Best Asphalted Poems
Of all the things that I have lost
Perhaps what hurts the most
Is that I can no longer go
to where I once called home...
I cannot roam with childish glee
Down through the leafy grove
Nor play with snowballs, dance in snow
Then thaw beside the stove
I cannot use pink muhlberries
To paint my childish lips
I cannot eat the greens I've picked
Right down to soily tip
I cannot brown my little legs
Beneath the blazing sun
Or slpash in cold and icy pool
Until the day is done
I cannot play my hide and seek
With gateman's little kids
Nor drink the flavored Persian tea
Chase dreams through drooping lids
I cannot rub the walnut skins
And stain my fingers black
I cannot gorge on cherries sweet
I can't bring one day back
I cannot pick blubell flowers
Or swing from walnut tree
I cannot gorge on luscious fruit
Those mountains, I can't see
I cannot run through fresh green grass
Nor bask on asphlat walk
I cannot run through classroom halls
Or relish childish talk
I cannot show off gardened home
To foreigners and say,
"This place is really paradise
That none can steal away"...
I had a dream last night that I was back in my childhood home in Tehran, Iran. We lived in a walled, gated compoud that was the property of our church. My father was a school principal and the administration building and dorms were on our campus. We were situated in Shemran, at the foot of the ELBRUS mountain range. The compund was green.....beautiful. We'd swim in the icy cold pool then lie on asphalted walks to warm up. We had a cherry orchard, walnut, apple, apricot, plum, muhlberry, and almond trees. It would snow in winter, and My brothers would jump off the roof of our house into the snow. I can't describe the ache in my heart at not being able to go back. It was an enchanting childhood and no one can steal my memories. After the revolution in 1979, the government took over the property....but they can't take My dreams. I've shared this....painstakingly written on my phone because my dream was so vivid. I needed to share...
Going out of his way, the obliging taxi driver drives to the top of the hill.
A young man gets out, walks a short distance to a vantage point
where his gaze falls upon the village down below,
the old cottages and farmhouses, sprawling fields,
winding lanes, and the clustered trees
where the stream skips by.
an overcast sky
scent of rain is in the air
a lone robin chirps
His eyes roam slowly, taking in little details,
keen to save them in his mind, fresh,
like the morning dew clinging to the swaying grass.
the cool autumn breeze
ruffles hair and memories
stirring emotions
Time is pressing. One last look.
Then he reluctantly goes back to the car.
Soon, it’s speeding along the asphalted country road
heading to the station where a steam train awaits.
A new chapter in life...The city beckons.
sudden drops of rain
spatter on the hazy glass
sad eyes turn misty
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Written: 15th November, 2015
Contest: Any Poem Written in 2015
Sponsor: Laura Loo (2016)
Placed 1st
Contest: Creative Haibuns (2015)
Sponsor: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Placed 4th
On a busy Marescaux Road where
No one cared for an injured dog,
Where motorists do not come to a slow,
And honking horns hammer
As impatient traffic competes toe to toe,
There on the asphalted heat
The painful cry of a wounded creature
Pierced through the peak-hour hub of the street.
Out into the throbbing traffic
The Wolmarian girl stepped
Caring none except
for that injured dog– whimpering, pleading,
Fighting with its final breaths.
And the honking swelled and motorists yelled.
From their faces, I could discern
They were void of an iota of concern.
Above the chaos, I heard her whisper
Gentle reassurance to the timid creature.
The Wolmarian girl bent
and slowly lifted her casualty
And walked back to the sidewalk
With ceremonious dignity.
And I have always wished to be as brave as she
Who defied the odds to honour her humanity.
They have been wandering for decades
Journeying to the land that was promised by their forefathers
A land that would seal the faith of future generations.
They rove night and day guided by a single pillar of light
Looking for the land that was just minutes within sight
But faith had them wondering and pondering
Meandering up steep hills and giant rocks
Roaming around mountain and caves
Looking for that sacred spot.
