Best Graveled Poems
(The Merry Adventures of Robin Good)
Sherwood's Forest legendary, leading man
up, down, tricking eggs between branches
slender, slander, his voice is growing thinner
twisting, turning heads 50 shades of green
Master of disguise reaching for the top archers spot,
A bard, with uncanny precision, ROBIN nonstop
Splitting his opponent LIKE A BOSS!
Aiming arrows, where broken women sit
Creating fantasies, for his band of hypocrites
A serenade, of jealousy and mayhem
A poetic outlaw, generously taking what others earn
Wearing black tights, the hottest profile, sipping wine
A lust beyond Dorthy's Rainbow, a venomous poem
Somewhere, covered in leprechaun's gold
His chest is cold
- Yet warm from all the hands caressing this bard,
He is the best, gravity has no weight on his pen,
A soundless soldier having his way with his sword,
Executing those who challenge him,
Breathing life into many empty accounts
Giving voices and self-encouragement
With no time to drop down this bard from cloud nine
A dissipation of air fresheners and hello's
Painting pain just to pretend it hurts the person
A fragile voice whispering in the shadows
Slithering Secrets;
From this hooded bard who carries no face,
A mask of lies, taking what belongs to others.
Robin of honor, graveled by his peasants
MISUNDERSTOOD in every fashion, yet he preys
Pipping dreams away, down an infested rat's path
Shoving Little Johns hopes down the list
Robin is no common criminal, just a bard
Wearing a dark cloak, when in disguise
taking from the greedy --- giving to the needy
Thank you for enjoying my story
Robin Good and his network of Merry Men
2-3-16
Categories:
graveled, abuse, character, community, corruption,
Form:
Alliteration
Love is the bind between the sighs and cries
A choice made to hold onto what matters
The strength to move within the lows and highs
And hold the fragile heart when it shatters
To fit oneself into a world of two
Release the light to splay upon the dark
And show the traveled path when love is new
To fill the colored world with rainbow's arc
Find a hand of comfort that one can hold
And move from youth to the days of gray
Live a peaceful life as the years turn old
To walk the graveled roads and always stay
If love can be of this, then we will know
The love we shared will leave an afterglow
Categories:
graveled, love,
Form:
Sonnet
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a gulp of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Emotions racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
Categories:
graveled, computer, conflict, dark, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
As I walk through the graveled paths
When the stinging stones speak to me
Of the pain thrust on trampling feet
I see you in the unlit alleys of my memory
As the wind blows from a covert hide out
Twisting and shaking the branches of trees
Causing them to break and fly off the trunk
I see you in the torn pages of my life’s tome
As I listen to the song of lone birds
And their doleful notes fall in my ears
I am jolted out of my bohemian ways
And feel a plaintive tone floating to me
Wandering along the sprawling beach
As I hear the roar of waves
And when a humdrum of voices fills me
I hear your voice distinct like the beat of my heart
Like the pain at a needle point that shall always be
Like an intruder, nudging to steal the inner space
Like the small tremors after a fateful seismic quake
I now know that in me you stay like sleeping fury
Even when I walked away from you
You stubbornly stuck to me
Like a leech tenaciously clinging to the skin
Oh! How hard I struggle to get you off!
