cheers
Waylaid in selfish desires
Demonic fears
Fear holds its breath
Sardonic gloom
Too turbulent to control
Foreboding doom
Peace is exiled
No looking back
Thrusts of heartless violence
Repression hacked
Paradise lost
Cherished hatred
Surging over boundaries
Nothing sacred
Stuff of nightmares
Robs me of sleep
Letting go with a vengeance
Monster’s relief
I cannot bear
This heavy weight
Id’s inner realm
Desolate hate
Transcendence shows
All states of thought
Each a world unto itself
Not shaken off
Silence that grudge
Revenge aint sweet
It turns back on you like a
Missile seeks heat
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
I
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.
II
I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!
2.3k
For many centuries we have wandered
Waiting for the answers we seek
We may have faltered
In not asking the right questions
Treading over the bridges of human bonding
We have come this far
Where shall this path lead us?
Or, we may be heading towards a cul-de-sac
Heading towards a collision with our reality
Not meaningful enough
Waylaid till now, with many distractions
Of all we know
We may have been seeking the wrong
Do we have the faintest idea
What we have lived for, till now?
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
they spur us on with mock encouragement.
a goal like a carrot
dangling like a participle right before our eyes.
and the tragedy and the misery
and the waylaid things
and the guilt they bring
storm around inside.
and the light that hides just seems to bind
when i can not make it shine.
but, 'on,' they scream,
'you must go on!'
they will not let it go.
i guess the mud doesn't seem such a bad place to rest
when you can't seem to lift your head.
so we strive for some vague representation
of something we saw on t.v.
and the time just ticks away.
so look at us now . . . they're selling us war!
pick it up at the most convenient store.
and now no one is paying attention.
forcing it on unwilling consumers
flooded the vast spectrum of media with rumors
these weapons of mass destruction
are just one big ******* mass destraction
and look! there's no one paying attention.
we've all turned our heads
in some middle easternly direction
a more reasonable enemy than our own ******* poverty.
but don't speak now, for we have not the time.
just look.
or march.
but be quiet.
and so we set sail
to ****** ourselves
as the majority disagree.
and we fumble around in our pockets
and shift our eyes to the sidewalks
and step over cracks and break our own backs
for our orange and coveted prize.
but who gets the laugh when we all realize
our surprise was just death in an edible disguise
and a grave is a grave, regardless of whom it holds?
'on,' they cry, and 'on,' they cry,
so shuffle, and sigh,
and avert your eyes
from the light that hides
and will never shine
on anything we do
until we forget these disgusting concepts
of death as a path to the truth.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
sordid scripture,
warring woman,
both menace and coquettish innocence
—barricaded.
statues,
fountains,
and restraining orders,
filling the garden:
decorations of
sunlight on a clock,
and a view into tomorrow,
revealing the "texture" of her skin
within the realm of her navel,
as soft as lace,
as smooth as
the surface of a pond.
before diving in
gives an otherworldly radiance,
her shape and smile
compared to everyday realities
are solemn in the extreme,
the dawn threatens
to break in the east.
her voice,
(a lungfully deep, sensuous purr),
is so distinctive,
come what may,
this could be happiness:
sullen, waylaid and capricious,
her urban sexuality hidden
in the attic of revolution,
suffused with the dreamlike, hazy glow
of colored lights and tinsel.
desire is like Christmas
—it always promises
more than it delivers.
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 1:09 PM UTC
Atlas wept for the world above
And for the burden that he bears.
A weight waylaid by mortal love,
A weight made heavy by despair.
Shoulders burning on aether shores
Orchestral spheres fall into view.
Conducted celestial tears,
Run glacial currents of blue...
And Red.
Always Red,
This knight of that crimson hue
Forgot the purpose of his charge,
Cast off all the burdens that he knew.
Sadly,
That includes me and you.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
Come as the silence of night,
to soothe waylaid hearts.
Let them hear...
The rhythm of
their own pounding.
Cradle them...
And carry them
through every deep breath...
And every heavy sigh.
Assure them that the lull
between such forlorn beats
will never be prolonged
as long as there is a want,
and need
to hear and feel the next.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
When You and I
Waylaid in wilderness
And the path is lost!!!
I shall shower
My love on you
Everyday, in new ways
Love dainties host.
My soul into you
I shall pour.
Each part of body
Will be an island tour
With loving glance
My heart will click
The choicest kisses
In silken shades flick.
On every island
An age will be stake
In each age love’s
New flavor and shade
Sometimes as lotus
I shall bloom
Sometimes as
Jacaranda zoom.
Panorama shots
Of love arcades
Flowers and trees
Make cavalcade
In it love’s sweet
Fragrance blows
Love birds tweet
Lilting music flows.
From age to age
We shift our stage
We shall bind ever
To new cage
Where pain and hunger
Do not strike
Life unfazed
By price hikes.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
Feel the tremor…
…The flicker…
The static charge
Of bliss
Whisper HER sweet
Breath through
Your Being.
No time to stop,
No time to be waylaid
By Fears’ tearful face.
Kiss this moment awake
Caress it’s cheek,
Open your eyes
To the Beauty beating
In your trembling breast.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
There was a mime who fell in love with a woman,
but he could not tell her, because he was sworn
to the silence of the quiet community, so then
he tried to give her flowers,
to make up for the loss sense of sound.
He could flatter her with smell, all the hours
of the day.
But she would not smell them.
He tried painting her a beautiful picture,
to enable her eyes to dance.
But she would not see it.
He even knitted her a scarf for the winter.
