Best Plod Poems
If I wasn't there,
the rain swollen clouds
would have still dumped
their dark weight over the bay
and through a gaping tear,
let down a curtain of sunlight
to start the day.
And if I wasn't there,
the old, arthritic labrador
would have still waddled
along the street
with its bent but steady gait,
undistracted, self absorbed
and fixed in its own stare
that allowed no deviation
from years of devoted plod.
The morning had no need
for me, what happened
would have happened anyway.
There's an annoying sadness
in knowing the earth
doesn't seem to care
if things pass unnoticed.
Sunsets and waterfalls
carry no favor.
To it, the achingly beautiful
and the catastrophic can
happily go unreported.
And yet I still ask -
what's the point -
and entertain the notion
that the universe has this
innate and unfathomable need
for a witness
to take in Creations
unfolding riddle
and make it fit together.
I could be wrong,
but for each of us,
the privilege of being here
on this gifted earth,
to understand, care for
and tell its story in song
fulfills a purpose,
if only to this end -
or something more.
Categories:
plod, care, creation, dog, earth,
Form:
Free verse
I feel very privileged to have been able to contribute something small to a second collaboration with poet extraordinaire, Robert Lindley, whose mastery of all forms of verse continues to inspire. Thank you, Robert, for such fellowship and inspiration.
The Unseen, As Swirling Ebbs Of Time Plod Along
A collaboration with Robert Lindley
19th October 2018
Fight disbelief, as its intended power is to deceive
its low, hard constant drone, echoes shattered moans
with razor knife edge, bloodied cuts hide in its deep,
at dusk's waning hours, path falls to the cold and dead
And what speaks in dreams, oft walks in shadows at day
spreading aching sadness, horrific chills sent to curse.
Yet disbelief will not be fought
for waging of battle demands that you believe
existence says, believe you do not
for from whence, otherwise,
did disbelief's bleeding red-blades appear
if not from blindness, saddest of such sad truths ?
Is this black magic in its unfathomable infinite embrace
cut short by false Gods that once held its great powers
nay, the same, blood for blood that mercilessly seethes
from its savagery, demands we live weak, wasted lives
In soul destroying expanse, sorrows birth deeper woes
man a pawn, dwelling within Time's never ending shows.
Yet the ancient false Gods be not false
for only true Gods could control and mask
their own hidden goals and divinity's truth,
and their every mysterious whim,
as the oscillations of a cruel lover,
echo divinities that we'll not ever divine.
If one sees, finds a way to break the mold
they are targeted, struck down long before the old
as were celebrated artists felled in fleeting youth,
rotted in earthen soil, living now in dreams of more
Behold, evil, slow-walks hand in hand with father Time
recurring patterns, anger born, in man's fallen mind.
Categories:
plod, allegory, analogy, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Lost in a wistful arbor, where malaise blooms,
Mists flower in hypnotic bleak violet dusks
Shades of brooding melancholy
Bruise my treasured bouquets of dreams
And plod through ponderous mists
In metamorphic doldrums
Cold inertia spirals into lamentations,
Midnights drugged with stupor
Lean heavy on my homeless hermit heart
In withering labyrinths of tangled voices,
Atonal buds of plaintive paeans,
When pensive lethargy pierces dawn.
My rose, in apathy, sees no reason to bloom
As shades of gloom birth shadow seasons
And pale fretting’s unbroken gaze dulls dawn’s hues
Clouds of sighs ravish new shoots
Born in sweet trances of possibility -
Each breath a tedious indecision wrapped in enigma.
Dullness shrouds each new growth in greyness
A slow march into inertia’s bower of cathexis.
Categories:
plod, garden, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Ah! To be adrift upon the boundless sea sailing, sailing, sailing!
Alone with the sea and pristine sky with southerly winds prevailing.
No particular destination in mind as upon the surging sea I plod,
Nor is there another soul in view as I quietly commune with God!
Ah! To be alone at night in the desert pondering, pondering, pondering!
I lie to refresh my weary bones after a day of vagabond wandering,
Savoring the soothing quietude with gentle zephyrs caressing my face,
Gazing heavenward as constellations wink at me from outer space!
Ah! To scale the highest mountain where even eagles dare not fly!
The precious solitude of it all! I can reach out and touch the sky.
Such divine inspiration it brings to this mere mortal's languid soul,
As God's Creation beyond is revealed for me to relish and extol!
Ah! To amble down a forest path when autumn leaves adorn the trees!
