Best Roadways Poems
When I used to dream
I used to dream about him
Fantasizing about how it happened and how it could have been
Demons, chasing Nightmares, Happiness on Poles
Tied into a loveknot and dangled in front of me
No matter how I ran, how far, how fast
It seemed to sweetly Escape
Just when he was in my grasp
I tried it all
New haircuts
New styles
New boys
Sexy sexy skirts
With new pairs of heels
Filling holes with things that
Really don’t mean anything
Except to say
I’m doing just fine without you
Days go by,
Months slip away
Years appear on doorsteps like unwanted infantile
Infatuations
I beat my self up for loving
the way
He moved
Spoke, touched
Laughed, ached, cried
He could
Heal the burns on my fiery soul
He could handle
Dangerous curves
On roadways unknown
My first love
Today I no longer linger
On whispers in photographs
Or chain ball letters
I don’t chase after white sports cars
Or sink when I hear his name
I see him sometimes and I feel his stare
Sting me on the places it hits
I’m with my own
And his with his other
But just to let him know
It’s okay
I smile
and let go
Unraveling
This cord
of discord
Love is forever
No matter the occasion
I forgive, i forget
and let him live
Without me
I appreciate
His gift, wrapped with
detachment
For the benefit, of each other
He showed me with open eyes
That I did not need a man
For me
To love
Me
He gave
A bittersweet
Indescribable
Emotion. The Gift
Of Poetry.
Thank you…
Categories:
roadways, lost love, me,
Form:
Bio
The floor was carpeted with wonderful trees,
stomped and storm-clawed leaves
they arise again as specks of magic dust
fire starts from ash on the eyelashes
air-blazing amid the fall haze.
The flakes were light and shimmering
I delight on snow-covered roadways
leaf, branch, and body ripen in spring
now I can relax in the pristine snow
burying the wreckage after a fatal fall.
The snow was softly pelted by the rain
white crispy flakes gradually melted
below the softer, warmer raindrops
grass that had browned.
I spin heavenly songs in the universe
I am a classic song in the art
a tawny friend, lament for your sight
our blood's delight of rage
can you discern the flow?
Weaving our way through the mist,
we become gnawed trees
a smorgasbord of a busy spiritual realm
snowflakes are created when rolling
November's ice storm.
The breezes freeze in November
the cold seeps into the bones
as winter approached, the sky was dark
hollowed trees show the passage of time
the window shows a blank space
there is a man here, unnamed
when the window is shut, petals vanish
things will improve soon.
Written: November 05, 2022
1St Place Contest Winner
November Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Categories:
roadways, analogy, appreciation, autumn, dream,
Form:
Free verse
So strange this land, old and yet young.
Where is this place of tall green trees,
and grey-haired men in unknown tongue?
they must have traveled summer's breeze.
Adobe brick quonset "chalets"
mud-soaked roadways in all the blocks.
WACs and wives and waifs everyday
midst hollyhocks and four o'clocks.
Los Alamos*, this place must be.
A land of Oz 'neath bluest sky.
Where science dealt humanity
a fatal blow, then watched it die.
A perfect paradox is this.
How splendid to contrast the two--
a lovely place/a devil's kiss,
and wisdom sprinkled like the dew.
I left quite soon but still recall
the secrets hidden on each page.
The lilac mountains looming tall,
their perfume of fission and sage.
August 5, 2022
"Terra Incognita"
for This or That, Vol. 13, poetry contest
by Edward Ibeth
*Los Alamos Laboratories, New Mexico, are where the atomic bombs were
created then dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan in WWII.
Categories:
roadways, 12th grade, america, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: January 2nd, 2023, For Ink Empress Contest
Rumi verse" Sing to me in the silence of your heart and I will rise up to hear your triumphant song"
________________________________________
Life is a symphonic cynosure
a charming composition
sung in tune noisily in tandem
merriment liberates us
spread the tunes of life
a ready-made ubiquitous syntax
moon voices Jukebox heart
Iron harps croon the days
I used to walk Elvis line in his heyday.
Twilight dream orchestrator
soars on silver wings
across the eerie sea
past raven-singing islets
race the clock
swap hourglass sand
reset to our first trip,
let's foster solid walls.
Life is a bittersweet symphony.
