Best Traveled Poems
After our not so delicious meal, we started home
He turned onto our usual well-worn road
Headed west where we bumped across raised railroad tracks
There at the octagon shaped stop sign turned northwest
Feeling sated and situated on the road home
Home where the old weak heart resides
Home where comfy cotton clothes are worn
Home where feet are adorned with thong sandals
It is at least forty-five minute drive
Through rural Georgia with flourishing farmland
Verdant pastures next to many neat old homeplaces
Ones we see at least three times a month
Today something different caught our old tired eyes
A golden-yellow field but also a deep, pine green
Both of these old people wondered aloud
What is that growing over there?
With each passing second, we drew closer
Our old eyes began to grasp the beauty
The grace, symmetry of this four acre field
It was sunflowers, glorious sunflowers
I told my husband to turn onto the closer county road
Go onto a road less traveled by us and many
On that country road not well-traveled
Stood sunflowers, somewhat drooped on a cloudy day
However, that is not all of the story
I don't know if I have free versed enough
Should I go on?
Maybe save the rest for another day?
There are mountains I have traveled
where the roaring streams of life
have caught me in their torrents
down below the murky strife.
My feet denied a stony crevasse
in the deep canyons of desire;
now, once more I crest the summit,
absorbing sunlight's cleansing fire.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, June 12, 2014
Vultures surround me, glaring at my ebony“ unsaved Soul“, Squawking, waiting for the
“Feast of Death”
The Sallow Sky envelopes me, destroying all thoughts of Eternity , a Love tear falls with-in
my last Breath
Where are the Stars, the Moon, the Sun, LIFE? : I stand alone scarred and scared ; “I want
to go Home”
See the glory of Mother Nature, touch the Robe of Father Time : To Write myself out of this
Horrible Poem
Inspired By the POEM “ If you can’t be a poet, be the POEM “ By Dr. Ram Mehta
Dedicated To “ Dr. Ram Mehta “ ( My Literary Advisor) through His Comments to my Work
Forgiveness, The Road Less Traveled
By: Miracle man
2/28/2020
In each life, painful things are bound to occur,
and fires of revenge, from our thoughts, oft emerge.
Our lives aren't always found as we would prefer,
and absence of forgiveness becomes our scourge.
God's will is we forgive those doing us wrong,
showing mercy without placing condition.
Failing to forgive, misery we prolong,
placing ourselves in the other's position.
Ephesians 2:1-3
1 And you [hath he quickened], who were dead in trespasses and sins;
2 Wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience:
3 Among whom also we all had our conversation in times past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others.
I'm casting shadows through the trees...
There's no sunshine left to free...
I'm casting shadows with no rain...
There's no rainbows left to gain...
I'm climbing ladders to the sky....
With no sadness just good byes...
I'm climbing ladders to the stars...
With no steps that keep me far....
I'm building bridges to your land...
On the path will find our hands....
I'm building bridges far and wide....
On a surface far from lies....
I take my steps just like a child....
To close my eyes into the wild....
I take my steps far from sin....
To fight a fight that I must win...
A ventriloquist there was named Monique
Who could make all of her body parts speak
Her right hand did British
Her left handled Yiddish
Down below she liked French and took Greek
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
Her hands were happy,
she fluttered them against
a cliché sense of blue in the air
and laughed when the allure of
the flowers further on trilled against
her skin. She submerges herself in light,
filtering through veined jade appendages.
-deeper-
Life is what she lusts for,
twirling in circles with the moon
to see if she can become a world of her own.
She picks roses and strips the petals
to smell the thorns –and shakes her head
because none of her pain is original.
Even so, she breaks into a run, bitter
at the dust beneath her and
every single one of the
footprint after footprint scars.
She might as well not even try the other road,
they tell her.
-the light bends around her, she rubs her eyes
to rid them of the green edge-
She realizes too late, the thorns are disappeared.
The path stretches on without end –it draws her into
a malachite mist.
She inhales slowly and
gags against the moisture that now
condenses on the walls of her lungs.
Clawing at her tongue, she stains her fingers
with mucous.
-The sky bleeds poisonous green arcs-
-what happened to the blue-
The heels of her palm against her eyes
-a vain attempt to salvage color-
she screams as she turns –
inside out, emerald. She feels them
sour, glassing over premature
and dripping venom. Liquid
strains her veins against her clouding skin.
She vomits bark,
desecrating the space between her toes –
putrid, willowy leaves sprout from her hair.
She looks up as if from beneath miles of
sea water, her undulating legs firmly rooted.
-I don’t want it-
she says faintly.
and the forest groans against her weight,
settling slowly like ash on the residue of thorn-ridden existence.