Sept.13.2022
~Placed First~
Re submitted for- Your Second Chance 2nd Submission
Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Categories:
graveled, angst, conflict, love hurts,
Form:
Free verse
Love is the bind between sighs and cries
And can release warm light upon the dark
Has the strength to move within lows and highs
And shine on troubled hearts with rainbow's arc
Love is a realm with dreams of tomorrow
Will build a world within a world yet known
Can heal an injured soul of its sorrow
And will inlay in a heart a truth to own
Love can keep the long years through days of gray
And is a universe which never grows small
Will walk the graveled roads and always stay
And has deepest feelings at beckoned call
The sounds from love's strong heartbeat can enslave
To be the music heard until the grave
3/2/19 contest What is Love
Categories:
graveled, love,
Form:
Sonnet
When the mind's disease is hate
it flows through the veins unchecked
I'm just a voice of reason in the midst of darkness
striking a match
a light for minds seeking refuge from a storm
and lift a crying child above hate's swollen river
that may sweep us away
People are angry, their Earth shakes
lighting flashes, children cry, crowds move as rivers
their mummers becoming louder
confusion fills their mind, fear fills their lungs
they are tossed between rage and reason
Demons rise to shackle their fragile souls
to a long history of claiming purity
frightened hearts beat louder
echoing through the valley of self-righteousness
as they march in step with unfurled flags
demanding all follow their worn graveled path
of self-illusion
the scythe they wield sweeps through the marrow
of anyone who questions
why they confiscate freedom in freedoms name
Who dare stands to lift the crying child
from the grasp of the angry crowd
giving hope, where there is madness
as the young stalk of democracy burns brown
withering away from a drought of common sense
urged on by those seeking power
using lies to move the mob, like pawns
because they see the world changing around them
and wear the heavy coat of brutality from their own history
fearful of their own sins of reservations and hangings
this is the same demon led crowd that yelled '' Give us Barabbas ''
8/21/21
Categories:
graveled, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
It takes planning, a graveled path, herb sets
to create a heavenly perfume
some time around bloom time
excess pruned down by a third and hung.
We see a bit of the hanging God then
in the silky down of lavender, thyme
offer homage of pressed violets,
golden suns of marigold as tune of awe.
The mincing of the mints is heavenly
as candy, sharp peppermint, mellow lemon balm,
the bedding down of chamomile, poppy maw,
the spiral sweets and gingered leaves of geranium
shavings of orris root, too many iris anyway
so free them all and set the scent create a smelly sum.
Add carnation stars, sticky sweet hollows of fennel
to tell the men, here is where the women live
won’t you remember your marjoram, your rosemary
with the pots on to boil, or laying head on crisp sheets and sigh.
It all takes planning, to decorate, alleviate, scent
create the corners of a life. Let’s go set the herbs.
Then breathe in the heavenly scent of potpourri lent
as offering, homage to all the plenty wonder of our lives.
Categories:
graveled, beautiful, beauty, candy, celebration,
Form:
Couplet
An auto rickshaw, a carriage
Like a tortoise
Returns
Along my obsolete graveled
Road.
The auto rickshaw rolls on:
My bucolic
Rocks
Mirth of a birth,
Rapturously.
The auto rickshaw passes by a
Nuptial hall :a
Bride
Stands in the splendor
Borrowed.
The auto rickshaw pauses before a
Rural maze :
My
Career knocks get
Mocked.
The auto rickshaw, the three
Wheeled, creeps through the
Nostalgia
Scenting textbooks
New.
The auto rickshaw halts now
On a lap,
For
The road is lost in
Fog.
Categories:
graveled, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Oft' I've traveled on interstate highways to reach my final destination,
With white knuckles grasping the steering wheel in great trepidation!
I whiz along at seventy-five and for my safety offer a fervent prayer.
'Tis akin to driving the Indy 500 speeding like a bat out of you know where!
I prefer to whiz along at 25 miles per hour on a quaint country road,
Enjoying scenery sans billboards and such in a more relaxing mode!
I can stop by an eatery for good ol' country grub run by Mom and Pop,
And browse among other peoples trash at my leisure in an antique shop!
I stop by to fill up on gas and happily discover something rather rare;
The man fills the tank, cleans the windshield and checks my tires for air!
Fields of amber grain gently wave at me depicting a scene so bucolic,
And a herd of deer in a yonder copse contentedly graze and frolic!
A farmer waves to me as he tends his field of melons and cantaloupe,
And I'm thrilled to see across the way a magnificent herd of antelope!
I enjoy the witty verse of poets on Burma Shave Signs along the way,
And faded Mail Pouch Tobacco signs on barns filled with scented hay!
