Best Dirt Poems
A dirt road leads into a forest
This road is winding and narrow
into the woods
As the car travels it comes to a fork
Now a decision must be made to-
turn left or right
After awhile a shape comes into view
The first thing seen is an out house
A few feet away a railway car on a-
grassy patch -A strange site to see
The driver came to to visit his eccentric
friends.
They live in the forest all year round
Deep in the woods away from the main road
It is not a campsite -it is their home
Living out here in solitude all alone
The driver wonders how could they
live this way
He will never know the reason
Dirt Roads
Hello ole friend, I’ve visited you before.
What can you tell me, what news is in store?
You read like a book, imprinted and deep.
I know there are secrets, you like to keep.
Let’s see what’s gone by, and traveled your way.
Unusual footprints or tracks I might say!
Looks like ole Fred’s been here with his truck,
And after the rain, looks like he got stuck.
Small stroller wheels and a couple small feet
Pulling a wagon, that kid is so sweet.
I see some new rocks jumped up from down under
And oops there’s that pothole, new rattles asunder.
You carry the brunt of Nature’s worst weather.
I see where the flood washed out Sara’s heather.
Now here aways, fences embrace
Where wildflowers blooming, no curb to efface.
And now through the hollow, the trees all adorn
Like trumpets announcing this majestic morn.
The deer and her fawn, new prints in the snow
Your cold shoulder is icy, in minus below.
And yet dear old friend, my thoughts turn to you.
You haven’t changed much, you’re one of a few.
No concrete, no asphalt, no white lines or yellow.
No signs and no limits, you’re a polite kind of fellow.
The stories you’ve seen as each day may pass
The history made, the silence of past
Are imprinted here, upon your great crest
More than my years, you’ve stood the test.
Horses and wheels, motors and tires,
Footprints and hopscotch, puddles and miers.
You’ve seen it all from beginning of time
And still your pure beauty so easy I find.
And now I arrived the place I call home
You’ve guarded me safely when I’m all alone.
I wonder how often anyone cares
How great has your day been, traveling there?
I watched them go to work each morning
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
The self respect that came from earning
The self reliance and the sense of community
I never knew the need to knock on a door
My dad’s keys were in the ignition of the old Ford
Kids playing baseball with taped up baseballs
Carpenter’s nail holding the bat together
And eight gloves between seventeen kids
Catcher didn’t need one
Wednesday afternoons the miners filled the bars
Sunday mornings they filled the churches
I watched them coming home each late afternoon
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
Blackened faces smiling
Another rugged hard day in, walking proud
Wrestle with the kids, family time
The important things
I watched them converging on a home
A kid growing up in the coal regions
Remembering the dirt and the pride
Mining accident, covered dishes, neighbors
One town, one neighborhood, one family
A feeling of belonging, community, our town
Clothes lines, party lines, coal mines
The dirt and the pride. TAMAQUA.
My feet drowned water
My fingers ate dirt
My mouth failed filth
My heart beat yours
While trying to kick habits
You silenced my life
Suffocated spring rain
Melted snow white pleasure
Innocence excluded
My eyes burned charcoal
My toes grew deep roots
My waist encircled
Your hate with metal
Today your cold bed
Will wither and wilt away
The story I needed to tell you
I take with me without regret
Our story ends here.
Mine now begins.
***
April 8, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
When I was a young lad in the prime of life
Never thought I'd still be around
When my driver's license said, “older than dirt!”
And my mind was no longer sound
But I can get away with a bunch of neat stuff
Rack it up to “he's left the planet!”
“His mental capacity equals that of a wee child”
Gonna take full advantage, run the gamut
Need to pee and dribble now and then
Talk in riddles and scratch my bum
Wipe my boogies on my Sunday clothes
And belch when company comes
Know all the tricks as I giggle to myself
It's a downright lead pipe cinch
Con them till they put me in a old pine box
Mumbling about my belly button lint
Cassidy was a curious dog;
One day he walked into a bog,
Coming out, he looked about,
He couldn't see and began to pout;
Because he’s a sludge caked dog!
My Empire of Ashes
Who am I without my dark throne?
I am the King of this crumbling castle, alone.
The ruler of this empire of ashes.
A child with an empty box of matches.
A King with a madness profound,
Everything that I have loved, I’ve burnt to the ground.
You have to fly
to keep your wings,
You have to look
to see better things;
You must have faith
otherwise, you'll fall,
and before you can run
you first, must crawl;
How can you have hope
if you don't believe?
If you don't even try
You'll never achieve;
If you wan't to know
you'll just have to learn,
You can not touch fire
and expect no burn;
You must wake up
before you can dream,
and it can look like gold
but that thing won't gleam;
You have to be honest
if you want the truth,
to see into the future
Take a look at the Youth;
If you want it to be Love
it must touch the Heart,
Love never has to end
if you know where to start;
Don't ever feel alone
We all get hurt,
Every beautiful flower
Must Rise up from the Dirt.
Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt,
(Tribute to Philip Freneau and his poem,
The Dying Indian)
Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt
I welcome you- sweet dawn, soft break of day
As your vibrant voice sounds, seeming to say
Lad, I bid you relief from dark and gray
Feel my coming golden rays and rejoice
So precious life's gift, giving love free voice
Embrace your honor, honor that wise choice-
You are of braver heart, red is your blood
You are red-man, Native pride your soul floods
You hunt ancestral lands, wade tidal muds,
There amidst tall trees, beauty of the glades
You young lad are of pure Native blood made
Spirit must stay strong, as your time soon fades
In dreams, you sail to paradise isles
You race through countryside for miles and miles
Live, soon your tribes will become sad exiles-
As you dare the great beast to your soul fight
Search mysteries that hide truth out of sight
Know that same hungry beast, will your race smite!
Alas! Fate's wicked hands, its evil sends.
Stopping mercy, from which Heaven descends.
I beg mother earth, this carnage avert
Heal dark souls of men, stop such coming hurts
Are we not brothers, made from the same dirt
Do we all not cry, the same red blood bleed
Are we all not sprung from weak mortal seeds
In pain, do we not, to same Father plead-
Will violence and death, your greed absolve
Can we seek to, our differences resolve
Must destruction serve as means to evolve,
Is what will be gained, a treasure to you
Shall we learn to love, same sky's glowing blues
Share life's sweet gems, paying brotherly dues
Walk lit paths, love flowering meadows too-
Live serving peace and discover anew
Enjoy a rainbow's hope, its many hues?
Alas! Fate's wicked hands, its evil sends.
Stopping mercy, from which Heaven descends.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-07-2020
Rhyme, ( Written for new blog-- a blog not posted yet )
L ola watched
I rma’s drunken
V eronica impression.
E velyn said,
L ouise knows
A ndrea was
U ma’s half-sister.
G ladys was
H azel’s love-child.
L isa raised
O ma’s kids.
V irginia smootched
E unice’s husband.
* For the Live, Laugh, Love Acrostic contest.
At times
you've gotta shed that burlap rabbit
bang the beat of a neon lynx
inhale some twilight grime and grit
uncork that sticky- cologne soul
embrace all the cuts and nicks...
Be bold as dirty gold
a shark painting shadows on the shoal
slashing life to the bone,,,
Sling a pair of homemade dice
against the black lips of midnight.
smoke some cherry wood thighs
with that magic wand of desire
play dominoes with rusted hearts
grease the soul with halo rind
toss the sprig of caution to the stream....
sometimes you've gotta take a dirt bath
to come clean.
Clean your only life
Tidy your glorious soul
Be with cleanliness
Brush your dirty hair firmly
Sweep out all the dirt away
Russell Sivey
Dirty worms squirming
Excavating with instinct
Wiggle brown wormy ~
Shoveling thick dirt
Accidently cut a worm
It wiggles in pain
The man who you were born to trust
shouldn’t be the monster to then in turn bust
your bubble of hope for a fun, happy life
and become the nightmare of your every night.
She was trapped inside an abusive cage,
at the mercy of her father’s rage,
who continuously inflicted a shower of pain
while she cried her tears and sobbed in vain.
The suicide note on his nightstand
was written in the script of a young girl’s hand,
bedside the empty bottle of sleeping pills
that rendered freedom to his little girl.
The authorities looked the other way
knowing he received the dues for which he paid;
no one was willing to help her before -
they simply rolled him outside of the door.
She attended his funeral in a long, black dress;
disguising the relief, she did her best;
although her conscious bore a hefty scar,
she justified her reasons for what they are.
But, not until that first shovel of dirt
did she begin to release the unbearable hurt;
the abuse that this man constantly gave
was now buried forever with him in the grave.
She is now an advocate for abused youths;
empathizing with the secrets behind their truths;
hoping to help them get released from the hurt,
long before their abuser’s first shovel of dirt.
When I was a young lad in the prime of life
Never thought I'd still be around
When my driver's license said, “older than dirt!”
And my mind was no longer sound
But I can get away with a bunch of neat stuff
Rack it up to “he's left the planet!”
“His mental capacity equals that of a wee kid”
Gonna take full advantage, run the gamut
Just need to pee myself and dribble now and then
Talk in riddles and scratch my bum
Wipe my boogies on my Sunday best clothes
And belch when company comes
Know all the neat tricks as I giggle to myself
It's a downright lead pipe cinch
Con them till they put me in a old pine box
Mumbling about my belly button lint
© Jack Ellison 2014