Best Footpaths Poems
“For in your light I dream, as evening takes my hand”
Silently I find my thoughts illumined by your beauty
In soft shimmers of dancing silhouettes
and patterns allowing far away breaths to sigh
Eyes peer into velvet skies,
visions set in motion eternally, find me stranded of this
distance we share, north to south, longing for you
Desperate for but a breeze, a movement of shadow,
a hope of wishes made upon the early arrival
of this crested view
Lonely among the maples, towering soldiers
lined at fielded boundaries, claiming wisdom
as they too reach for your smile
“And I yearn the knowledge of your distant view”
Do you think, do you feel, do you dream of me
from balconies high above hibiscus footpaths,
candle lit in passing moments which flicker, enchant
Drinking from a porcelain cup caressed by your hand,
a touch my body pleads, soft fingers on smooth surroundings,
ripples following moonlight sonatas,
days of spring blooms and whimsical showers,
flooding affections to wash over me,
carry me to you
This moon, suspended in charcoal heavens
upon a beaded blanket of perfect pearls,
beckons our dreams in simultaneous fashion
“Does your heart share this moon tonight, with me”
Written for the Long Distance Love - Poetry Contest
Categories:
footpaths, longing, love,
Form:
Free verse
I meander through verdant valley
where meadows collide in windswept jade,
hillsides bathe in summer sunshine
and oceans of clouds, commit to shade.
Moorland sheep laze in woolly clusters
creating footpaths upon the hill,
busy hedgerow a rural city
scar of an era, is town head mill.
Vibrant coppice alive with creatures
leafy towers caress morning mist,
sunlight shines on distant window
across the valley, a sapphire twist.
Crag and beacon rise majestic
standing stone a monument to thrall,
sculptured by marauding seasons
an ancient culture’s, rocky stall.
Yet to chance upon misty patterns
softly sketched upon the hill,
I will savour these happy moments
awakening to, a distant trill.
Wharfedale, Yorkshire England
© Harry J Horsman 2001
Categories:
footpaths, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
From now on, I'll focus eyes above the trees
when years have yet to be designed
with unknown lands, the eyes can't see.
I can't forget what's left behind,
or the weight of tears that buckled knees,
but will look ahead, and set them free
Scars left upon the heart grew deep
and I felt the thorns that taunted me
But, I'll release the ghosts and set them free
to make my peace with destiny.
Some tears have washed away the times,
of steeper footpaths that I have climbed.
I will persevere, again, regain
a willingness to change the rhyme
Next year has yet to be designed
where eyes can see, where promise lies
We can't forget what's left behind,
but to all those things, let's say goodbye...
and spread new wings to fly
________________________________________________________
Categories:
footpaths, future, hope,
Form:
Quintain (English)
Into Eternity’s Arms
I dream of Heaven . . .
A deep dream beyond—no fear!
A happiness abounds, yes!
Hold me now tightly,
And give me your love always.
My soul has now come home Lord!
I see your kind face—
The Angels brought me to you.
Your presence is most divine!
I see Heaven’s light,
Radiant and inviting.
My soul is so happy Lord!
Love and peace so pure,
Harmony abounds always.
Ethereal bliss sublime!
I wait for my love . . .
My Earth soulmate comes one day.
A heavenly bond to prize!
With her one day here—
Our love will be blessed on high,
As we walk Heaven’s footpaths—
Into eternity’s arms!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(May 5, 2015)(Choka)
*Original Release Date in my new book: February 14, 2015.
Categories:
footpaths, allegory, emotions, feelings, happiness,
Form:
Choka
In the heart of the Loire valley
Where the river wends its way
A young dreamer lured by nature
Free of care played music gay
As he wandered along footpaths
Playing lightly on his flute
By the vineyards in abundance
And the orchards full of fruit.
It was there that he encountered
A fair maiden and her art
She was painting on her canvas;
With a smile she stole his heart.
From then on they met in secret
Near the rolling hills in green
Where the flowers looked in wonder.
They were happy and serene.
They made love and plans together
Spoke of dreams they meant to share
Looked at life through coloured lenses
And built castles in the air.
Then one night a storm erupted
Unexpected in mid May,
Raging waters in a frenzy
Came and took her life away.
All his dreams were quickly shattered
And the castle tumbled down
For his Queen of Hearts had left him
Broken king without a crown.
In the ruins of the castle
He was left to sit and grieve
And his friends who came to visit
All were kindly asked to leave.
Days and nights passed undetected
As he dreamed of raven hair
On his lips he felt her kisses
Woke to find she was not there.
