Best Walkways Poems
Emotion will overcome,
The one we have while crossing Yellowstone Park,
With two loyal friends,
Walking on walkways above the bubbling
from Mammoth Spring,
The one we have using a defibrillator to see a heart
Beat again,
Emotion will win, the one we have when looking at the stars
shining in the selfish night,
The one we have while detailing the lights sparkle on the other side of the bay,
That one emotion while listening to a cantata by Bach, while facing the sea,
The faith in God transcending our souls, our spirits,
The emotion one has when thinking about our mom loosing her ideals
staying in bed,
the emotion will overcome,
The one we have as a passenger, at each takeoff or landing of a Boeing 747,
That emotion while admiring a painting of Monet or Botticelli,
That one by reading our travel book about Brazil,
That of the child discovering his gifts under the Christmas tree,
the emotion will win,
That of the tourist from Brest, discovering for the first time
Manhattan,
or photographing whales off the coast of Cape Code,
The one of the teacher looking into the eyes of a eleventh grader,
Emotion will conquer, or the world will perish.
Amassed in flamboyant Azalea blooms when my garden is free of the cold.
Bird of Paradise, dressed in purple and orange, wear their colors so bold.
Crocus bloom when the mounds of snow finally melt and say, "Goodbye."
Daffodils display delightful faces and seem to be greeting me with a, "Hi."
Easter Cactus in pink and salmon, adds bursts of color in hanging pots.
Favorite in my garden are the carpets of romantic little Forget-Me-Nots.
Gardenia shrubs line my walkways with sweetest scent to tempt the bees.
Hyacinths are compact flowers on a single stem, but cause me to sneeze.
In early Spring my beds of Irises trumpet that a new season has begun.
Jasmine on the vine attracts hummingbirds in my garden spots full of sun.
Kerria bushes keep my yard enhanced in shades of chartreuse and gold.
Lily of the Valley is said to bring lots of happiness to the young and old.
Mock Orange, a pretty perfumed flower, prim and proper in purest white.
Nandina, Heavenly Bamboo, have bronzed red leaves of medium height.
Oleander clusters are a riot of color on the end of green foliage so tall.
Peonies add charm and grace in pink pastels all along my garden wall.
Queen of the Prairie in the landscape, reach up to the sun and the sky.
Rusty Foxglove is a late Spring perennial, I find very pleasing to the eye.
Sharing a treasured vase with them, I will select the lovely Shasta Daisy.
Three Lobe Spirea (Bridal Veil), is so easy to grow it could make me lazy.
Under the shade trees grow Urn Bromiliads, on driftwood from the river.
Verbena is Queen of the rock garden, in shades of burgundy she'll deliver.
Wisteria, in white or lavender, hangs in sadness until it withers away to die.
Xylosma blooms in masses of berries, in hedge rows of separation they lie.
Yarrow's blossoms are medicinal, likes dry soil and an occasional drought.
Zesty Zephyr Lily can grow in the wild but it's one I could never do without.
{April 23rd, 2016 ~ Shadow Hamilton's "Spring Flowers" Contest}
A tad over three blocks down Merion Lane
on the left is, an idyllic Cape Cod.
I must've passed it a thousand times
my own picturesque, perfect, postcard place
couched in the right light, dappling rays
fresh-painted, white fence, ruby red front door.
Never once did I not try looking in,
a golden kickplate, bright brass knocker ring.
Begging to be seen, this family within
lotsa plain pane windows, no blinds, no sheers.
There it still stands proudly these many years.
In deep snows that had filled front walkways
in warming, romantic, radiated, lustrous light
hearth hues burst through the panes beyond the glass.
One spring, I saw a fine fetching lass run
across this closely manicured front lawn with her
bouncing blonde, long locks, glowing gleefully.
I mused as I passed by half-staring;
we'd marry maybe, wishful pairing!
And have a dreamy storybook Cape Cod too.
That fall, our family moved far away.
But was I not to see her, who's to say?
Still, I remember that house, that dream
I might've married her, my crazy scheme.
Last night it snowed. Drove that road again.
Five years later, that same house was still there.
On the outside, the front door now lime green.
Inside, a fire burns brilliant like before.