Love, laughter,
and silent dreams
In verses, rhythm begins
Steering us via life's curveballs
a calm ballad may be feasible
dreamlike memory
dusty paths to neon-lit roadways
catching dreams, sailing
weeping as a lone harp
I'm queueing until death
to travel as a country song
via onomatopoeia syntax
a metonymy, twangy melody.
paint hope on breeze
as moonlight amid trees
or pearly umbrella stars
dancing in cosmic black sea
dark orchestra conductor
revive ancient music
until ivory beams last.
Life is a melody to be sung
play it gently as a drumbeat
life serenade in riptide
years notes strum
cosmic tapestry links us to poetry
spirits dance in unison,
life is akin to writing a song,
with our key and tone
each life has a meaning,
we pick the theme and chorus
a song bearing our name
an inclusive rhythm
life's a tune.
Categories:
roadways, analogy, confidence, life, music,
Form:
Free verse
The air thick, like a sweet sticky syrup
Sirens wail, polluting the air with chaos
Voices screaming, obscenities, obscure messages
All the while little children play, in pothole streets
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Cries in the light of day, bloody hands wave
Freedom, Choices, a single right
Lost trash, food piles, scattered along roadways
Dirty shoes, dangling over power lines
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Ever searching, an invisible cape, a quick escape
Smells of rotting food, bloated flies
People who cant stop licking their lips,
twisting their hips, and geeking
Car alarms screaming, like a symphony out of tune
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
So hungry, empty stomachs, empty hearts, empty minds
Seeking to fill, to satisfy, lapping up milk and honey
Praying for rain, to wash the stench, to hide the sin,
away…
Lost, undone, alone, without love
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Writings of love, of peace, scatter in the rain and wind.
An iota, a seed, a shining light, dimly lit in the night
People gather, curious, watching, many hoping
A gentle voice speaks living words, of life, a better way
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes
Categories:
roadways, angst, life,
Form:
Imagism
It's a new day today,
New challenges ahead,
New things to be explored,
New roadways to be tread.
Each day has its lessons,
From which we get to learn,
Sometimes, there are new risks,
Which teach us to discern.
Let us thank and praise God,
Each day as we commence,
And He'll carry us through
Each new experience.
03/21/17
(6 syllables in each line)
Categories:
roadways, day, encouraging,
Form:
Quatrain
We move with wheels that whip and whir
a human hive, spinning with a purpose
cohesive and connected, in one accord.
By the sweat of the brow, legs churning
we flow with the wind, with beating hearts
racing along roadways and up steep hills.
Now we are cascading downwards
with great abandon, locked in, hooked
hooked on the ride and to each other…
…as we race towards the setting sun.
2/6/2022
Categories:
roadways, friendship, sports, together,
Form:
Free verse
School was a mile and a half
walk from home,
across roadways, busy streets
and railway lines and through
parklands patrolled
by swooping magpies in spring.
We thought nothing of it
when it was pouring with rain
or hot as hell. Six year olds
walked a gauntlet of risk
back then.
Memory can almost recall
an image of each house
along that daily route, the smells
that gathered in the doorways
of shops, the reek of urine
wafting out of a laneway
beside the pub and, still mapped
upon the mind, where fruit trees
overhung a fence and were good
for a seasonal treat.
Each step taken fed the senses
with familiar signposts marking
the way between home
and the schoolyard gate.
Time has passed
into a more protective and yet
more dangerous age. Children
are shuttled to school by parents
in bull bar protected SUV's
and buses with flashing lights.
Souls have become
more brittle under the weight
of an insidious world, perhaps
no better or worse off
than when I walked to school
and danger hid in places where
the senses could go. In my day,
bully boys had names
and were dressed in uniforms.
Now, it is in the odorless
corridors behind digital screens
and in promises where lives
tick away in the sterile
waiting rooms
of mortgaged dreams.