Then one day, he rose with vigour
Once again he built the dream
Made a castle even finer
Standing stately by their stream.
And the people came to marvel
At the wonder of this sight
For there in the very centre
Was her statue gleaming bright.
Now the castle so resplendent
Stands a testament to love
Which will never wane or wither
Conquers death and soars above.
-------------------------------------
26th August, 2015
Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian
Contest: Partner Up
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Categories:
footpaths, loss, love, memory,
Form:
Quatrain
Surrendering frost
Frees spring from the ice
Daybreak sees what shadows lost
Flower-colored footpaths
Crystal thawing birdbaths
Winter's sacrifice
3/30/18
Categories:
footpaths, nature, seasons, spring, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
This responds to “Operation Raise the Colours,” where some have painted the St. George’s Cross across streets, roundabouts, and takeaway shops. Claimed as patriotism, these acts are vandalism and an attempt to erase community spaces and stirring division.
Red bleeds across zebra lines,
slick on high street asphalt,
smearing over takeaway shutters,
stretched across roundabouts, stubborn as lead.
Rollers scrape and flake,
pigment cheap, sunlight shakes it loose,
drips into puddles,
history seeping through plaster,
like damp under primer that never hides the past.
The streets run red and white,
paint claimed by hands insistent on marking stone, brick, asphalt—
silence made loud in streaks and drips.
Roundabouts stand proud under fresh layers.
Slash Dulux over despair—
coverage meant to hide, but failing.
Paint bleeds over more than tarmac—
onto takeaway windowpanes, footpaths, shop signs—
a mural of identity, impulse, defiance.
Undercoat logic tries to cover the past,
but no sealant ever lasts.
Brushstroke patriots,
emotion disciples,
armed with rollers like substitute rifles.
The painting’s wrap is hollow,
decorating decline as if it were fate.
Every slogan,
a stencil sprayed on the breeze.
Pigment flakes with ease,
truth showing through the layers.
Heritage red becomes eviction scarlet,
brilliant white papered over target.
Crowns drip Crown paint onto stone,
monarchs in tester pots,
empires reduced to monochrome.
Borders cut by shaky hands,
masking tape straining against the straight line of intention.
Private bleeding edges,
lines never straight.
Revolutions run off into puddles of hate,
mirroring the sky distorted,
clouds stretched, colors torn thin.
Tins are stirred, paint slapped on the ground.
Every revolution circles round,
because property cannot be glossed,
despair cannot be mapped.
Whitewashed roundabouts cannot hide the cracks.
Paint peels, drips, bleeds into puddles,
but the fissures of history remain—
veins in stone, stories in asphalt,
layers no roller can erase.
Crowns, crosses, streaks of red and white
twirl and fall like the last dance
over streets that remember,
over walls that refuse to forget.
The cracks take the floor,
silent but insistent,
and they will not be painted over.
Categories:
footpaths, word play, writing,
Form:
Free verse
******This poem had special appeal to me in that a friend had brought up that I had a talent for poetry and he encouraged me to write more. I was very proud of this piece, which was written at one of my 'hideaways' where I find inspiration; nature poetry or what some call 'nature erotica'. This poem was anthologized, which makes me feel rather fortunate, since a publisher requested it among many other poets and great poems. I think I finally 'saw' what my friend had after it was officially published*****
Amid the sylvan shade,
the footpaths teem with wooded laugh,
the sylph she giggles atop aerie slumber,
tickled in soft-slender breeze;
the nectar dews,
meady-moss and carpet-leaves,
juniper and berry-sweet breath
She sings amid the sylvan shade
nothing to do but sigh and dream
her wanton-wistful way
The glade whispers wishes (weening)
tempered hush,
echoed odes of faerie-tongue forgotten rhyme,
But for the meadow and vale,
aerie eagle cries,
none has come but I;
to sit and ponder, and listen -----
homage,
amid the sylvan shade
Categories:
footpaths, mythology, nature, peace,
Form:
Classicism
Well it’s not a laughing matter but I’m grinning once again,
‘cause out of nine of us at work, five have felt the pain,
of suffering as a ‘bloody idiot,’ after having a few beers,
and trying to do the wrong thing, which ended up in tears.
Before I tell you what one done; although I think you know,
If you want to drink and drive then there’s a chance you’ll blow
into a tube of crystals, that changes colour if your breath
contains a hint of alcohol; and that is certain ‘driving death.’
Now young Winston from the office is looking very glum,
for he tried to shun a breath test that as a rule of thumb,
is the silliest of options, so when he turned into a side street,
two coppers waited patiently and who Winston got to meet.