I saw this striking blonde while I gawked.
Startled, the green door opens, she walked
across the snowy street, without her coat.
Poised, she stood there and said straight to me,
"Aren't you the boy who used to stare?",
through my window I gush, "Why yes, I am."
She said she'd wondered about me,
even though they'd never known my name.
Star-crossed, my illusion had dreamt back!
Those private affections landed somehow:
illusions can come true, they often do.
Left my car, took her hand, then went inside;
over a cozy cocoa we chatted.
No longer a star from afar - so near.
New worlds would now open for us right here.
Lost love came home to the house down the road.
Written 2/19/21
Dawn’s Serenade
Pacing the foothills of adoration…
collecting thoughts on garden walkways,
reaching for a hyacinth,
strolling neath an arbor of opened arms
yearning for your heart in fragrant aromas . . .
“For this longing builds of sun warmed wishes
and morning glory hopes”
Rose petals call you by name,
harmonic melodies in breathless breezes
as four leaf clover dotted lawns
offer chiffon coated whispers
on Sunday afternoon porch swings . . .
“I sway to their song,
mesmerized by the beauty that is you”
As shadows grow, twilight brings with it
the gleaming effects of the evening’s first star,
pale in glow next to you
as even the cloudiest skies can not
diminish the sunset beauty
of your eyes . . .
“Within my mind these chestnut gems
twinkle in unison with dancing constellations”
The time now comes to rest,
to dream of waterfall passions, lost in your kiss,
whispers on satin skin caressing mine,
drenched in the moon’s soft light
creating silhouettes of love
floating in desire . . .
“As I drift off, soothed by your essence, awaiting
dawn’s serenade to a brand new day in your arms”
Good night Soupers
See you soon
Whittchurch picnic, favorite days with my relatives,
Many years ago, a beautiful picnic by the lake.
We had a nice picnic table by the lake,
Our brother Tom found this magnificent place, thanks Tom.
Good company and delicious foods,
i have a picture of this good experience at home.
We bought a bucket of Kentucky fried chicken and
received a complimentary beach ball,
The children enjoyed playing with the beach ball, they would toss that to and fro.
Tom with young Patrick, Frieda and his wife Gail,
Mom with her sons Kirk and Erik and grandfather Wolf and grandmother Erika.
We had sunny beautiful weather especially for our picnic,
Went for a walk, a seldom excellent place.
I like to recalling these experiences,
Days with my relatives, very harmonius.
Years later I visited my parents and their spacious trailer at Terra Cotta,
Our mother was waiting to greet us with a glass of champagne.
They have beautiful walkways,trees and chipmunks and squirrels,
What a scenic place to visit.
The traditional old-fashioned picnic is very popular,
We have many good experiences with our relatives.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
I walk these streets,
These deserted roads.
These paths and walkways,
Yes, these I know.
And they’re always looking,
Carefully watching these roads.
Yet I walk by unnoticed,
My true identity unknown.
I stagger down this dirt pathway,
My way, ever bound for home.
Those other streets I notice,
Always lit with moony glow.
But if I were to jog them,
I’d end up here again, I know.
For I walk these roads for healing,
And I walk these roads for strength.
These roads I need, these roads I love,
Well worn, I stride this length.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They travel without maps—only
the rhythm of the walkways
and coffee stains on edges of napkins.
They carry crumpled metaphors
in their pockets that they
snatched mid-flight from passing trains,
each stanza a temporary shelter.
They trade sonnets for soup
in dimly lit diners, syllables simmering
next to weak broth. Their ink stains
the borrowed pages of the world~
never owning, always belonging.
Come you lonely bird!
-----
Walking forever in this same lonesome street!
Still waiting for my special someone to meet!
I have passed beyond the best of my years!
With each step forward, the blind end nears!
Know how far I've come, not what's left to go!
It has been hard all along, will it always be so?
Hear cheers in houses around my own silence!
I can't put up a fake smile, I know no pretense!
Sometimes I wonder was anyone made for me?
Or I had to live by myself, that were the way to be?
If you are one feeling deserted, join me in my walk!
I want to hear your stories, and have mine to talk!
Come you lonely bird, let's together make our nest!