Categories:
roadways, childhood, nostalgia, school,
Form:
Free verse
~
Perhaps…it is the light,
reflecting in symphonic visions from dampened roadways,
serenading my heart in melodies of whispered thoughts,
painting lyrical lilacs on a gray canvas
with fraying edges
even as clouds connect the sun,
I sit alone, on a worn leather seat,
fingers tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with
the endless miles connecting my cultivated dreams
with pictured fantasies that may prove to be just that…
fantasies
yet I look,
optimistic eyes perusing spring fed corn row wishes
and sunflower sonatas,
which my heart faces with fevered emotion
and anticipation of each new coming day…
(constantly aware of roadblocks set up
along the shoulders of your heart)
Distractions come as an eclipse darkens the sky
or is it my heavy eyelids causing the detour,
yet my soul is alert to the possibilities
of what might be waiting behind that locked door
where silence allows me to hear your words…
written in the wee hours of the morning
an invitation to share this morning with one who matters,
one who touches me, one who feeds me
with a simple hello and a cup of coffee
or something more…fantasies become realities…perhaps
Categories:
roadways, love,
Form:
Free verse
Friends , while reading the History of the Incas , I came across the wonderous story of their
mail runners , the 'chasquis' ! Kindly read their story !
THE MAIL RUNNERS - ON THE INCA TRAIL !
(COURIER SERVICE)
The Inca Empire during their hey-days, *
Controlled a large Empire of an elongated
shape!
On the western coast of Latin America, -
All the way from parts of Ecuador and Colombia!
With parts of Brazil in the east;
Including Chile and Bolivia in the south and
south-east;
While the Pacific Ocean washed their long western
beach!
Where the great Andes range like a raised spine, -
appeared out of reach!
Yet on the central verge of this Andes’ range,
Was located their capital Cuzco with its grand
defence !
The Incas had no horses or wheels to facilitate
communication,
But had an efficient courier service within their
nation!
They relied entirely on their ‘chasquis’, - those
valiant mail runners,
For sending messages within the Inca Empire!
These runners ran on that historic ‘Inca Trail’,
Crossing gorges(pogos) and mountain tracks, -
before night fell!
And rested at ‘tambos’** during their segmented
race!
Those Incas had no written scripts those days,
And used knots in ropes as coded messages!
These ‘quipus’ at relay stations changed hands,
While their runners took them to the remotes corners
of Inca land!
Their suspension bridges with ropes indigenously
made,
Formed their roadways as their Empire spread!
And those bridges were maintained every year,
By villagers rendering public service to the Inca
Empire!
Those valiant runners could run in a day, -
A distance of 250 miles , as experts say !
And could put to shame the Marathon runners
of our day!
I salute those sturdy Incas for their unique stone
architectures,
Who honored their Gods and their ancestors!
Their ‘chasquis’, those valiant mail runners and
their nimble feet;
Without horses and wheels the Incas ruled a mighty
Empire complete !
-Raj Nandy
Notes :-
* During the fifteenth century Incas were at height of
their power!
**Tambos’= relay stations , for the Mail Runner (chasqui)
to rest and handover the ‘quipu’ containing coded
messages to the next runner - to follow the Inca Trail!
Thanks for reading ! - Raj Nandy
Categories:
roadways, history
Form:
Verse
No more tears, no more fears.
No more dieing, no more crying.
No more trying, no more failing.
No more dealing with or feeling,
No more pain!
No more striving, no more mistakes.
No more confusion, no more regrets.
No more seeking, no more finding.
No more visits with or sickness,
No more pain!
No more misunderstandings, no more mountains.
No more heartaches, no more hiding.
No more forgetting, no more denying.
No more wondering where to go,
No more pain!
No more not knowing, no more straying.
No more turning, no more lefts and rights.
No more hidden roadways, no more falling.
No more bridges to cross or burn,
No more pain!
No more forsaking, no more leaving.
No more wanting, no more dreaming.
No more distractions, no more walking away.
No more walking in through valleys,
No more pain!
No more treasures on earth, no more heros.
No more desiring, no more hoping.
No more deserting, no more contesting.
No more trusting self or man,
No more pain!
No more yesterdays, no more todays.
No more tomorrows, no more futures.
No more pasts, no more looking fors.
No more guessing what will be,
No more pain!
No more 'what could've beens', no more ' I wishes'.
No more 'It's too lates', no more 'I cant's'.
No more 'what If's', no more unknowns.
No more words left unsaid,
No more pain!
No more darkness, no more sunshine.
No more lessons to learn, no more questions.
No more despising, no more enemies.
No more sins or unbelief,
No more pain!
(c) April 14, 2006
Categories:
roadways, devotion, faith, inspirational, life,
Form:
Free verse
How delicious the feeling after long days
Occupying tedious roadways to find
Myself encompassed by congenial walls,
Enjoying the pleasure of harmonious spaces.