I lectured Winston on his silliness but young blokes never learn,
‘cause four blokes here before him have already had their turn,
at using ‘shanks’ pony’ transport to convey themselves to work,
and now they watch from footpaths where coppers tend to lurk.
But not me, I’m too smart for that; I told these bloody fools,
I would never drink and drive my car, or try and break the rules
by dodging breath test stations; and Winston dropped his head,
‘cause he didn’t heed my message but defied what I had said.
And I proved this at a Christmas party that we held last year,
when whisky started flowing and chased with full strength beer.
I was way above the limit but my car stayed off the road;
instead I took a bus home and I was still in drinking mode.
And sure as heck at Christmas time, a breath test station’s up ahead,
but coppers waved the bus through, what car drivers surely dread,
and I arrived home safely which surprised me quite a bit,
for I’d not drove a bus before and don’t know where I got it!
Categories:
footpaths, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
IN PRAISE OF FOOTPATHS
Across the land a web of footpaths weave
The veins that nourished nation’s interaction
Cross chalk down ridge, and sylvan lane, conceived
By feet of ancient Britons, Celt and Saxon
A mirror web of thought now spreads world wide
Where words not footsteps trace a myriad tracks
Each traversed packet bears the key: decides
It’s destination; choice already packed
No need, in flesh, to bear our information
Impart it face to face in person meeting
While Porlock caller mayn’t break a poet’s gestation
Nor may they both perceive delight in greeting
When we go old ways we choose the place we’re heading
We might also choose the path on which we are treading
AND OF HISTORY
Just as our paths through space trace footsteps past
So tracks through time tell stories of our history
Each step then taught a lesson that might cast
A foresight to illumine future’s mystery
There are those who say the past is another land
Which can tell us naught to guide us through these days
That all lives we lived before be laid ‘neath time’s sands
We should now tear down the casts the past portrays
Revolutions come and go, revered or morned
Often countless lives were torn in violent spasm
Seen in ruined buildings, streets with blood adorned
And through it all, nihilistic iconoclasm
So let us preserve our past to learn and measure
Those tattered maps may lead to future treasure
Categories:
footpaths, history,
Form:
Sonnet
Arising, splits the purple nuclear sky,
Rends the dark valleys with light,
Spills along footpaths and alleys,
The glory of morning, ending of night.
In sanction, closing of the chaos,
Soothes the hot valves with dragon-heart balm,
Beams with serenity and salves,
In silvery moonlight, infinite calm.
Above, my ascendant sun and moon,
Arc-light searing and platinum white,
Adoration eternal and endearing,
My wondrous morning, my glorious sight.
The land of my fathers lays waiting,
Dispelling the lonely, the welcoming fields,
Whether industry savaged or verdant,
The hillsides of poets, their treasure she yields.
Categories:
footpaths, history, inspirational, life, social,
Form:
Verse
A cold wind.
Whatever was here has fled inside
or has curled up in a corner somewhere
out of sight and gone to sleep.
Footpaths are tiled in the wet,
skeletal remains of leaves
and tree trunks have begun to wear
their gray winter coat of lichen.
There is an honesty in the landscape,
the scaffolding that holds form
together is no longer concealed
by a camouflage of color, the eye
is confronted by what lies beneath.
Cover withers away to bare ground,
the earth takes breath, bathes
in the chilly glow of a winter sun.
I also come to this place,
to this stark season of truth
and see myself stripped back
to the bones and sinews of me.
The wind blows through the same
vacant spaces, unpicks the pretense
to let a cold light shine through.
I don't like what I see.
Categories:
footpaths, seasons, self, truth, winter,
Form:
Free verse
with dusk approaching
the radiance of the day
melts in the rain
streetlights smear
the autumn colours
across the footpaths
doubling the display
of chromatic foliage
autumn gloats
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
Categories:
footpaths, autumn, beautiful, color, light,
Form:
Free verse
A time ago I walked the long road
Lost any memories of stories told
Fog so thick I could not be found
Landmarks foreignly placed around
A cold wind carried an empty song
Resonating like some echoing gong
Raining can carry everything away
Submerging footpaths of yesterday
Categories:
footpaths, introspection, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Fern and bluebell thrive
Dense trees forging green shelter
Footpaths meander.
Mystery at every turn
Gnarled roots display nature's art.
Forest canopy
Dappled sunlight and shadow
Rustling undergrowth
Spring is stirring steadily
Epiphany of nature.
Categories:
footpaths, inspirational, nature, spring,
Form:
Tanka