Footpaths Poems | Examples

Lights that glow darkly

I have been deceived all this while,
By all the angels cloaked in a dear disguise.
'Follow the way of light, my child, ' they all cooed,
For they knew too well I was never shrewd.

Off I went, probing for those lights,
Something to put an end to my wakeful nights.
But manipulation, oh my dear,
Sounds sweeter when it is feared.

I never found those lights, I never did indeed,
In the cruel footpaths of naivety and those angels' deeds.
All I ever found was a world so shadowy,
Lit up with lights that glow darkly.

Grandstanding

with dusk approaching
the radiance of the day
melts in the rain

streetlights smear
the autumn colours
across the footpaths

doubling the display
of chromatic foliage
autumn gloats



AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025

Light

‘I was born with the meaning of home running through my veins.’ - Lauren Eden 
**************************************************************

Light

with home rule in my veins
paternal care not vain words
 motherly hug a retreat
 sisterly smiles like rays of sunshine
 the mind free to wander like the breeze
early to rise a routine
offering devotions a sheer joy
the glow of inner light
now illumines my journey of life
goads me to the rightful path
ever keeps me company
as a benign guardian
as I steadily trail my footsteps
during the midday sunshine
in the solemn silence of sunset
alongside solitary moonlit footpaths
and in the darkness of night
when I retreat home
 to lay my head back on my pillow

The Plight of My City

In the city's streets
Cars bought with loans-
Second-hand,third-hand models,
Number two cars
Soared in number.
Parkings sprawled into 
The hearts of the roads.
E- rickshaw halt
Blocking the paths.
Women vegetable vendors
Occupy the footpaths.

Traffic police are busy
Qualling quarrels between
Auto rickshaw drivers
And woman vendors.
Police constable lurk
For bribes in the shadows.
The goverment and people
Go their ways often
Ignoring the rules.
A chaotic dance 
For all to see.
This is the plight
Of my city.

(Depended on a local  newspaper in writting this poem)

In Secret

Clouds hang low on stained
footpaths slick with moss clinging
as vines of green. He
waits in rain for a quiet
rendezvous, hardly breathing.

Haunted Cemetary

Halloween in 16 lines of Rhyme 10-16-24 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Halloween Graveyard


Light intones the creeping darkness
Fallen leaves scrape broken paths
Distant footsteps, heard in semi-darkness,
Wail and weep on incensed footpaths.

Growing shadows blot out twilight
Darkness descends -a deathly pall –
Stone angels watch the hallowed night
Tangled weeds grab like black rainfall.

An outstretched palm hovers o’re the spine
Trembling hands brush at unseen breath
Above their graves haunted ghosts align
Prickly terror screams in cold sweats.

Shouts through chaos in moaning winds
From crypts of tears – spirits unleashed
Souls trapped in macabre whirlwinds
Midnight breaks the spell – souls released.

The Season of Truth

A cold wind.
Whatever was here has fled inside
or has curled up in a corner somewhere 
out of sight and gone to sleep.
Footpaths are tiled in the wet,
skeletal remains of leaves 
and tree trunks have begun to wear
their gray winter coat of lichen.

There is an honesty in the landscape,
the scaffolding that holds form 
together is no longer concealed 
by a camouflage of color, the eye
is confronted by what lies beneath. 
Cover withers away to bare ground,
the earth takes breath, bathes
in the chilly glow of a winter sun.

I also come to this place, 
to this stark season of truth 
and see myself stripped back
to the bones and sinews of me.
The wind blows through the same
vacant spaces, unpicks the pretense
to let a cold light shine through.
I don't like what I see.

Face in the Crowd

For a moment I imagined 
seeing your face in the crowd, 
Smiling, as if it were expecting
To see me, and as the joy
Of a lifetime of love cascaded
Through my being I wanted to shout:
 “Here am I!”
Alas, your features morphed 
Into  stranger’s face, 
And my reaching being gasped
As if being deprived 
Of the last of my strength.
Oh, sweet soul!
I close my eyes
And clench my eyes and fists
At the thought that I would 
Have to walk, alone, again 
Along the ivy-bordered lanes
And gravel-strewned footpaths
Telling myself that the strength
Of my memories of you
Will sustain me through life…

Hidden Nature Trail

 

I often go for walks down nature paths,
& today I stroll through a broken gate;
love the twisting way & tangled footpaths,
perhaps it chose me-  perhaps it was fate.

The trees tremble, whisper & song bird's chirp,
I find some tombs-  crumbling, so cold, so dark;
the birds trill, tweet & whistle with a twirp,
this place serene & reflective like a park.