At the whim of each vagabond breeze, old windmills turn and creak.
Timbers rumble as I cross a wooden bridge above a rippling creek.
Although my automobile gathers dust along a road that is graveled,
How I relish traveling along quaint country roads that are less traveled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
graveled, nostalgia, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
I found myself
Wandering across
A dreamscape
That was not my own;
And wondering
About the many
Dreamscapes of
The wanderers,
Suddenly seeing
That I was wandering
The dreamscape of
The wonderers of
The wanderers
That still wonder;—
A dreamscape
All my own and
Still not mine.
I found myself
Moseying with
The meanderers;
Found we were
Bound by an
Identical path,
One of us being
Leisurely, the
Other clueless.
Me, moseying,
Smelled the rose
Of the meanderer,
Who, meandering,
Saw me moseying
And assumed
I simply walked
Slowly; he also
Failed to see
That he held
A flower in his
Unmindful hand.
I found myself
Sleepwalking
Amongst the
Somnambulists,
Questioning their
Dreamscapes,
Why wandering
Them apparently
Was pleasing.
And they cursed
Me, declaring,
"What can a
"Sleepwalker
"Know about
"Somnambulism?"
So I found myself
Sleepwalking
Amongst the
Somnambulists,
The somnambulists
somnambulating
Over us
Sleepwalkers'
Heads, demanding
We succumb
To the greater
Mindful power.
I found myself
Graveled by
The grovelers—
Irritated by
The peasants.
The grovelers,
They grovel for
Me not to be
Graveled at
Their mistakes.
Yet the mistake
Is the groveling
At the graveled;
And how graveled
At the grovelers
I am. It is a circular
Conversation—
The grovelers
Shall die in
The dungeons
Of the graveled,
Trapped in
Perpetuation.
Categories:
graveled, humor, words,
Form:
Alliteration
in the din of the night
in the fast fading light
men will sleep the sleep of the dead
with a graveled grave as their bed
sightless eyes sewn tight
in the din of the night
and no one will grieve
even those who believe
in the soul's final fall
which takes one and all
no matter the strength of the fight
in the din of the night
let no man assume,
in the gray empty gloom,
pale angels will sing
joyous tidings they bring
to the absence of sight
in the din of the night
as the dust of the earth blows wild in the wind
the silence of death in darkness has grinned
while the sun's golden rays
have numbered the days
of men who lie contrite
in the din of the night
philosophers fiddle and shout
what piety will bring about
but the dead cannot hear
the philosopher's fear
his words but a withering blight
in the din of the night
in the din of the night
in the fast fading light
in tattered torn shrouds
below the sparse crowds
man searches for light
in the din of the night
Categories:
graveled, death,
Form:
Rhyme
When the mind's disease is hate,
it flows through veins unchecked.
I'm just a voice in the midst of darkness, striking a match.
A light for minds seeking refuge from storms,
to lift a crying child above the swollen stream,
that may sweep us away.
People are angry, the Earth shakes, lightning flashes,
a child cries, crowds move as rivers,
their murmuring sounds become louder.
Confusion fills cups they carry, fear fills lung's every breath,
between rage and reason.
Demons rise to shackle the fragile soul,
bringing evil from those claiming purity.
Frightened hearts beat louder at the source,
bubbling from wells of self-righteousness,
marching in step with flags unfurled,
demanding all follow their graveled path.
A scythe they wield sweeps, cutting the marrow of all who question.
The multitude moves swiftly, confiscating freedom in freedom's name.
Who dare stands, to lift the crying child from the crowd's grasp?
Giving hope, from madness. as the stalk of democracy burns brown,
withering from a drought of common sense.
While a mob demands to rule.
Categories:
graveled, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I’ll take the back road; it is lovely and less traveled;
the briers run high against naked tree bark.
Around the bend the road is graveled-
with a canopy of foliage making pathway dark.