Gold and crimson leaves waft about me, stirred by an occasional breeze.
I'm awed by the Master Artist's handiwork no mere artist dare portray.
This priceless solitude and beauty I shall treasure forever and a day!
Ah! To lie 'neath a shade by a rippling stream and dream, dream, dream!
Watching vagabond clouds scudding across the sky in solitude supreme!
I suppose there are folks who prefer to mingle with the multitude,
But I treasure time alone to muse and write in peaceful solitude!
Entry for Line Gauthier's "The Beauty of Solitude" Contest
Categories:
plod, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
The Unseen, As Swirling Ebbs Of Time Plod Along
Fight disbelief, as its intended power is to deceive
its low, hard constant drone, echoes shattered moans
with razor knife edge, bloodied cuts hide in its deep,
at dusk's waning hours, path falls to the cold and dead
And what speaks in dreams, oft walks in shadows at day
spreading aching sadness, horrific chills sent to curse.
Yet disbelief will not be fought
for waging of battle demands that you believe
existence says, believe you do not
for from whence, otherwise,
did disbelief's bleeding red-blades appear
if not from blindness, saddest of such sad truths ?
Is this black magic in its unfathomable infinite embrace
cut short by false Gods that once held its great powers
nay, the same, blood for blood that mercilessly seethes
from its savagery, demands we live weak, wasted lives
In soul destroying expanse, sorrows birth deeper woes
man a pawn, dwelling within Time's never ending shows.
Yet the ancient false Gods be not false
for only true Gods could control and mask
their own hidden goals and divinity's truth,
and their every mysterious whim,
as the oscillations of a cruel lover,
echo divinities that we'll not ever divine.
If one sees, finds a way to break the mold
they are targeted, struck down long before the old
as were celebrated artists felled in fleeting youth,
rotted in earthen soil, living now in dreams of more
Behold, evil, slow-walks hand in hand with father Time
recurring patterns, anger born, in man's fallen mind.
Robert Lindley Lawrence Sharp - collaboration
10-18-2018
Note: Yet again I have had the great honor of writing free verse, with my dear friend Lawrence Sharp and being inspired by his beautiful poetry. Such fellowship is indeed a boon and a wonderful experience as I continue to travel on my poetry journey.
Categories:
plod, art, creation, deep, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Adrift in sweet reverie while composing my journal
I sense myself wandering streets in solemn austerity
'Tis such a blunt shift from my usual musings nocturnal
To what do I owe this odd disturbing disparity?
In this vision I plod narrow alleys austere
A familiar dream within I-him I'm now aware
Presently it has become abundantly clear
We are one, he and I, as our souls we bare
In a flash the scene shifts to daybreak vernal and bright
In calm balmy bliss on guitar Bassa nova I-he strum
Dark angry clouds lift, azure clouds gleam bright
from whence have these diverse me phantoms come?
With a will I submit to my encyclopedia self
as inner projection reveals the multitudes I contain
Much more engaging than the one-I volume gathering dust on the shelf
My enigmatic space-time selves shall always remain
Categories:
plod, deep, dream, introspection,
Form:
Quatrain
At the end of a rainbow
Or so magic lore says,
One finds a pot
Black, ugly and fat
But filled with gold.
Would it not solve my wishes?
Would it not bring me fame?
Is it not worth the trouble
Of following a lonely trail
That leads to no place
Known in this world,
But only marked
With the rainbow's end?
Up rocky hills,
Down green lush vales,
Listening intently
To the delicious songs
Of gay bluebirds,
Or the harsh chatter
Of the crested jays,
Defying stormy days
Or blazing sunny days.
The flight from crowded
Crime infested cities?
Is it a prize in itself?
So I plod on,
Always in search
Of the tail of the rainbow.
