Best Treks Poems
Memories Of Bygone Days
O' yes, how well I remember her still
giant black oak atop big wooded hill
Those treasured days now long flown by
our free spirits flying so very high
Summer days within Nature's fine realm
majestic views that did so overwhelm
Cloudy days in the meadow far below
flowers galore, O' what a great show
My lady and I went up there to park
glorious scene set our hearts to spark
Under canopy of that old massive oak
she sweet words of undying love spoke
Our tree saw our love start to bloom
picture of that oak in our bedroom
Two years it watched our love grow
how was it to ever see or dare know
Life came and flew on us so fast
love came deeply but failed to last
Fate sent us onto far different treks
love destroyed, both lives were wrecks
Now I pass that massive tree on the hill
memory recalls her beauty , what a thrill
Time destroyed the scene it ruled then
O' the love of what should, could have been
JULY 2015
Categories:
treks, emotions, farewell, goodbye, heartbreak,
Form:
Rhyme
Landscapes exposing nature’s grandeur
mountain ranges inspire great trip.
Cordilleras of welcoming marvels
propel refreshing ascent
amidst pure verdant sights.
Those delight me, the Earth’s firmament
while surveying the pine trees steadfastly queueing along hills
offering shade to blossoming lilies
with cabbage roses wondrously radiant…
oh, inviting faith-strengthening treks
driven by faithful stewardship with reaching-out pursuits
toward triumphant spiritual peaks----
Today’s awesome focus points me toward the third heavens*
as I hover above this certain magnificent vista**
designed by the sovereign Creator ---
giant mounds sprawling
cloudy crests and pinnacles ~
engraved terraces
*Hebrews 8:1 …We have such an high priest, who is set on the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens.
**Kibungan, Benguet Philippines is my Dad's birthplace.
September 17, 2020
2nd place, "Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 9/20/2020.
Categories:
treks, appreciation, blessing, christian, faith,
Form:
Personification
Written: July 06, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In midnight darkness, a smart spherical roll
Its treks into clouds as ships over hidden shoals.
Wandering hearts strive for their final day.
Hide-and-seek with woodland dwellers play.
To embrace a lover's chin, a lack of mystery
You sparkle and vanish as promises blistery.
Then depart until your eyes tear up.
Ink-splattered sheets won't dry in the cup.
So, any time of the day, retain a sunny face.
A scentless heart's scent is spared by grace.
Your curved grin is burned into my soul.
I cannot claim uniqueness or be whole.
So as to achieve discover a covert bearing.
And seize the place of daydreaming.
Whisperings of the moonlight dance
Reverberate over the vast, dark glance.
In the depths of night, secrets unfold.
As the clever sphere of silver and gold
Through midnight shadow, it rolls and glides.
Guided by unseen hands, it silently abides.
Such ships through hidden shoals, navigates,
Through the vast unknown, it patiently waits.
They crave a love that is pure and true.
A link that will bestow spirits to renew.
In a game of hide-and-seek, the moon does play,
As forest members peek in the moonlight sway.
They watch as it dances, casting its spell.
Enchanting all who dare to dwell.
A wishful lost mystique, in the moon's embrace,
Longing for a touch, a lover's grace.
But the moon is elusive, a fleeting dream.
Such as promises that vanish, it seems.
It glows and then disappears from sight.
Leaving behind a tear, glistening in the night.
Too late to dry a page where ink stains smear,
The moon's presence lingers, a memory so dear.
Even in the daylight, its beauty remains.
A reminder of the love that forever sustains
But the brightness of the sun cannot allay
The ache in a heart that's scentless in decay
Categories:
treks, analogy, appreciation, beautiful, crush,
Form:
Rhyme
alone now
I roam through memories
recalling treasures of the past
journeying back to seaside treks with my husband
riding to the city to see Broadway shows
reliving nights of romance
even visiting John’s grave
in the best of times
memories carry me to ocean jetties
where vows of love were exchanged
as waves lapped gently against rocks
if only we could feel these sensations again
family outings at the beach
building sandcastles
burying Dad’s feet in sand
sauntering along the festive boardwalk
hiking through woodlands with friends who have passed
wanting to hug them again
feeling the weight of concrete
preventing my spirit from moving on
as I reach out to heaven
seeking a sign
praying for guidance
hoping past joy will be restored
confined by sadness
I roam through memories
alone now
For Drake’s “I Roam” contest
4/23/11
Categories:
treks, introspection, nostalgia
Form:
Free verse
On many long, drawn out nights, his routine was to
shuffle aimlessly along dimly lit city streets.
