Best Trampling Poems
I remember clinging on to the naked branch,
which had been my home since the season of birth.
In my days of botanical glory,
flourishing and nourishing in nature
I would spread my vibrant wings of luscious green,
blooming alongside a canopy of compatriots,
shading the world from bright sunlight.
At night we would shimmer under moonlight,
sheltering sleeping nests weaved by 'expecting' birds.
When only baby feathers remained,
and as birdfeeders slowly emptied,
skies altered their aura in hues of grey,
one by one my 'fellow stems' started to fall.
Helpless I watched them decay under trampling feet,
each step sucking the life from them.
Rampant rain arrived soaking the veins of my life,
dripping tear drops upon the ground beneath me.
I wondered if the sun would return to show mercy,
hydrating my crumbling sallowish skin,
but in its goodbye,
I was left abandoned in the cold.
Wondering
is this my destiny?
A temporary existence -
why was I not formed in an evergreen shield?
Lost in thought, abruptly,
the winds began blowing stronger,
rain pelted more persistently -
my grip became weaker
so I let go screaming
I remember falling in slow motion,
being blown around,
twisting and twirling, up and down,
as my
'whole life flashed before me'
Car headlights flashing,
I was defenceless to my upcoming doom.
My end, a predictable fate of fragile vulnerability,
was near, as I prepared for my last sigh.
but before I took my last breath,
I fell upon a brown eyed,
giggling child's face,
tangling in her curly hair -
"Mummy, can I keep it."
she asked
as she placed me carefully in her schoolbag.
in between the pages of her diary..
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
He toddles toward the pebbles, tumbling the smooth stones over
in his four year old palms, rubbing them like Aladdin’s lamp, tossing
them back into the mix, impishly shining with the zest of a boy.
He sees the overflow of snowy petals, finds the lowest hanging
stem, the gardenia bends to touch his greenhorn nose. Forever
that scent will remind him of grandma’s garden like she remembers
the tubes of trumpet petals in her own grandparents’ backyard. A
twinkle of tremulous joy impacting the fingers of her and her siblings.
The rare treat of parties, the round table laughter, heartfelt antiquity.
The boy explodes from the bottom of the driveway into the steep
mossy front yard, feeling each measured bounce, ne’er a straight
path to the door, exploring the red and yellow roses, the crumbling
timbers, walking the wall, following scurrying lizards, stepping on
ants, a roving eye for the fearful red, yet no thought of turtle monsters
nor copperheads that have precariously occupied my property,
nor coyotes that have encroached the boundaries. Unboundless energy,
nerve, verve of a courageous man in the making, trampling his feet,
owning the property then oh so gently snapping a stem, handing
his childhood princess a gift, pulling strings of a puppet’s heart,
winding the twine like pulling in a windswept kite, ever learning
nuances of my mind, tucked away to love, rebell and trust.
6/1/19
As I Rose From Purple Slumberland, My Heart Red Aflame
As I rose from purple slumberland, my heart red aflame
There within crackling old bones was an itching in the game
Was there honorable valor in soul's deeper felt hate
Dare I tempt yet again the hard vicious hand of Fate
Last time, repercussions were almost impossible to bear
But scorching volcano in me cried it is only fair
Had not the evil temptress burned alive my best friend
But my sword will certainly be her righteously brought end.
It was then I knew the unholy beast had flown back home
Had done ghastly work, leaving behind bloodshed as it roam
Not sparing innocent lives of babies and young kids
Seeking to slay wherever they went and cleverly hid
Ahh but, this true sword and razor-sharp blade it soon may greet
And within all of death's aching throes its demise thus meet
A sworn oath, a promise sword upon an ancient stone
The huge monstrous beast will receive wherever it has flown.
As gleaming moon its golden rays showered upon earth
I knelt to pray to my God for all of my worldly worth
To gift me insight and power to end its wicked life
And that I am not to be shredded by its claw-like knife
Or even bitten by any of its long daggerlike teeth
Nor knocked senseless and its trampling feet stomped beneath
This sincerest prayer I utter to Heaven up high
That in this Holy quest, God rewards me, I do not die.
