Best Cobblestoned Poems

A wildflower grows on the cobblestoned streets of this dingy town,
Among the dirt and debris left behind by the seasons.
A misplaced beauty working her way up among the cracks between
the rocks of this place she calls home.


About her, the hustle and bustle of life worms...

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At the flower market
I found spice, holy water,
cobblestoned obsidian dreams,
but no flowers.

The blustery Tuscany day
showed me its underlying graffiti,
incantations of poetica esoterica, 
and yet another way 
to excavate the mystery.

Nostalgic Roman nights, 
Spanish palabras, Sicilian incantations,
idyllic panoramas; promises 
enough to purchase the moon.

Such a foolish...

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How far from nature and life it is
the gray clouds, airplanes in them
the night cooing and pigeons roosting
Sirma's garden gone to roses and seed

                        That airplane overhead!
                        pointing the way
                        pointing to war

War being an aggravated condition of what
we already know

                        Flowering beneath the noise
                        of yet another jet passing...

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A littered path of dreams that lay broken.
Humbled desires strewn over this road.
These are the sorrows that need to be spoken.
This is the bearing of love's grievous load.

Eating your sweet lies just like they were candy;
nourishing me to the depths of my heart.
Purely believed you...

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The dam broke in Quebec.
My thoughts,
my words, 
and my pen
all moved.
Moved like the thin layer 
of brackish water
over the icy depths
of le Fleave St. Laurent.
Moved like the evening breeze
over the cobblestoned streets
past the lighted shops’ doors.
Moved like the flags flying 
over le Chateau Frontenac
as the...

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Trickling water streams,
Flowing waves of soothing peace;
Cobblestoned bottom....

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There's a castle in Duluth
Made out of sugar cubes

And the moat that flows out front
Is filled with soda pop

Fruit that grows on trees 
Is the finest in jelly beans

In the nearby spring fed lake
People swim in grape Kool-Aid

The streets where those people live
Are cobblestoned with...

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THE RUIN 
an Old English poem about fate & destiny
modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

well-hewn was this wall-stone, till Wyrdes wrecked it
and the Colossus sagged inward...

broad battlements broken;
the Builders' work battered;

the high ramparts toppled;
tall towers collapsed;

the great roof-beams shattered;
gates groaning, agape...

mortar mottled and marred...

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Gray mist mingles with tears sired in grief
My cold skin streaked by the hushed warmth of sorrow
Broken morning wooing my pain
Withered leaves once the color of emeralds
Prance over the cobblestoned path
Like tiny dancers tapping toes and heels to Nature’s unheard symphony
Naked trees line the path...

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Take me back in time
Open my timeless capsule
of your soul

Walk down my cobblestoned
path decorated with all the memories
that made our hearts warm

Once again the starlights will enhance
our Foolish Hearts

Like Cinderella all will end 
at the strike

But, OH what meloodramatic souls we have...........

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The day of reckoning 

A bird with an enormous wingspan darkened the sky
it was a night of horror in the Middle East.
A new country born in sin and filched land arose
blood ran in ancient, narrow cobblestoned roads.
The people fled over a broken bridge, now live...

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A petite yet sinewy muscle, exuding charisma,
A citadel of expression, tenacious in awe.

Its tentacles sting with a vindictive jest,
While cavernous blooms cradle the nectar’s quest.

Cobblestoned emotions jade my mental slate,
As chronicles surface, vivid and up to date.

A fragile form, each breath a whispered plea,
Cracked like...

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They wend their way through Sunshine City
Cobblestoned, sloped, and Old World pretty;
And lined with colorful, homes in glad unity,
Streets linked heart to heart, in deep affinity.

Up one crooked path, and down to the river,
As rosy birds sing in green trees that quiver;
And soon arises pearl...

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It is cold tonight, the winds fingers have 
ice on their tips. They run down your cheek
and arrest the colour, leaving them pale, 
pale as the stark moon that sulks the sky.
I walk with the sound of quick breathing
and pattering paws on a cobblestoned road,
dark...

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It started with a blank canvas when I was twelve.
I started seeing this vision and I knew it was not a dream
for I always saw the vision when I was awake and about.
It started blank, all white, just like a blank canvas. 

Soon there were...

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