Best Off The Beaten Path Poems
Lonely is the life of a writer- for we seek solitary places,
off the beaten path. Sometimes, I wrap myself in loneliness.
Not to say, I am forlorn or forsaken but I am a writer of sadness,
entwined completely in my words and poems. I like a lonely road.
Lost in thoughts, I meander a cemetery at times. It may seem gloomy,
in reality, it is full of peace and tranquility, could I ever find a quieter place.
Nothing is more secluded. I go hiking and love to listen to birds sing.
Ever feel alone, although in a crowd of people, I have many times.
Solitary does not mean lonesome or friendless or abandoned.
Sweet is the life of a writer- for we seek out aloneness.
_______________________________________
July 22, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Loneliness
Copyright Protected, ID 16-810-877-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Loneliness
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
Third Place
Took a trip off the beaten path.
Nothing modern in site.
Knee deep in the woods and to scared to laugh.
Blew a tire.
Met some dude that said something about my mouth.
He did admire.
So I ran in fear.
Till no longer him and his brothers dueling banjo
I could no longer hear.
So deep in the forest far from the city and familiar hoods.
Somebody save me.
Cause im lost in the backwoods.
Screamed like a girl when something
moved near me.
Didnt realize it was a rabbit.
Now im stuck up a dam tree.
Hit the ground running screaming like a banshee.
Thorns in my side twiggs in my hair.
Tore my britches.
And left something expossed I really wish wasnt bare.
I herd a voice yell fool I fixed your flat tire.
I felt like a moron hiding in poisen ivy.
With my skin on fire.
Looking like a half naked wildman I stummbled
back to my car.
Threw the guy a tweenty and said.
Now point me to the closest
bar.
Pink and grey walls rise like castle parapets
Reflecting the sunrise in golden hues
I ride along the canyon to the sound of leather
Creaking softly in the tranquil mountain air
Sweat and horse, with layers of dust
Well worn jeans against a speckled hide
Gently swaying in a unified rhythm
Languidly haze swirling about our feet
Around the bend we startle snow geese
Flocks floating, rising, settling serenely
Angling, landings against the lapping waters
Black tipped wings against wintry white
Sandhill cranes foraging for cutthroat trout
Reflecting blue beside the meandering creek
Majestically standing, patiently waiting
Blue dragon flies dancing within their reach
Off the beaten path we wander
Past yucca swaying in the breeze
O’er grama blue as sky beneath us
Cushioned carpet of pine and peat
Rock squirrels scurry across a Douglas fir
Scolding woodpeckers on a burnt oak tree
The chorus is merged by the hoot of an owl
And the clip clop against rocks as we proceed
Canopies of piñon line the trail
Mixtures of conifer shade the landscape
Grey blue greens with clusters of sienna
Cathedral spiritual within an ageless solitude
We meander off the beaten path,
A veritable sally,
Admiring the flight of lively swallows
Above the green vast valley.
Puffy white clouds form and reform,
Methinks, one looks like a galley.
The twittering birds in perfect harmony,
Look like a rally.
Sheep graze here and there,
How lovely to be able to dilly dally.
We find some rest beneath a shady willow
And steal a kiss from my pretty Sally.
One Kiss? What a poor show,
Finally, I could not keep the tally.
Enchanted and happy,
We just meander back to our alley.
Bewilder was my middle name as I felt lost and torn
experiencing fallacious feelings before the hike that nothing would go wrong
going on the Appalachian Trail had always been my goal
but unrealistically couldn't eviscerate the rough terrains soil
I had hiked off the beaten path to obtain some privacy
curious I looked around for a thick bush or a hidden tree
finally crouching down I let all my inhibitions go
as I watched the steady stream of pent up urine flow
Disoriented I looked to my right and my left
as the scarlet ball in the sky was about to set
my mind became a vortex of worried thoughts
wondering what had happened to the compass I had bought
On a whim and a prayer I tried to call home
but being in the deep woods there was no signal for cell phones
with dusk enveloping my environment I took out my trusty flashlight
wondering if I should venture further left or to the right
As I walked I heard in the distance a coyote let out a wild cry
as I thanked God for the flashlight and the full moon in the sky
thick branches of pine trees molested my passing form
as I found a clearing and set up camp while waiting for dawn
I tossed and turned nervously and let out many sighs
and heard eerie noises while sleep did tantalize
finally nodding off from exhaustion I woke up to sunrise
packing up my gear to go on my back for another ride
Hiking for what seemed like miles I heard a blessed noise
and going in that direction I spied two teenage boys
who helped me get back to the AT which I thought would be so much fun
and while driving back to civilization still proud I had taken the plunge.