Robert J. Lindley, Narrative
Nov. 23rd, 1973, age 19
Part One...
Old Note- 1973-- To be finished later....
New Note-
Posting this old poem now because we are down from the mountainside and we have a wifi connection. Will finish this poem at a later date, conclude it in Part Two- " the final battle""/ RJL
They stand and wait.
Those who had gone before,
At the bridge of whatever,
Where whenever goes.
Many colours many kinds,
All have the same label.
The befores waiting
for the afters.
The bridge is of many a hue,
Worn with the passing through
the trampling, of those ready.
followed by the dragging back, of the undecided,
The masters call, a pull, a tug.
Where is this bridge?
In the hereafter,
Yet they wait,
wait for that one being.
They are all there
at Rainbows Bridge.
Alert
waiting,
waiting,
waiting.
For their master.
O
The snowflakes, white and pure, they ballet in
Like newborn thoughts that surface from within,
we would be wise to treat them tenderly -
just one harsh influence, they cease to be.
And we know not what will become of them.
They wander, yet inside their havens stay
Some find their way and rest upon firm ground,
misled, a few by winds are blown away.
The boots of fate come trampling in on that
which envy, fear and hate already taint.
They fragment those whose flawless structured mat
has glazed itself in nature’s silver paint.
Exagoni, pristine, stay free of fear
though their impending fate remains unclear.
Likewise true thoughts prevail, preserved inside,
though they may be witness to Evil’s tide.
———————————————
—————————————————
A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to own temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity not allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -
J.A.B.
Spring
A refresh of rain, falling down on them all
Un-quenching each leaf with tilt refrain
Linden shaped blossoms in spring do install
Such beautiful heaven that no one can maim
The burst of an orange, a tulip in bloom
Infusion of flowers, by meadow's festoon
The shine of an orchid, ever so stark,
It stays on my mind, long after dark
The Rose brings her beauty, as I swift appraise
And summer goes trailing with fever, her blaze
Summer
Heat waves arrive, wearing red flaming scarves
Bronzed cherub angels, by cool fountain spout
Yellow kissed flowers by summer's head count
The dahlias in love, with passions, don't starve
Bikinis and tank tops with summer tanned legs
Atop the hot board walk, skip trampling keds
Bleach blonds and ravens in tune with the fair
Coasters and bolsters and times without care
It's all in the season of sunshine and thrills
Where fireworks burst, o'er emerald hills!
Autumn
The seasons pass as my eyes behold
Soft change in hues when bending limbs grow bare
As colored leaves turn brown begin to fold
To finally scatter into Autumn's air
These days remembered on a road of leaves
Traveling aspen groves ablaze in gold
A Winter's chill before the Autumn grieves
Reminds that all life ends before its cold
And calls in voice its yearly subtle dance
As songs from birds now give a quiet note
While those in love hope colors will enhance
To feel chill from Winter when color dies
To bless the fallen leaves with sadder eyes
Winter
The Winter's cold comes dressed in velvet white
And spills its unique flakes upon the Earth
Scenes of beauty calm, open eye's delight
And cleanse the ground before the Spring's rebirth
I'll walk upon the freshest fallen snow
And see the trail of prints I leave behind
While knowing it reveals the path I go
I'll make a snowy Angel some will find
To cross the banks of white where depth is low
And sit among the quiet, Winter's brought
To see the landscape clean with softest glow
Shall bring to me another gentle thought
I'll lift my eyes to find a pictured scene
And marvel at the white that is pristine
written by Mystic Rose & Frederic Parker
9/20/14
Closing my eyes I can see you again
My whirligig, dancing as if on water
Not watching my fingers play
Bow loosely threaded like your dancing hair
Red reflected in the flames behind you
Colouring my eyes with warmth and longing
While my hands tire, my arms sink
My violin hits the ground I hear them say
Boy, play me some more, their faces
Grey and distorted while all I want to see
Is you, all I want is your husky voice
The rasp of your fresh beard on my skin
Walking to the dying fire, trampling ashes
Raising my arms and once more seeing
You, arms around me, dancing together
Your soft hum in my ear, while you hold my
Violin high, bowing for me, striking a chord
In my heart, forever in my heart
***
April 26, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Cows roamed sunlit green pastures hugging the river banks
Where villagers of meager means cultivated their tiny farms
Living happily amid bare necessities trusting destiny's hand.