Something she could feel,
to show her how he felt when he looked at her;
which was all fuzzy inside.
But she would not accept his feelings,
even though she was cold.
Even though it was her favorite color.
And
Eventually
He gave up.
He had tried SO HARD!
No matter what he did, he could not please her.
And
then
She was walking down the street and she heard it.
Heard soft crying from behind some waylaid old
cardboard boxes.
The mime felt a hand on his shoulder.
He smelt the most beautiful lilac perfume.
He turned and beheld the loveliest of faces,
he felt his cheeks turning red,
mirroring her rosie ones from the cold.
And finally he heard her voice,
so soft like the knitted scarf
he had labored over.
"All I wanted was to hear
you say what what you felt,
to tell me I'm loved."
she whispered.
"My darling,
you are loved."
he spoke aloud.
And
then
he
was
free.
That day he shed his black and white stripes;
for he was no longer a prisoner.
He was set free from the confines of silence;
and sang out his melody of love unto her
every day after, until the end of time.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Plagued by crippling doubt,
You trudge through life,
Hesitant, confused, aimless.
Peril lurks behind you.
You cling to what you know:
A sweet, numb idleness.
You seek a badge of courage,
But are waylaid by hedonism.
Sinking deeper into sorrow,
The many colored beast nearby,
Whispering, “you are alone,
Worthless, inadequate, a corpse."
Night’s jaws envelope you,
As the taint burns your soul.
The beast prowls unchallenged,
Leaving the heart torn and gory.
About to concede to the Destroyer,
You are interrupted in the act,
By a still small voice,
And love embraces you.
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
Embalmed skin -
seemingly made anew,
yet pocked with sores…
from a life past.
The then waylaid heart
needed only whisper…
And long was the walk
through the cursed labyrinth
of sharp worldly things.
Nov 14, 2023
Nov 14, 2023 at 11:55 AM UTC
am a scouser la
dont want ya la dee da
grew up wid a yard
saw gardens from afar
jus me an me ma
wid ar windows barred
against da smackheads
an da scallys
dat wanted wots ars
not dat wot wuz ars
wuz ars anyway
stuff lifted off a wagon
dat got lost on edge lane
comin off da 62
could get ya waylaid
passin thru where i grew up
back in da day
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
*there were endless baubled
babbles in her head,
yet, she spoke nary a word,
scribbled 'pon careful avenues
neath cautious sky cover,
her notions were
silver lined intended
amidst dandelion wishes,
but the waylaid winds
always whisked them away
as insignificant gray clouds
unquestionably appeared
beyond shadow's fair conditions,
whilst torrents smeared
a reigning scrawled disarray,
deluging what was left of
her frozen sunrise passages*
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner
they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world
and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate to extend their species
some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings
some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering
but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada
it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
... the host waylaid!
I knew a woman on the street
Terrified and weary.
She had no place to go
Her prospects were dreary...
I took her in my home,
First checking with my folks.
She had a desire to help me
I knew this was no hoax...
But she had a brother
And his common-law wife
I was talked into helping THEM
The decision caused much strife...
They parked their car behind our house - and they slept inside it
I would have done more
But my folks decide it...
They never stole a thing
He helped in the garden
The ladies helped inside
It was a good bargin...
Until I found the couple
Had a penchant for SPICE.
A designer drug
Its effects far from nice...
I was put out totally
And asked them all to LEAVE
But I've been friends with the sister
And so my spirit grieves!
The lady I had helped out at first
Uses no drugs nor drinks
I have to decide...
... I ask you what you think.
Should i take her BACK?
Allow her to stay?
I'm not sure what to do...
... and continue to PRAY!!!
SoulSurvivor
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
i can lose myself in your eyes—
no, actually, that’s not true.
i have an excellent sense of direction
(up down around the contours of
your spine,
between the frantic pulls of
your breath,
across yet through the rise and fall of
your chest;
always with the certainty of
you)
though i do usually become waylaid by
crossways,
intersections,
and boulevards;
by unspoken daydreams,
unseen words,
and misplaced thoughts;
by the
fragile temerity
of an allusion at midnight,
and the
convenient paradoxes of
endless space
and finite time.
but you;
you, i can find.
because though i will never be quite able
to steer myself by
stars, portents, or street signs,
i can feel the way across your fingertips
as surely as any sailor
and where the
stars, portents, or street signs
direct, but do not guide
it is your warmth
that means that i will
never
get lost in your eyes.
because i’ll always be
found in your voice,
and the taste of
your touch.
and while i’ll always have to
carry a map
and still have to
stop three times to
reorient
redirect
and ask for directions,
i’m not too worried.
because lost
is a frame of mind,
and found
is a destination
that I am constantly
leaving and arriving;
an infinite loop
wrapped around
your little finger.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:49 PM UTC
Nights get heavy.
When every thought becomes a curse.
Sleep is waylaid.
When every subtle nuance you begin to nurse.
Hours grow long.
Rest becomes a dream.
Seconds start to undo...
Every stitch in every seam.
Shadows come to play,
as their dance warps your grasp.
Demons come to say...
That you’re welcomed in their sinister clasp.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 6:25 AM UTC
The copious shambles of rocks
waylaid the roadside,
by the time we saw the Beaufort castle walls
it was easy to see it as a mirror
of its surroundings,
a cannonade of angry words
miscued with shots of Peace.
This belated excursion
was like an erstwhile trumpet
for phosphorus clouds
and driven rain shrapnel
had attempted to ebonize the landscape,
our luggage with best intent was smoking
by the derelict Vichy bolt hole.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 9:21 AM UTC