Much of the time, his only companion was a
concealed remnant of cheap bottled wine. He
scavenged for food and money. He would walk
enveloped in deep, weighty shadows and
halo laden street lights. Solitary. Lonely.
Emptiness that few people feel or know.
The raw hollow of an alcoholics tightly
drawn stomach. A gnawing pain that craves
food but will only be quelled when he gets
enough cash for another pint of cheap wine or gin.
Where to spend the night? Maybe with
some of them under the 10th st. bridge.
They may have some money there, or a
blanket to share. Might rummage garbage
containers at the restaurants on the way.
Could walk the parking lot at the grocery store.
There's always change lying on the asphalt.
Could act like he passed out on a city
bench. The police take you to the Detox
Center then. He hated that. Have to stay
72 hours. Guts ache, skin crawls. They
feed you well, but there is always
that craving.
Just keep walking. Frail, vaguely awaren
of hissurroundings as he treks in shadow
andsepia. On 10th, the street lights are so
damned bright they hurt his eyes.
What's that at the bus stop bench
in a brown paper sack?
Two loaves of bread, two wrappers of
bologna, and a luxurious bottle of Gallo
wine tucked in the sack. My God.
Providence at a city bus stop.
Someone boarded the bus and left
their supper. Probably headed for the
homeless shelter overnight.
White bread and meat for one hunger.
Cheap wine for the other.
There might even be some food to share.
Miracle on 10th St.
Categories:
treks, loneliness, loss, sick,
Form:
Free verse
Rising above the destitute land
Barren are the quiet hills now
Echoing terrain's vacant sound
There, where sweet home was.
Tree uprooted quivers gently
Its scattered mangled remains
Swaying aches of forsaken pain
Mourning tranquility's death.
In solitude this climb he treks
Aspiring zest of rising dawns
As they concede to sullen days
Looking for her presence
Ever since the oldest tree fell
And the lone bird fled its nest.
The sunrise still evokes her name,
So does her beloved sunset.
Despite the dearest hopes he held
She never returned this way.
March 5, 2019
Placed first: Standard contest #190 by Brian Strand
Categories:
treks, heartbreak, lost love,
Form:
Verse
Approvals I Should Praise
The rhythm of my pen knows no bounds
Its ticks, treks, and steps knows no count.
The songs on my lip just loose the count.
No where, I suppose to untie the bond.
Strong bones are so much in here
They touch and squeeze out letters bountifully.
In these bones, many light I have received gracefully.
Linda is one, Andrea is two among all of you there.
You are all amazing guests in this field
Cup of water..., cup of tea come to toast.
Many hugs, many thanks to you, writ and host.
... Eden that crowns my garden and its yields.
Special parcel to my coy mistress, Linda.
All sea, roses...and sweet showers to you.
And my lady Andrea; always brand new!
I love you all... your words in my wall are tender.
Dedicated to:
Poetrysoup,
Poet Destroyer A,
Andrea Dietrich
and to the rest of Poetrysoupers.
I am Grateful for your warm welcome.
Categories:
treks, dedication, devotion, home, hope,
Form:
Rhyme
Inside-Out with all the psycho-babble.
Multifaceted melange - merry and melancholy.
My pen’s prophetic,
authentic,
inadequate.
Hazel eyes that ponder divinity:
See the world.
See God through the world.
See the people.
Empathize with earthly beings.
Fall to my knees.
Seek inspiration.
Grab it with gusto.
Don’t wait for the brain to catch up.
I observe the peculiarities in my familiar space.
I often hide behind the blinds.
Occasions, work, and friends -
push me out into the serendipitous sun and clouds.
Clench books on dusty shelves.
Throw them into a shopping cart -
they’re all free.