We'll travel the walkways of life till we're put to rest!
-----
Poetry by Dr. Asghar Nazeer (LinkedIn profile http://sa.linkedin.com/in/drasgharnazeerlinkedinprofile)
Kindly read this poem with a lovely matching photo on LinkedIn pulse at https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/article/20140725182929-167523528-come-you-lonely-bird-let-s-together-make-our-nest-we-ll-travel-the-walkways-of-life-till-we-re-put-to-rest and my other 28 poems with similarly captivating pics at LinkedIn main author's page at https://www.linkedin.com/today/author/167523528?_mSplash=1
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I heard a long whistle blow
as it rippled across the pristine
valley, full of glistening snow.
I felt the trees brush off the
wind as that long, lonesome,
unlit train roared until it's end.
I shuttered deeply from the
bitter cold, for I sensed the
chill of the night's story had
yet to unfold.
Gathering my thoughts I looked
toward the sky and seen so many
stars twinkling undisturbed by
the sounds of the night.
Long glowing walkways through
the dark's horizon, slowly faded
out of sight.
A nibble at my nose a true reminder
of Winter's frozen bite.
Quite now and stillness is all that is
left, since that lonesome whistle
headed west.
Grandpa grew hay and corn and vegetables on his farm,
And in the Autumn on bright sunny days we all helped him;
With the gathering, reaping and gleaning to get in the Fall crop,
Then the family gathered to celebrate another abundant harvest.
And when the rainy season started, torrents of rain fell,
Soaking rain that flooded the fields and made them soggy;
We all stayed inside on those wet days reading and waiting,
I did not mind, for I find the pitter-patter of rain to be pleasant.
Soon Jack Frost was knocking on our farmhouse door,
The hoar frost covered everything in the early hours of day;
And it was piercing and penetrating, it chilled us to the bone,
But by mid-day the sun came out and melted all the frost away.
One bright morning everything was frozen and ice covered,
All the walkways were iced over, it was bitter cold, cold as ice;
Old Man Winter was just reaching out his icy fingers to warn us,
And I was thinking, perhaps it is time for me to check my skates.
It was late November when the first flakes came in the night,
The snowstorm was light snow with big beautiful, gentle drops;
By morning, there was a mantle of white on all fences and barns,
And by afternoon everything had melted into a wet, slushy mess
After school, I was helping Grandpa shovel the many paths,
My teeth were chattering, trembling, I felt like a girl made of ice;
I told Grandpa, that I was quite sure I was going to freeze to death,
He nodded and said, go in the house; I noticed he was also shivering.
It was a long Winter with many snowstorms and huge drifts,
But somehow we survived it; I loved the smell of the fireplace;
And curling up on the sofa with Grandpa and Grandma like a kitten,
Then those ever shortening days of Winter became long days of Spring.
______________________________
September 17, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Grandpa's Farm
Copyright Protected, ID 15-710-135-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Seasonal,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Second Place
Diamond Mountain Cave
(Phu Pha Phet Cave)
The largest cave here in Thailand
Has an eighteen acres in total size
It is not that easy for us to find
But if we’ll get in there, it’s a big surprise!
We need to explore first the side of the mountain
Be patient and careful to climb its lofty and rugged stair
A shade half our way offers rest and we’ll not feel in vain
Quite tedious, but an exquisite view awaits us up there
The Diamond Mountain Cave has seven floors
Most of the time, only two floors are offered for all
Twenty rooms are more than enough for two to three hours tour
After stooping down to get in through the very small entrance of the hall
Public exploration is facilitated by its long wooden walkways
As we tour in every chamber ,we’ll be impressed
With our lens, we can’t resist to capture in every way
The formations of stalagmites and stalactites that amaze
To name the most captivating formation inside the cave
Is the stalagmite in a very huge dinosaur-like egg in shape
Standing prominently at the main hall, it’s my fave
Coated with glittering diamond bits, I wish I can touch or scrape
A form which isn’t funny but also with its wondrous beauty
Is a man’s sword-like stone, no malice to catch our attention
There are a lot more making us feel like dreamy
Such as the amazing mushrooms and big jade stone
It’s so fun to walk around on walkways going up and down,
As we feel the cold wind coming in somewhere
Ventilating and protecting us from sweat so as not to frown
Then we’ll come out with big smiles and great experience to share.