The briers run high against naked tree bark;
keeping all wild predators - hidden dangers at bay.
With a canopy of foliage making pathway dark;
I continually hope I am not mistaken for prey.
Keeping all wild predators - hidden dangers at bay;
if an abiding effort is on daily bases.
I continually hope I am not mistaken for prey,
as long as I do not travel in all the wrong places.
If an abiding effort is on daily bases;
around the bend the road is graveled.
As long as I do not travel in all the wrong places;
I’ll take the back road; it is lovely and less traveled.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Sixth Place Winner ~ "Back to Back” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Paula Swanson
April 4, 2011
Categories:
graveled, on writing and wordstree,
Form:
Pantoum
Small Summer Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake
by Barbara C. Agarwal
I left my chance when
A chance I did not take
When I saw you long, long ago
At Lovegrove Lake.
Do you remember per chance also,
Me perched on the wee porch there?
Me, dangling my silver sandal?
And sipping my white wine with care?
The blue chiffon band of my straw hat
Blowing in the river-lake air?
Me, sitting on a pink-coral rocking chair?
Me, focused and scratching out a poem to share?
You stood tall and out on the river dock
Of the lake. You stood wide-shouldered, as I recall:
A happy stranger, fishing, leaning against
The railing of the driftwood-grey quay.
I could hear you whistling, though afar.
I can hear you whistling still, by the song
I was won: “once there were valleys,
Kissed by the sun....”
Then—after some secret bless-ed
Moments of wonderful watching
I saddened to hear The Four Brothers'
Notes and your whistling cease.
But then you drew yourself together
With a sigh, to return
To your cabin, near and yet far:
Up the hill from mine,
Drew near enough you did
On the brown graveled path,
Near enough that I could see
The smiling creases aside
Both your boyish brimming
Brown eyes, barely shaded by
Your beaten tan angler's hat,
And you were coming my way
In that plaid musky-looking fishing shirt,
(Your rod used like a shepherd's staff,
With the metal lure clanking --ting-tinging--
Against your pail) you were coming my way
Near enough to me that I
Might smell that primal scent
Some sensuous men emit
After their hard days' work.
About to pass me by,
You slowed your step.
You paused.
Perhaps just for breath?
Or was it just long enough to wink
That well-and-wanting wink at me?
I smiled but put my eyes back to page.
You then continued up the way
To your cabin
More far away than hope.
It was then I think
That I stopped living
Or began dying from lost delights:
Reveries of what-might-have-beens,
There by Lovegrove Lake
On that Tuesday afternoon.
“Gone are the greenfields.../
Where rivers used to run.”
Categories:
graveled, fishing, for him, longing,
Form:
Rhyme
PATHS were bordered by boxwood hedges
softened with fern, surrounding GARDEN edges.
Light floral scents perfumed the morning air
and sweet alyssum lined walkways; pea graveled.
I strolled through the MAZE with a hint of despair
for I'd never been more confused and unraveled,
or in greater fear for my own welfare
than I did standing beside the boundary WALL
that towered to heights, confoundingly tall.
Endless TWISTING trails were quite unexpected.
I cringed with timid thoughts of becoming LOST.
Forlorn from many dead end routes I'd selected
and annoyed from each fork I'd already crossed,
escape seemed to be hopeless and I felt rejected...
like a wave crashing on a sea that's storm tossed.
Now, with sunlight TURNING its warm face away,
I dropped to my knees and fervently began to pray.
I was TRAPPED inside a PUZZLE, with no way out,
winding among SINUOUS beds that roses adorned.
My mind became clouded and plagued with doubt.
Then I heard a whisper, while my heart mourned,
"Do not lose faith, Daughter. You must remain devout.
Find the courage to try once again," it mildly scorned.
I stood as twilight started painting the Eastern sky
and plucked a white rose bud as my undaunted reply.
MAZE-10 Word Challenge
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Posted on June 28, 2020
Categories:
graveled, faith,
Form:
Rhyme