Attempt to organize floaters -
those iotas, that crystallize,
to form a complete thought.
Exhaustive concordance of my travels -
violets, forget-me-knots, tulips,
and fear and sorrow
The viscous web of grandiose heights -
zip lines, edge of mountains, glacier treks.
Falling...falling back on my knees.
Confident? Conceited?
A poet - that’s me.
And ideas materialize -
with family and strangers,
life and death.
The affectation of emotion, pondered.
Like a journalist, I report roller-coaster happenings.
You see, I used to merely have an emotion,
get comfortable in its chair.
Now I play with it,
craft my joy or despair.
The mirror cracks -
my reflection
as I grow wizened,
with a chromatic symphony
of mystique.
Categories:
treks, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Urges ushered Est’bel out of her abode –
a cottage cobbled together from cobwebs and clapboard –
and she scuttled forth,
her nesty hair tousled
by a leaf-laced breeze
In her bony hands she clutched
dregs of a nightmeg broth
in a porcelain jar stoppered
by a coffinwood shard
Her bare feet stepped on thorny twigs
but she felt them not,
for her soles had been hardened
by countless treks across hot coals
washed up from stygian shoals
Leftward she turned,
meandering down the narrowing, twisting path,
where uprooted mandrake tendrils
clutched at her anorexic ankles,
while ravens pecked at her frayed follicles,
until she snatched a leaf
from a passing philodendron,
folding it into a tri-cornered hat
and plunking it atop her pate,
rakishly askew
Dewey sap from twisty-trunked trees
dripped onto the nape of her gnarly neck
and a raven on a nearby branch
cawed his amusement,
earning him her owlish scowl
She spied a row of rotting poppies
and plucked a bunch,
sticking them into a crevice of her hat,
then stepped onto a walkway of cracked shale slabs,
which shunned her footprints,
replacing them with snail streaks
to mark her passing
She made her way to a listing tombstone
atop a gnarled knoll encased in gelid moonbeams
and fringed by shushing sawgrass
She took a small vial of indigo glass
from beneath her shabby shawl
and pulled out a stopper made
from a finger bone of an unfaithful lover
whose pickled tongue hung from a
silver chain around her neck
She poured the contents of the vile vial
into the porcelain jar and
listened to the fizz.
It subsided into sloshes,
reminding her of the sounds
issuing from demented shells
snatched from the forlorn shores
of stygian shoals
She gaped at the sky
as an owl flew past the moon,
stirring the dark craters,
which broke up into swirling spirals,
sucking lunar beasts beneath the surface,
where they dissolved in the ceaselessly sliding sands
And Est’bel raised the jar to her lips
and drank a toast to the moon,
and awaited the enshadowed shades
drifting down the snail-slimed pathway,
propelled by a leaf-laced breeze
Categories:
treks, magic, moon, night, woman,
Form:
Free verse
you were walking along a blossom carpet
holding three yellow calla lilies
i could hear the blue river running along the rocks
toward the cullasaja falls where the water raged
we were like giraffes in the rain, first to feel the drops
in our perfumed outdoor living roam
we lived a fairy tale of here and now
we lived a fairy tale two feet off the ground
wilson’s warblers sang in their series of descending notes
and now we were just silhouettes in the sunset
eau sur peau et petits fruits rouges c'était nous
at treks end morning strawberry and cream grew wild
we could see nature’s pick dancing on the clouds
as we sat for biscuit tea beneath a popcorn sky
until the evening primroses announced another day done
time to embrace in the warmth of your silky touch
my eyes rain a sun shower on this our sacred globe.
Categories:
treks, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Poet's Words, Inspired From Picture In A Book
There in ancient times, a high rocky ridge
surrounded by enchanted forest green.
To cross over to it, a rock arch bridge
much as a great painted artistic scene.
From Nature had this true beauty been made
with only immense power it can wield.
Time and erosion, red color given shades
far below, sunlit flowers in meadow fields.
Poet's words, inspired from picture in a book
and all the history stored in his head.
There he lay sleeping in a rocky nook
as if resting upon a feathered bed.
What more could one want to ink flying words
about sailing ships on restful blue seas?
Or the beauty of colorful, flying birds,
sweet as the golden honey of honey bees.