6-19-18
My Valley
Tucked away in the north-central part of the state, about ten miles or so from where the clear and slow-moving water of the Grand River mixes with the quickly rolling mud of the Missouri River. Was my isolated valley. A tiny insignificant place dotted with small farms and rolling pastureland of bluestem, switch, and Indian grass. Somewhere just off the beaten path and a little left of “where the hell am I anyway”. From high up in the hills where the Crabapple and Cottonwood creeks merge just outside Log Cabin Station, there is a small creek that begins to snake its way south for thirty miles or so along the northern boundary of that rich Sugar Maple bottom land. For seventy centuries the Sioux Indians fished, hunted, and thrived there. They were the first to speak its name. The abundance of wildlife in the area led them to believe that that small waterway was the ‘River of the Great Spirit’, and they called it…Wakenda.
Life moves in circles,
Like the oceans ebb and flow,
There are no shortcuts.
Upon revelation’s flight
Under Orion’s focus
I witness a fiery glow towards familiar horizons.
‘Tis no sunrise
It is a striking reality.
My saddened retinas witness monochromatic pitchforks,
Desolated screams,
Embellished declarations from misguided leaders
And self-made stallions riding into condescending sunsets
Without any earned punctuation to be taken seriously
A House of Eroded Representatives
A village of One
A village of souls
Pushing
Back
…
There was a home upon these well-worn landing strips.
This was my home.
But, these forged rooftops now taste
Withering, hurricane gusts of red velvet cake’s mold
Rusted nails forcibly detached from honored foundations
Unto egotistical coffins
The reality
Shining through meter-less corruptions
Comes full circle
Small doses of poisonous vendettas
Fed from tarnished, silver spoons
Echoes of Cuban Fidel
Lace elasticity of “open arms”
With onyx, unfiltered coffee drops
Coating infant’s petulant lip
Witnessing cotton-less sheep walking with listless fervor
Towards silenced, condemned “Noahs”
I signal pilot within my melancholic wisdoms
To redirect our flight
To a new horizon
To an unsheltered domain
Where even waterfalls still allow
Conducive verbiage to rise
Amongst the unabashedly meek
To a destination
Where stature is defined by all
Not by one
Where character
Is developed under accountabilities’ pen
Where high horses & curtained theatrics
Are the only victims of banned tomorrows
Where honor
Is still defined
Without deleted, impulsive banter
Where friendship,
Love,
Wisdom,
Memories,
Shine
…
Because
Things
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same.
©Drake J. Eszes
“And my ties are severed clean. The less I have, the more I gain. Off the beaten path, I reign.” –Wherever I may Roam by Metallica (my lifelong song)
I chose to follow the road
Even though i know not where it goes
My thoughts alone the only hope
To help my through this life alone
I guess i could just let it go
But then the end i'll never know.
I wonder if you know
Why the world around the road
Has changed its tune as i go
Maybe that's just how it goes
When you think you are alone
But the truth is what you hope.
A silhouette becomes a hope
And you know i already know
That i never really was alone
Because you were walking down the road
Never knowing where it goes
But like me you chose to go
So together here we go
Bound together filled with hope
Still not knowing where it goes
Truthfully i don't care to know
We don't even need the road
Its enough to not be alone
Now i ask are we alone?
Off the beaten path we go
Off behind us, gone is the road
A life alive that is the hope
We cannot be the first to know
That the road forever goes
Now we know just how it goes
Everyone feels all alone
But we’ll tell you what we know
Come and rest before you go
Eat and let me give you hope
You are not alone, just the road.
I walk down a trail off the beaten path
Contemplating life’s equations, trying to solve its math
I sit down by the riverside, the breeze blowing through my hair
I find rest on a slab of stone, using it as a chair
I sit alone in the woods and start to think out loud
Sitting and admiring the woods, the sun, the clouds
I sit and question everything from life, to religion, and love
Searching hard for answers as I stare at the sky above
Time didn’t seem to move and only did stand still
Focusing on breathing, breathe out and then refill
It was in this moment, I found an epiphany
The answers run few and the questions run many
And you may never answer all the questions you may have
But having a sense of purpose, this confusion it will salve
Having mine, peace is now the place where I reside
I found my peace on that day, sitting by the riverside
Off the beaten path,
Falling leaves conceal the tracks:
Scurrying wildlife.
off the beaten path we go
nothing like the thrill of newness
even when it gets old, something new is discovered like a dylan record
we embrace our respective kid at heart approach to things
it definitely brings us closer and alleviates unneeded stress
we already are graduates of lonely street university both with a masters in isolation studies
now here we go....eager students of professor unexpected
what we learn is more than valuable to our minds and our potential future endeavors
it is like a blank page full of colors with the beautification of water for the purpose of intrigue
when life goes in directions of low places, it inspires you to strive of the highest heights
we are giants....yet still so microscopic in our travails
we yearn to see more, but in the reality of life duty calls in the form of a time clock
however, we bless the heavens for the earnings bestowed upon us nowadays....