But they could not find their way home
The road that leads home was covered with tall thick giant grass
Blade as wide as the palm of my hands overshadowed the path
And the visible eyes could not perceive it
Only the spirit of God could reveal it.
Suddenly a bulldozer appears,
And a little man holding the levers
Reversed it back and forth and leveled the dense path
That leads to a dead end spot in the middle of the town.
The bulldozer could not handled the thick mass of grass
That forms little mountains on that anguished path.
Determination kept the bulldozer rolling along.
It pushed and scraped until it leveled the towering grass
That connects the main road to an asphalted road.
Without warning the bulldozer blade broke off in a circular hole
And the little man came from behind the levers and peeped into
the hole and grumbled that he has strained his back.
All of a sudden two men with machetes appeared
And start copping around several mounds
Close to that very spot potato vine sprouted
With blossom forming an archive in the air
potatoes ready for reaping hangs from
vines that juxtapose with blossoms.
Be quiet!
The machete man exclaimed
Stop chopping!
He peered at vines and leaves above
And discovered that the abandoned path is guarded
By a gigantic wasp nest with thousands of wasps standing guards.
They hang from branches and form clusters
that appear as brown potatato blossom
Laying wait in silence to attack their preys
in the patch of bush that surround the mounds.
But they were exposed and dismantled
just before the break of dawn.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Sleepy eyes awake to crashing sounds on window panes
Creeping animals scramble around bristling forests nesting for a spot
while thousands of mad ants crusade in barren fields storing food in tiny plots
Along the busy high way meandering trees parted wide asphalted roads
and thick wavering clouds peak above shrouded path waiting for it to start.
Countless loaded trucks speed down bending roads honking horns
forewarning oblivious travelers not to take a chance
In the center of town busy shoppers paraded the crowded plaza
Ignoring beckoning dark clouds pressing upon them from pregnant skies.
Laughing children swing high on Ferris wheels
grown men tossed up down expanded roller coasters
screaming out of control
amused with laughter.
Unforeseen the gigantic Ferris wheel halted
And a terrifying sound emerged from beneath
Stealing the happy children’s delightful laughter
thick black clouds overshadows
the sounds get louder and confusion drenches the streets
dust and debris flutter in the atmosphere
A thunderous sound spits venomous vengeance
whipping and lashing
whistling and barking
and maneuvers the busy town
it dances from city to city
Wrenching up a destined path
disseminating people all over the streets
But the terrified children grip tightly
Kept calm and ride out the raging storm
©2013 Christine Phillips
Umbrella of Love.
If you drive along the asphalted narrow road that runs
Parallel with the vine plants, turn left, you will see
A muddy road more like a track now after rain,
From here you have to walk till you see a quiet little
Corner where two stone walls meet; and you will
See- not a great deal- the place I’m going to plant
A carob tree comes spring. The reason for the corner
Is two brothers who couldn’t agree whom it
Belonged to so they left it untended and with time
No one took an interest in weeds and stinging plants.
The tree will be in memory of a girl a met a day of rain
And she shared her pink umbrella with me.
Not a big thing, but I was home from the sea and lost
In the big city, she gave me the shelter I needed.
Behind Mount Sinai
On the asphalted road to a seaside town there is a hole in
the road, a nasty hole a car hitting it could have a bad puncture.
A rocket, albeit a puny one, caused this.
Fired by people who will not take no for an answer they refuse
to acknowledge this grand scale theft of their country.
Well, one has the right to defend oneself, so bombs, rockets fall
on a tiny piece of land no bigger then fly dropping on a map.
When Arab pride and goliath are sated there will be peace but
the underlying causes of this ritual and one-sided bloodshed will
never go away till goliath sees sense he is not David with a sling
fighting the whole world in the odd belief he is both the chosen and
the persecuted people. Jerusalem was promised to the Jews,
but not them alone; the pledge was made by Jewish soothsayers,
who knew when a lie is told often enough it becomes a truth.
