In a London pub fingers idly play with place mats.
Wonder-lust had led them back to where they assumed they had first met.
She recalled a local vicinity a basement rathskeller, he a country Inn;
cork mats slid under wet rings.
"Do you remember meeting me at all?"
He had to readjust himself into a time and zone that once existed
in her reality but could not locate that shared location.
After much hazy thought, he replied:
There were a lot of people, you were one in a crowd. I felt your hand
in mine, and that was the beginning.
We backpacked around Europe then I led you back
to this packed tavern where place mats
are soaked in the beery residue of uncertain endings.
Categories:
backpacked, poetry,
Form: Free verse
We have seen every national forest in all fifty states
Waterfalls in six and mountains in five
We backpacked through Europe in the sixties
When it was considered safe
We have bungee jumped, and been to Iron Man
We have lived in a commune and a nudist colony.
We have been part of a spiritualist revival.
We have made our own soap, and our own way.
We have been musicians, singers, and songwriters.
We have had able bodies, and lively limbs.
We have danced our way out of danger.
We are getting older now.
Our knees need replaced.
Our teeth are broken.
Our minds are fuzzy.
Where do we go from here?
Categories:
backpacked, age,
Form: Free verse
The garbage men are the first to be heard,
beeping, bumping, throwing, thumping.
The work of their hands
leave nothing but empty cans
scattered on the curb.
Children rise and run late
heavily backpacked.
The crossing guard blows her whistle
and scurries them inside white lines
with their weight that nearly bends them back.
Day drives on to sun blast.
Trains shake overhead.
So many different tongues rise from sidewalks
up subway stairs
through turnstile gates
that sing to every swiping hand.
It’s not even eight
and I’ve heard enough for a day.
I plug my ears with song from a different sphere.
My city doesn’t make a sound
that I can hear.
June 19, 2016
for Sounds of the Day - Poetry Contest
Categories:
backpacked, city, sound,
Form: Free verse
Elegy For My Candle
by Odin Roark
How regal your stature has been
Your stalwart frame
Ever remaining at the ready
Patiently waiting to live out
Your inner tether
Your heart’s offering
To a romantic’s touch
You’ve served me well
Been carried to cabin
Backpacked to basecamp
Returned with me
To nestle beside my hand
Pen
Paper
Our home
Yes
You’ve succumbed to gravity
Like this aging body of mine
Both aware time melts away
Having given space to breathe
For being my breath of luminance
For embracing the flame
For sacrifice
For selfless giving
Even now in your final hours
For that
I thank you
Without your lighthouse guidance
My journey’s dreams
Might have been lost to murky despair
How giving you’ve been
Allowing your body to dwindle
By flame’s consuming needs
And now…
The end must be painful
Your warm tears pooling
Their final remembrance
As our room becomes dim
So comforting to know
The offspring of your light
Will remain fixed
Ink upon paper
Word upon word
Pain upon pain
Joy upon joy
Can you stay just…
Categories:
backpacked, loss,
Form: Free verse