....so off the beaten path we go....
I wonder if I’m the only one
who smells the fetidness
of dead daylilies,
carrion that lies concealed
off the beaten path.
Could it be my preoccupation with death lately?
Reviewing my will, perusing my prepaid
funeral expenses and life insurance,
that have acutely enhanced
my sense of smell for the morbidities
of death.
It’s not a pleasant state of mind
to live with and act unconcerned
concerning the inevitable conqueror worm.
Cliche Heaven
Be it as it may I'll try my hand at some clichés
and address the elephant in the room soon when pigs fly.
It’s a win- win situation, put your game face on, work the crowd
as we wrap our heads around comparing apples to orange.
We are all data driven, with an ace in the hole, stick a sock in it
while stepping up to the plate and peeling back the onion
and easily hit it out of the ballpark with a world of hurt.
Be my team player, run with this, my agent of change
but don’t throw me under the bus as you think outside the box.
We can touch base later seeing where the rubber meets the road
and put boots on the ground, a perfect storm, deal with it.
Here’s my two cents, if it works I'll go off the beaten path
driving route 66 on the road not taken when it’s up for grabs,
and taking a walk in the sun, learning the new math.
That said, don’t put me out to pasture, wait for it,
there’s no sign of my slowing down, its going viral.
These are the signs of the times, take the bull by its horns,
It’s a brave new tomorrow and all bets are off.
Don’t force my hand to be up close and personal
I’m a rebel without a cause and to die for.
Don’t get bent out of shape raising the bar in the winds of change
There’s something for everyone, just another babe in the woods.
Stay tuned, like, duh, as a matter of fact, at the end of the day,
it’s a last ditch effort as you live and learn the luck of the draw.
Pay it forward, that’s the ticket, give and take, get a wake up call,
same song and dance, say what you will, you’re as sharp as a tack.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, just splitting hairs to reinvent the wheel
and walk the red carpet for a quick buck to pay as you go
Heaven help us,
I believe there's an app for that.
In an unkept place beyond anyone's watchful care lay vessels which carried the powerful blood of a forgotten people.
So strong and powerful, their very presence brought fear and panic to an entire race of people who believe dominance is theirs.
Underneath the 'ole' shade tree lay weather beaten slats of wood proof of a cultures existence.
A dark skinned people whose lives were valued less than that old hunting dog licking his colored masters wounds.
No names, memories, or accomplishments nothing at all except dated brittle epitaphs marking their era of life.
Dusty black Hebrew Israelite feet and cracked aged hands lay in those hallowed tombs-their names mattered to no one.
Shoeless black feet trod and stood in places I have never known and will never see yet, their strength is who I am.
Their proof of toiling in cotton fields beneath the scorching sun washing white folks cloths hanging them on the line to dry.
Same precious hands held offspring not their image that suckled the rich milk from the breast of the woman in the unkept dark place.
Let's not forget the shoulders which rocked the weight of misses churin' to sleep as if they were her own.
The unkept places off the beaten path lay the blood of the forgotten dark people.
Looking for poetry off the beaten path. Take a look at "The Menagerie" 74 hand
selected poems by this author. Available for download $5.99
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0052U4O5U
A. W. Nutter
As the suns rays take flight
Pain, mere moments away
Fear grows with the twilight
As a demon prepares to play
No concern of retribution
Atrocities becoming ageless
Habitual, nightly persecution
Cloaked in a veil of righteousness
The barn door slowly opens
Oil lamp illuminates the boy
His eyes black as a ravens
As he views his captive toy
Crying out, from a cold caress
Prompts the demons laughter
Salvation absent for the godless
No mercy from the assaulter
Screams providing gratification
The final act being orchestrated
Priest praying for absolution
For sins already committed
The child’s heart surrenders
Resting in a shallow grave
Safe from religious pretenders
No longer a reprobates slave
Children losing their innocence
Causing the flock to lose hope
False prophet preaching temperance
Pedophiles protected by the Pope