That place, I left behind, taking the only dirt-road out of town
Long before brazen street-lights replaced kerosene lamps
And invading industrial hands pilfered farmers' pristine land.
As modernity ravaged lives, trampling elder's innocent footprints,
Bewildered serenity escaped the pain of dismantled memories.
Saddened river knows, having carried ashes of the anguished,
Heartache farmers felt when strangers re-wrote ancestral story.
September 28, 2018
Lines of ten that remind you what it was like back then
Sponsor: Silent One
Through anger
Fill breath eased back, dark
Empoisonment loss
Yet in faint warm-hued shadows
Trampling down
I, docile
Woven in and round
In unfailing peace
Breathless in truths solitude
Healing angst
midnight's
descend clothed me
in darkness,
stilling
the process of
you giving up on us
but
it was useless
when
dawn's ascend
stripped me naked with
a
vengeance
that ache-quaked
my being
it's
no longer there
your...
sugary, salty taste
that clung to my tongue
long after our orgasms sprung
imprints
of your fingertips
were fading fast from my skin
survival
instinct kicked in
summoning daydreams to
pull down my eyelids and project
memorable moments with you
but
souldeep your absence
persistently
abuse my senses
the words,
{{YOU'RE. GONE. FOR. GOOD.}}
beat against
my eardrums resounding thoughts of
your scent, I'll never take in again
or
feel the heat of your kiss
on my lips
each
footstep
taken, led you away
trampling my heart into
an
unrecognizable rhythm
from the way
it used to beat
for only
you
I
feel
the slowing
of your love flow
through my veins and hear the
weakening beeps
I
know
our flat line
is just a matter
of time...
love's death is near
and
I
don't know
rather to let us
rest in peace
or
do my best
and try to resurrect
us.
Puritans gather in Congress' hallowed halls, faces glum
Trampling truth, blowing horns, banging drums
Of blazing envy, wrath, and sloe-eyed sleaze
Pelosi-Schumer's moralizing minions on their knees
Digging up dirt on disapproved-of nominees
Judgment fled to Pandora-box divorce decrees
Careful, all you righteous pols, so sure the public will be pleased
Most voters care about the economy, not investigative sleaze
-- And whenever decent folks flee, the door opens for the military
Taking my place in your gazing blue eyes
Who stole the glow of my dawning sunrise?
As defiling your virtues you obliquely lied,
Pounding my heart till I died a little inside.
When a brilliant sunny day said goodbye
As lightening arrived to thunder blue sky
Storming my life, you left me teary eyed
Exacting high price by forfeiting my pride.
Reluctantly I disclaimed your sweet smile
As your blatant animosity put me in exile
And adulating ill-will you ceded to hate,
Trampling on destiny you altered my fate.
On my horizon cried your reign of disdain
As you rejected goodwill again and again.
Remnants of aspirations no longer claim
A desire of passions to reignite our flame.
Meaning of love soon indelibly changed
Revoking your name from souls estranged.
Hurt still remained, woefully pacified--
Lingering listlessly, till I died a little inside.
February 9, 2019
Placed first:Early March 2019 contest by Brian Strand
Placed second:I died a little inside contest by Silent One
The golden life I claim
Was neither earned
Nor deserved,
For I climbed the ladder
Trampling the underserved.
On the day of reckoning
When I count all my wins,
No way can I explain
Why there were no losses.
Regrets accumulated over time
Now demand humility,
But the treasures I own
Contain only pride and gloating.
Don't take that crown
When I wish to surrender,
And don't remind me
How high I sit,
For when I hear the call
I will find out
How deep I must fall.
January 10, 2018
Placed 3rd: Strand Poetry Pick 2 by Brian Strand