My Way
I saw the three tenors sing “I did it my way” mind, the fat one died,
and the two others hate each other and never appear in public if
they can avoid it. Of the two one looks like an aging matinée idol
the other suffers from being mobbed at school and looks scared
has nightmares and takes to tears before going on stage.
I still like Frank Sinatra`s rendition of that song better he sang
it so relaxed with a clear diction and made me think of a man
with six pack ambling on his way home he too is dead to
“My Way” is about human hubris we think we are masters of our
destiny when we are leaves blowing along a wet asphalted road
in the autumnal half-light.
Thinking back- I can afford to- I never got a thing my way which when
young caused me bitterness the highest prize eluded me kismet knew
I could not handle illustriousness it would have made me look absurd
a swaggering fool hated by colleagues, on the stage of life. Yet, when
dancing the tango at a nightclub in Buenos Aires 54 years ago the applause
I received still rings sweetly in my ears.
The long Road
I`m going out for another walk at home the silence
are oppressive most of the villagers have moved away
and some are dead or senile she hates my house,
my home it is too silent, and she wants to move in
to a town and meet people.
I understand her, I partly agree it`s only this, I re-built
this cottage and the best years of my life is here
I found what I had lost my self-confidence I knew they
laughed at me of my dreams I was an eccentric, but
here I healed my broken self.
I walk on an asphalted road it`s easier that way. I don`t
want to go home and be met with truculent silence
I wish to walk and walk till the roads end or split into
a fork and a sign post will tell me what to do
whether I should return or carry walking northward
I have been trying to pen this verse since Friday night
But the words couldn't jump clearly out of my mind
I twist and turn erase and rewrite but my imagination
was stalled for a while and nothing was comprehensible.
You see everything I do comes naturally and my thoughts are organized uniformly
Whenever I write there is always a sensational passion flowing inside
I know what I am inspired to say but the rhythm wasn't going my way
The message was clear but something kept blocking my influential mind.
I rode away from the crowded space into an unknown territory
just to relight my imagination and appease the higher calling because it was mandatory.
I lie on the asphalted side walk and stared at golden sun above me
At last the words start screaming inside me and I shout them out on this page.
I have the road to myself racing up the exuberant street
Jubilant crowd waving and shouting harmoniously as the procession
move vigorously along the clear cut path speeding up joyous hearts.
At last I crossed the gigantic bridge, dismantling age old barricades
crushing the hateful scorn that hasten me from my bed before the break of dawn.
I watched the flamboyant crowd scaling over fortified brick wall
defying every constraints as I parachute through vacant highways.
Colorless traffic lights everything was just right, no cross roads
Just the sound of nature to rekindled my soul and the sound of music
pounding in my ear, multitude of them singing the highest praise.
I can see them waiting for me as I charged vehemently over the calm blue sea
echoing the sound of victory streamlined with a roaring passion inside.
I shattered looming barriers and break the tormenting spirit lingering by my side
The dark clouds suddenly darted away sweeping the shadows and misery of yesterday
I watched him exit through the empty highway sad eyes bilking at the crowd on the other side.
While destiny stands firm on top of the hill stretching out its potent hand
As she walked proudly and seized her long awaited victory.
I have the road to myself.
Sobriety
In the beginning, it is like walking on a narrow track
With olive roots over the ground to trip you up and branches
Of trees slapping you in the face, if you fall get up and
Continue to walk to be tired is not an alternative for a rest
The track gets smoother and wider, but it rains muds up to
Your ankles and you have to cross a stream.
After the ordeal you look back and wonder who helped, you inner
Strength the id it stepped in when most needed
Ahead is a shiny asphalted road waiting just for you.
I can`t promise you happiness and Hallelujahs,
But promise this when at home and the day was long you
Will smile feel contentment for you have walked the walk,
Your feet are dry and life is not as bad as you thought.