Soft pillows and bed enfold this
Weary body, quieting the inner wandering;
Each window winks a welcome, lights
Eagerly extend bright arms to hold me,
Tender guardians in a darkly changing world.
Hover over and around me, blessed quiet,
Only found where the sweet departed whisper
Memories of all that makes a place a home, where
Empty chairs, once theirs, embrace me warmly.
Copyright, January 31,2016
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
roadways, home, memory, peace,
Form:
Acrostic
Can you recall seeing me?
On a country drive perhaps?
Winding my tendrils, so tenderly.
Very tall, like six feet high, I grow wild!
Every field and grassland is my home from May to August.
Tendrils and spikes are my leaves.
Cows love my crawling, sprawling beauty!
Have lovely dense purple trumpet flowers.
Even along roadways my seeds will thrive.
Stop to admire me, but pick me and I will die!
_________________________
July 23, 2012
Poetry/Acrostic/Cow Vetches
Copyright Protected, ID 07-4087-85-23
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Entered in the Standard contest, Theme #2 - Flowers,
sponsor, Skat, Judged
Sixth Place
Entered in the Standard contest #191,
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 7/25/2012
Third Place
________________________
Featured poem week of March 14 - March 20, 2021
Categories:
roadways, nature,
Form:
Acrostic
Circled light from angels' faces dawning
traces the darkening way all feet must tread,
reflecting forgotten silhouettes on rain wet streets.
Old city lights beam bright pathways through the gloom,
resplendent pools shimmering luminous enchantment,
mirroring tear washed memories of distant pasts.
Buried beneath regret-slick brick roadways,
specters gather round glowing gas lamps--
modern street lights' ancestral flames--
ghost lovers lingering in shining orbed dreams, remembering . . .
trembling vaporous fingers tracing love across softly illumined faces.
So linked in melancholic splendor, lovers old and new,
ply life's sacred needle, stitching the golden tapestry.
Copyright, October 1, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
roadways, death, dream, life, light,
Form:
Free verse
Unless…
by Odin Roark
Seems just yesterday the sun arced
Over precarious ice
The street’s one elm
Leaned its naked branches with the wind Bringing winter’s announcement
A Coney Island cat crouched puzzled
Gradual crusting snow layering
The boardwalk a ribbon of white awaiting the gray
Mister Cat sprung back into dumpster heaven
Closed his eyes
And returned to his lone-bird dream
The one always disappearing
Over horizon’s edge
A few blocks away
Anxious hormones kept rebellious teens
Of mere rip-torn jeans and NFL jerseys
Rubbing their friction memories
Into goose-bumped skin
Frozen leaves scurried left and right
Separated from their bark insulated origin
The once virile tree sap
Now but a cryonic life flow
Awaiting spring’s resurrection
Somewhere
A corner-park’s snowman
Bowed forgiveness to the stinging wind
Its shivering cold prepared girth and pride
For tomorrow’s collapse
Beneath Time’s Square lights
Heavy metal leapt from SUV windows
Igniting crystal air
Into a vortex of tribal dance sensations
Vibrations warming all in its path
Yesterday’s season-change
Like a surprise party
Thrown on a whim
Roared through the city’s trenches
Beneath skyscraper walls of protection
As if birthing another Also Sprach Zarathustra
Daring frozen tears to fall
Central Park’s tree branches
Clustered and embraced each other
Like mouths searching for lips of warmth
While a lone photographer
Adorned in raccoon coat
Pointed her camera at breathing drifts
Becoming icing for fantasy’s deep freeze cake
At city’s center
Twisting cables of struggling semaphores
Blinked for mercy
As the insistent primal howl echoed
Across pot holed roadways
And iron slabs of street repair
Above underground steel tracks
Awaiting metro’s ignited contact
As dawn broke
Veined tunnels continued swallowing
The rushing energy astride quickened steps
Running feet
Shoving elbows and shoulders
City dweller anxiety
Cascaded down entrance stairwells
Boarded subway cars
Merged into the city’s synaptic darkness
And awaited their stop
Most likely yet another insulated destination
Where nature happening
Might once again go unnoticed
Never to be recalled
Unless…
Categories:
roadways, environment,
Form:
Free verse