-The pulse glows green-
my great obidance
as
a train slipping
of tracks into a manor of faiths
my dream is the concusion of are dreams not knowing
the wings of fortune
a cristal clear disire
reaping into flamelike arts
rippels of destanation
like a huge addiction
qualety's blemished
a new stainted letter of the deposite into grace
feeling how the leaves are shivering
clouded by emortial savior
destend to become the quial
of are justiced parking hit's line
that he's is smoking daddie's weeds
on a drifters hook of pray's
Traveled
by Odin Roark
Once traveled
looking back is a
smoke-filled window.
Once traveled
the smoky windows rattle their endless resentment
at the windy changes.
But...The changes
rattles
smoky windows
oh, how sweet their receding motion.
oh, how sweet to breathe the air of the uphill movement
of struggling roots
of rustling branches
of open spaces crying to be filled
with visions
with excavations of the mind
with tempestuous truth
with directions into endless detours
with paths...trails...roads...
roads to be once again...
Traveled
A road less traveled is only a journey the cowards fear
For the brave stand strong through the hard times when danger grows near
Fighting a battle that seems most certain one will lose…
However the weak submit.... limiting their potential and not knowing their destiny
While the strong create the opportunity to where they have to choose
A road less traveled is filled with our biggest worries
In which your troubles catch up with you and a vision that was once so clear,
Suddenly becomes blatantly blurry
We grow weary when there is pain
And become lazy when there is rain….
But yet, when the sun shines,
Why do we seem content?
with no urge to change things that remain the same…
When the clouds shadow your path, or the strong winds begin to throw you off track..
It is by your will to find the urge to detour away from your journey
or take the original way of fighting back
But enough of the lectures, enough of the rags to riches glory stories
Because when you continuously just talk about success but don’t act on it
your intentions become meaningless and efforts become more unworthy
A road less traveled is never chosen, yet placed in our lives…
As a test from the man above to see who has the faith and will to survive
The mistakes we make do not define who we are
Because it is your choice whether you will make this journey bare footed
or sitting pretty in the passenger side of “HIS” gasless car
If you are thinking either option shouldn’t be a choice…
Then I ask, “If you were forced …what would you choose?”
To stand tall and walk alone…or let the man above be by your side to guide you through
A road less traveled is one that is never taken by a volunteer…
But I rather not travel alone, if I have the option to be challenged facing an impossible situation knowing “HE” is near
Translating ......that no matter our circumstances, to the road that is less traveled, is one journey that we should never fear
"The Road Less Traveled"
Not all roads diverge in a wood,
Some lead to places misunderstood.
They wind and twist, never straight,
Leading us to a different fate.
While others take the path well-known,
The beaten track that's often shown,
Some of us crave a different view,
And choose the road that's less pursued.
It's not for fame or glory we stray,
But to find a new and different way.
A way that's harder, but more true,
A way that's meant for just a few.
The road less traveled is not for all,
It's for the brave who hear the call,
Who seek adventure, and a chance to see,
The world in all its majesty.
And so we take the path unknown,
With courage, hope, and faith we've shown,
That sometimes taking the harder way,
Leads us to a brighter day.
For life is but a winding road,
With many twists and turns bestowed,
And those who choose to go their own,
Will find a way to make a home.
So if you choose the road less traveled,
Know that you're not alone or addled,
But one of many who choose to see,
The world in all its mystery.
They are nothing
if not taciturn--these sprit travelers.
They do not shock, or ridicule,
for they are single-minded in their quest
for timeless realms where magic dragons play
and roar for joy that cannot be contained--
unless they are ignored for brighter flames
that drown the seas around their mystic shore.
They are not much
for words or diadems of thought to sway
the psyche, win the day, or call to arms
a soldier, surfeited with war or from
a restive peace, Theirs is the steady breath
to leave one breathless, voiceless, more removed
from what a dawning day reveals than they
had ever been before, and more in tune
with universal song,
although they do not sing,
for their metier is listening. and that
is quite unspeakable--they do invite
us yet, to take their hand and come along.
The journey is not wearying , and rest
awaits the patient ones. Vacation at
the cosmic level is the prize received
unending and forever new,
~
Two old people took a road less traveled
Recently they did so
Age can confuse, disorient
Sometimes bad things happen though
The road ended choices presented
Should they go around the block
Back to the road traveled familiar
Or onto a road maybe see livestock
We chose the latter way to go
Time to us seemed to move slow
But then we realized, we were lost
Nothing looked familiar, although
Beauty seemed to surround the senses
Grandeur drew us to forget
We drove on in resplendence
Then a road her attention did whet
A road quite well traveled appeared
He bypassed in his daze
She told him to turn around(they did)
The way home found, glory! we praise
The road less traveled...
helps us to embrace uncertainty,
teaches us to trust in tenacity...
makes us to reflect on reality,
and shows us the beauty of rarity.
The road less traveled...
causes us to crave creativity,
brings us to the hill of humility,
takes us to the peak of positivity,
and shows us the depth of diversity.
The road less traveled...
Brings out the best in us
gives us foresight and focus...
teaches us to shun hocus pocus,
and helps us to find inner locus...