In his mind's eye the nook is left behind
he treks in the forest to scenes anew.
Dawn's morning showers gifted treasures to find
matters not if it will be only a few.
Finding the meadow, its flowers in full bloom
he sat with pen and paper in ready hand.
He fills page as if decorating a room
hearing Nature's music from its own band.
Task done, the book he slowly laid aside
reviewed his words as true, found all is well.
Content, away on sailing ship he rides
resting his poet's hand for a brief spell.
2-18-2018
Categories:
treks, creation, deep, nature, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Just a small country farm,
On a small country road,
A sixteen hand draft horse,
A pullin' the loads.
With maize as its mainstay,
Lofty tassels to the wind,
Lowly swine in the barn yard,
Venerable dairy cows in their pens.
Agrarian life's never easy,
Seems there's never a break,
Family somehow surviving,
When their lives are at stake.
Rising together,
With the light of the day,
A symphony -
Like the rivulet, flowing into the bay.
Spouse, his constant companion
Of more than two score years,
Steadfast confidant,
Mid' pleasure and tears.
Preparing his repast,
For a long, grueling day,
Always aware,
Life's time, passing away.
A hearty warm feast,
Of buttered toast, ham and eggs,
Fore' he treks to the fields
On his old, worn-out, rickety legs.
Sunrise to dust,
Ne'er completing his chores,
Will be dark, fore' he comes home
To the wife he adores.
Sowing and planting,
Enriching the soil,
Intrepid old farmer,
No less for his toil.
Every day the cycle,
Of life doth repeat,
Farmer and plow,
In the soil and the heat.
A second-hand Deere
Relieving ole' Sal,
Modern, technology
Not as reliable somehow.
Days on the farm
Are long and they're tough;
Hours pass slowly,
And they're never enough.
Seldom rewarding,
Life rarely sublime;
Going through the motions,
Like the caricatured mime.
A day in the fields
The farmer's true bliss,
His old wife waiting for him
With his dinner and kiss.
The old rustic farmer,
Barely making his way,
On a small country farm;
Just another, routine, ordinary day.
September 14, 2014
Categories:
treks, america, faith, farm, home,
Form:
Free verse
summer love so real
feeling alive in your arms
very hot we got
~*~
autumn hearts afire
nature treks took together
loving crisp weather
~*~
winter romance fun
snuggling under covers
blissfully in love
~*~
springtime love will bloom
our bodies keeping rhythm
seasonal pulses
Categories:
treks, love, nature, passion, love,
Form:
Senryu
My soulmate is a pilgrim,
He explores the zodiac’s constellations
Not always in our own Milky Way, he treks
His journeys enlighten mankind
Because he aims his bow hunting faith in Sagittarius
And swims with emotional artistry in Pisces
He judges mankind with Libran scales
As he admires beauty while visitingTaurus
By Capricorn he calculates the distances to travel
With Gemini he knows about all the heavens
In Aquarius he will always be courageous and cool
While adventuring The Scorpio Moon, my soulmate tells no secrets
Because he is a man of Aries who has great self worth
His mother The Virgin he humbly thanks
The Cancer crab brings him home again
He enters Earth as Leo the lion
That time occurred when Regulus in retrograde circled Jupiter
Then, Jupiter conjoined Venus
Making it event the brightest lights in all heaven
So the Maggi would find the divine child
My soulmate is that deity
He rides on the tail of the comets.
One day he will come again
He promised
And he, my friend, does not lie.
K??
© #Bojenn 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
treks, romantic, soulmate, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
He has been beside me for fourteen years
Compassionate and wise, he always cheers
Once, as a puppy, he played happily
An older dog, he’s a sleeping beauty
He snuggles close to me when I’m sleeping
Always aware that we’re both now ageing
Giving up longer walks for shorter treks
Growing old, it seems, is a bit complex
He still wags and nags for bits of good food
Hoping for the bites that I always stewed
He has his treats, his sleep and he is loved
More than words could reveal he’s beloved
With all of my heart and all of my soul
I love this little guy who's my console
Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Date: November 21, 2014
Categories:
treks, animal, dog,
Form:
Sonnet