They talk so much but do little
Yes that’s it, for that is all they can do
When we used to walk distances on daily routine
It was enough to say things can be made better
Horses, bicycles and carts saved the bare-footed walks
But oh, it takes so much a time and still exhorts our energy on sunny days
Then the cars came with roofs, comfort of the seating, air conditioning, radio and all…
What else do we need?
Look!
The road is too bad for our commuting with the cars,
We need better roads.
The road, when graded to eliminate the pot-holes and straightened;
The road has taken part of my piece of land,
The road makers destroyed part of my property,
The road is too dusty that we get dirty and sick after commuting,
The houses close by are living in a hell of dust.
A well asphalted motor way would have been the best.
This newly constructed asphalt road is killing commuters and pedestrians due to over-speeding
The speed rumps will do us some good.
This speed rumps are so many;
Delays the smooth running, and our waist pains after our journey.
The lantern is too smoky and gives us catarrh and even the kerosene is scarce.
We hate this ‘dum-sor’ with this electricity that has spoilt us.
One can apparently do nothing when the lights are out;
Not even to cook.
There is no ‘light-outs’ now but the electricity bills are becoming unbecoming;
In fact, it is too much so they have to do something about it.
This flooding has become per annual event in our cities,
Can’t we get any of them to turn things around?
They now want to deny us even where we stay,
They have collapsed some nice expensive building just to create a gutter, oh!
Even you are not save as you walk on the streets,
A man was arrested for just throwing a small polythene on the street,
And a woman with a baby at her back who threw pampers into the gutter…
We have no jobs but have schooled all these while.
Youth Employment is here for you,
You expect a graduate to plant vegetables or work for Zoomlion?
Or be a bead-weaver?
The summer Island
On the island in the fjord where we use to go bathing
there is now a bridge over, a parking lot and you have to pay.
There are toilets- no peeing behind a bush- and kiosk selling
soft drinks and cigarettes, asphalted lanes to walk on and
signs, plenty of them, telling you what you cannot do
Last time I was here with my aunt and her lover the island
had bunkers and rusty iron bits from a long bitterly cold war.
A marina had been built and had a restaurant but you needed
to be a member and wear a blazer with golden buttons and
a white sailor cap; they resented local bathers it was no longer
a place for us workers, they strive to make life better but end
up privatising what used to be free
When I was a child
I liked to go on horse rides
It felt grant to sit
On top of this beast so gigantic
And learn to have it follow
Commands, finding control.
There upon Marquis, the horse
That I dearly loved
I could find a bond.
Of each other we were so fond
An invisible give and take
With nature, there was no mistake.
One afternoon I rode
With my uncle upon a road
Freshly asphalted, lacking still a border
Riding too close to it, Marquis faltered
Losing momentarily his balance
Which made me loose my balance.
Instinctively I hung on
To Marquis's neck and didn't fall down
Though my body dropped on his right side.
With my arms still around his neck tight
I pulled myself back in the saddle safe and sound
As I knew I would be on his mount.
Remembering this episode today
Renews my determination to keep faith
While going through great struggles
Hanging on to life, seeing the gifts in its bundle
That help me pull myself back in the saddle
And climb the steps to reach grounds more stable.
By CarolineCécile
Copyright © 08.15.10
The summer Island
On the island in the fjord where we use to go bathing
there is now a bridge over, a parking lot and you have to pay.
There are toilets- no peeing behind a bush- and kiosk selling
soft drinks and cigarettes, asphalted lanes to walk on and
signs, plenty of them, telling you what you cannot do
Last time I was here with my aunt and her lover the island
had bunkers and rusty iron bits from a long bitterly cold war.
A marina had been built and had a restaurant but you needed
to be a member and wear a blazer with golden buttons and
a white sailor cap; they resented local bathers it was no longer
a place for us workers, they strive to make life better but end
up privatising what used to be free