Categories:
plod, rainbow,
Form:
Free verse
Honestly, I feel I am a grown-up child
I express my feelings intense or mild
As and when they take birth, never concealing
Not allowing them to settle, before revealing
Even minor mishaps of mine or others upset me
However hard I try to pretend they don’t touch me
My countenance will show how vulnerable I am
And my body language will reveal I am not quite calm
Being too sensitive to life’s trials and tribulations
Get easily flustered on facing adverse situations
I trust people outright never suspecting their wiles
And land in difficulty easily duped by their smiles
Often, I put on a mask to hide my diffidence
And act nonchalant with an air of confidence
But the mask makes me sometimes breathless
And I expose myself feeling utterly helpless
I feel unease as I see pain and suffering all around
Now I don’t have them to seriously confront,
Yet a nameless disquiet weighs me down
At the sight of hundreds cruelly beaten down
I train my mind not to withdraw into my own shell
When all around, I see misery, hatred, and violence swell
I wish my heart were the fount of gushing love
And with the olive branch of peace, soar like a dove
I long to shed a ray of light into a heart darkened in despair
Give it a momentary flash of cheer through kind acts of repair
I cannot be a beacon of light to illumine all around
But can be a candle to dispel traces of gloom that surround
I pray God to help me plod through the right way
Enabling me to face challenges with strength each day
I know life can flourish only with God’s loving grace
And each day in prayers and gratitude, I raise my eyes
Jan.13.2023
~ Placed First~
Revealing Your soul and Other Tensions
Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
Categories:
plod, character, desire, thanksgiving,
Form:
Rhyme
Believe in God and put your trust in Him.
With faith, you’ll stumble not; nor will you plod.
Pray strongly though your problems seem too grim.
Uprightly walk the souls who talk with God.
God’s blessings He is eager to bestow.
*The Bible tells us: “Seek and ye shall find.”
From faithful hearts God’s living waters flow.
To know Him is to live with peace of mind.
*From Matthew 7:7
June 21, 2020
For Brian Strand's 'YOUR RHY-ME ' Poetry Contest
Categories:
plod, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
I glanced out my window watchin' kids plod along to school today.
I recalled my school days and how things have changed along the way
I watched the little fellers hunched over with their over-loaded packs.
'Tis a wonder the little dudes don't develop a twitch in their sacroiliacs!
I wore overalls and shoes that I was told by Mom I'd better not scuff!
Nowadays, kids are sportin' Rebok shoes and all kinds of fancy stuff!
If they don't have the latest and greatest, they're bound to pitch a snit!
Appearances mean everything even to kindergartners, on the face of it!
To begin school in days of yore, I was required to supply a pot of glue,
Couple of No. 2 pencils with erasers, ruler, ink and a ruled pad or two.
Wrapped in a newspaper for lunch, a baloney sandwich and apple for a snack.
When my grandkids showed me their list of supplies, I nearly had a cardiac!
Included were - a backpack, Rigatoni noodles, crayons and composition books,
A cell phone, calculator, protractor and for reading, one of those fancy Nooks,
Facial tissues, scissors, a ruler, colored pencils, pencil sharpener and erasers,
Elmers glue, Ziploc bags, a ream of paper and plastic dividers to use as spacers!
One change of clothes in case of accident to include underwear, pants and socks,
Disinfectin' wipes, three-ring binders and a padlock for individual locker locks!
I am caused to pause and ponder how we "oldies" got a solid education,
Sans all the geegaws and fancy frills that are now required for graduation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
plod, funny, school, school, school,
Form:
Rhyme
In the dreary tune of a city's groan,
when streets escape the raging claws
of haggard breaths, a line of stars blink
trading some warmth with human arms...
beyond sighing notes the dusk possesses,
there are more wrists handcuffed on tainted
steel of unjust labor for children and women
who toil beyond midnight hours.
A single violin strain bites the screeches
of grief and pain, of humanity rendered
in ruins wrapped in tattered gauze: outlines
of freezing shapes coiling in fetal postures,
and they swallow a victim's blood, wondering,
if the god of freedom star can restore
power of life where mangled lungs
cry in despise.
Yet, the candle burns inside their hearts
to feed dire hunger of jailed souls
as the will to plod an inner odyssey blazes,
searching for some need to give this slavery
a voice: that birthright of choice
ordained by one divine, universal law...
the kind that fires the oneness of all mornings.
.............................
Cyndi MacMillan's I Can't Breathe... Contest
by nette onclaud
~ Currently, the Human Rights of many women
and children are violated in Asia.
There are women who are victims of sexual exploitation
under military dictatorship, and children who become
involved in human trafficking and are forced to work.
~http://hrn.or.jp/eng/g-activity/activista/
Categories:
plod, corruption, environment,
Form:
Free verse
Its 6 am
And that bloddy alarm goes off again.
Just another half an hour I plead,
But the alarm doesn't listen, the alarm doesn't heed.
Washed and dressed, reluctantly I head for my car,
A 20 minute drive, work is not very far.
The parking gods are good and I get a space
Right by the front door, my favourite place!