April 15, 2013
*man’s sword : the term I use for man’s sexual organ
--I was there.
unconscious he lies
near playground laden with snow
struck by fallen branch
The first blizzard of the season lasted a day and a half! Snow is piled up three feet high and schools and offices are closed. The power lines are down due to high winds and ice- not unusual here on the east coast this time of year. Snow drifts hug the window panes and tiny faces peer through, eager to go outdoors. They're excited to see the first major snow fall. All they see is the beauty. They could not know how deceptive it is. I, along with the neighbors spend the afternoon cleaning cars; clearing walkways of snow and ice, along with fallen branches. Later the kids bring out their sleds which they’d already taken out of storage and loud screeching and laughter ensue. I'm keeping busy helping to build snowmen and dodging snowballs then slowly, my anxiety begins to fade like the high winds that deposit these fantasy gardens. However, that was only temporary. Time for a while seems to past swiftly for me; still,Jim hasn’t returned home nor has he called. Calls to his cell phone are unanswered. No one has heard from him. Friends suggest he must be taking the back roads. They head out to search, while I can do is pace, make hot chocolate and call to hospitals
~*~
01/25/13
These walkways cutting deep through lush fields under a gloomy sky,
Oh, I fear would lead me down a path to this Melancholy Moon,
So I'll wait till the rise of a new sun to show me the way!
~Contest: Sijo
~Sponsor: William Kekaula
"Glorious Sijo Fields" contest by Andrea Dietrich.
“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in–what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.”
– Victor Hugo
Amassed in my garden are Azalea and gladiola blooms of gold
Bird of Paradise in purple and orange, wear their colors so bold
Crepe Myrtle trees offer shade when the sun is high in the sky
Daffodils display their faces... their charm is pleasing to my eye
Each morning I'm greeted by bougainvillea, flowering on its vine
Fairy statues along paths where ruby throated hummingbirds dine
Gardenia line my walkways with a sweet scent to tempt honeybees,
Hovering among red hibiscus, swaying in the bower upon a breeze
In abundance are Irises, trumpeting that Spring has at last begun
Jasmine scents my garden, planted where they get full sun
Keeping cool is easy, for beneath twin willows I've hung a swing
There, I'm quite content listening to songbirds trilling as they sing
Magnolia will soon open to reveal their petals of purest white
Nature surrounds me in my sanctuary from dawn til moonlit night
Oleander are a riot of color within green foliage, standing tall
Pleasantly charming are the climbing roses upon my garden wall
Quite peaceful is this refuge where I spend hours writing poetry,
Reading romance novels while drinking glasses of sweet tea
Sharing my hideaway is something I very seldom want to do,
Though I'd gladly invite you to see my hydrangea in shades of blue
Under a trellis of Morning Glory, I've Bromeliads in pots of clay
Verbena grows near the bird bath where tiny sparrows play
White and lavender wisteria, hang in bunches that look like grapes
Xanthic blooms of yellow, capture my vision as daylight escapes
Yet, I know the beauty of my garden will not be lost in the night
Zealous fireflies will swarm, attracting mates with their glowing light
May 21, 2022
ABCEDARIAN CONTEST
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
The place of desolation, like
the mirage in the desert
You see it, but never arrive
Until the day of your departure, and
the mirage has arrived for you
A comfort lost on desperation
nothing left to help me cope
I disembark from the last train,
onto the last platform
I have no luggage to claim, or
goodbyes to stammer out
No hello's or greetings either
A painful prognosis, no chance for
osmosis, I am here
The place of desolation
There's no turning back, the
train pulls away, and a dirty poof
of black smoke signals the end
I stand alone, not waiting, or hoping,
just standing
Dark filthy walls glare down, unkempt
walkways covered with eons of
dust and grime
No maintenance crew or caretakers
needed here, this place of desolation
It will all crumble to dust, as will I,
and every dream of my heart, too
No more time to worry, for time has arrived,
right on time for me
The last stop
No feigning joy or happiness here, they
departed with the last train
Death and I are here to meet
No fanfare
It is done
Forever
Alone