A smile on my face I sprint up the stairs,
Today will be good, no worries or cares.
"I want these figures and I want them now!
And these I want yesterday and don't ask me how!"
Do this, do that and for goodness sake hurry,
Am I going to be fired? I'm beggining to worry.
Its 4 pm and I plod down the stairs
My smile long gone but nobody cares
Home at last, I kick at the door
Feet up, hair down, pick up mail form the floor.
Thats my car in that photo, whats this all about?
A speeding ticket "I don't believe it" my husband hears me shout
I wish this dire day would come to an end
Shattered nerves need sleep time to mend
But all too soon
Its 6 am
And that bloody alarm goes off again.
DMoran 2012
t
Categories:
plod, angst, me, smile,
Form:
Carpe Diem
* For Carol Brown's Story Time Contest
Feathered serpent was more than an Aztec legend
Depicted in multihued native art
Sculptures, paintings adorned humid cities
Spiritual sketches messages impart
Quetzalcoatl, a venerated god
Plumed leader was said to have sailed away
Prophecies forecast this spirit’s return
Devout Aztecs’ hopes soared one Holy Thursday
The Aztec natives knew no greed
Great joy spread quickly in the Yucatan
When eleven Spanish ships reached their land
Not Quetzalcoatl, just a European man
Aztec leader Moctezuma II believed
Hernando Cortez to be their long-awaited god
At Moctezuma’s command, bounties were gathered
And to the shore, joyful natives did plod
1519, the Cortez armada
Greeted by Aztec envoys bearing gifts
But Spaniards fired shots at their welcoming party
Pious souls ascended through tropical mist
The land-grabbing perpetrator’s intent revealed
Aggression from one who sought to conquer
Paying no heed to Moctezuma’s beliefs
Or the spiritual history of Aztec culture
Ungodly Cortez enslaved those who remained
Defiantly built cathedrals adorned by bells
Aztec spirits will rise on Judgment Day
To claim seats in heaven while Cortez endures hell
If “gods” without honor lack kind hearts
And advocate power instead of grace
Promoting war and killing of brethren
Then surely devotion has been misplaced
*The arrival of Hernando Cortez marked the end of a thriving Aztec culture. The natives
mistook him for a “god” named Quetzalcoatl who had sailed away promising to return.
Quetzalcoatl is pronounced ket-zel-cot-el.
Categories:
plod, history
Form:
Bio
While we stay silent
The fight is going on.
In Chicago, Los Angeles, New York
The West Indies
And the Lebanon
All over the world
There is a tale to tell
Of some living in paradise
Whilst others live in hell.
Its not a random stumble
Nor a twist of faith,But a master plan.
By those who seek power
Over those who plod along
Its not an illusion, but what is felt
When we are blessed with riches
But cannot share the wealth
But what is ego without a plan?
What is salvation,
when we fail to understand?
Reparation of the soul is a must
If its redemption we seek
And god we trust
When reality rears its ugly head
When babies are born
And cannot be fed
When wars are started
And nothing is said
About the wounded, paralysed and the dead
Mothers lie down and plea.
Gun powder crying out in the atmospher,.
Tormenting my ear.
Some even bow down on bent knees.
They feel the pain and ask for mercy.
In the anguish and suffering , they bite the dust.
The TV the object
Perpetuating the fact
That humanity has taken a detour
On a roundabout
When we fail to act.
From the lack of knowledge
We fail to see
That when we are united
We end depravity.
To grow and prosper, in pastures green
That what was hidden is now seen
The truth for what it is.
When we exist, and fail to live.
When they are taking, and cannot give.
Of time and thinking.
Of mutual living, coexisting.
With love and hope
Not based off trickery and false hope.
Categories:
plod, allusion, black african american,
Form:
Free verse
The Strength of Truly Gentle Men
Who wouldst decry such chivalry
deny the outspread cloak, the proffered hand,
plod through puddled mud, drag silken train,
in smug reproach of such a gentle man.
Hast all the glow been scrubbed from humankind
till every gesture – weighed - is found to lack
the power to deflect cold sightless eyes
from barren search o’erlooking all but self.
Should we, in vain reproach withdraw the cloak,
splash also in the muddled, mindless muck
that passes as the futures promised hope -
wash - Pilate-like - the stain from outstretched hands
Lest the cloak be tainted by history’s tarnished brush
and denied the strength of truly gentle men.
John G. Lawless
11/30/2014
Categories:
plod, culture, society,
Form:
Sonnet