Pages of my life whirl in confusion,
I hear voices & murmurs call my name;
I am chilled in this utter seclusion,
the names deep engraved & mine are the same.

Rain falls, falling on each gray hidden stone;
& I read my own name on a tombstone.

Happiness

In ice cave or deep woods
In multistories malls or deserted footpaths
In prettiest arm of lover or deep sleeps   
        Where do you dwell
        O! my dear

        In wars or peace
        In friends or foes
In loneliness or crowded cities
Where do you dwell
     Oh! My dear

      In wins or defeats
      In smalls or greats
In abstract or concrete
Where do you live
       Oh! My dear.,. 

       Are you real Or fake
       Are you love Or hate
You for me Or me for you
What are you
       Oh! My dear 
H A  P  P  Y  N  E  S  S

Cycles

The trees in the park today
Swaying in the breeze 
Saying goodbye to summer
And hello to autumn,
Clothed in their display of
Greens and browns and
Russets and yellows
That drift and flutter 
And slide to the ground
To form a soft carpet
At the footpaths edge
That rustles and crackles
And whispers underfoot
To accompany the sheer
Pleasure of walking 
Flat footed through it.
Perhaps this is a gift to say
We are starting to prepare
For the sleep of winter.
We’ll be back in the spring
Goodbye for now.
And so the trees in the park
Settle down for their long rest.
I walk that park day after day
And watch for the first signs
Of new green leaves and shoots
That welcomes back the spring
And signals the start of a 
New cycle of natural rebirth
And anticipating

The Old Rusty Gate

The Old Rusty Gate

Bright sunbeams puddle on a summer road,
Lazy bumblebees rise up with the heat,
Leads to a rusty gate, mysteries bode,
Barrier opens wide, invites come retreat.

A garden gate where pale lilac plumes lounge,
Secluded secrecy of hollyhocks,
Where snarled blackberry vines freely abound
With tangled climbing roses and white phlox.

Abandoned garden grows in wild array
Behind the gate that each day spawns more rust
Untended briars – forlorn nights - sad days –
Footpaths clog with the spells of ragged dusts.

Season’s pass, erase footprint signatures
‘Til life blooms from rusty gate overtures.

6-23-22
Contest: One in Five
Sponsor: Joseph May
Title Chosen: The Old Rusty Gate

Walking In the a Rain

Walking in the rain


I am going out
in the gentle summer rain
remnants of a storm
to feel the drenched cotton fabric
of this threadbare shirt cling onto me like a sheath
smell the parched earth suck in the season’s first rain
Please come with me

We will paddle about, cautiously though
not to mash too many snails into the grazing lands
watch the muddy waters slide along the footpaths
where the scum of earth hangs temporarily on the grass
to be phased out with time

Yesterday’s swelter
that cooked up this serving in cumulonimbi pots
has been extinguished, savour the coolness
as I indulge myself in the sweet brutality
of the pure rain, breaking a taboo
sogging my dreadlocks in a wash that’s true
through and through

but if a stray bolt of lightning strikes
and the ensuing thunder vibrates under my feet
I will stand petrified, vulnerable as a wounded calf
with a pounding heart, I will mouth an uncensored prayer
I need someone then to stand right by me.

Would you feel used, if that someone was you?

Warm Even When Its Cold

These moors and hills bring the Yorkshire chills.
Beauty and awe combined galore
Open skies fill these Yorkshire eyes
Something magical can be seen here in these mists so still

The folk here that can call this home
Some feel it in their blood and the shire will always call them home.
Hamlets, villages, cities and towns with many dialects creating many beautiful sounds.

Dry stone walls with so many steeps and falls
Ancient woods with their ancient tales and moon light calls.
Footpaths that go on over crags and dales. 

Celtic tones in its history winds, Nordic change see the blood lines thinned.

But there’s no other place on earth that can claim this majesty. A nithering wind they may allus be! But Ow-do and Si-thi we’ll say to thee.

Yorkshire is warm even when it’s cold. My heart will be forever a Yorkshireman’s in a Yorkshire soul.

Faith, Fire and Flame

hellfire burst forth this night
flaming embers burned red 
grey pallid ashes ignite
crimson conflagration devoured 
a browning dying earth

an exploding tomb
a fiery furnace
the Phoenix of death
is born

the pitch of night 
flares blinding light
without pretext 
the greatest smite
won’t paint with stain
my covenant without constrain

man welds a holy bond
with his maker to respond
and makes no error to take
the golden calf or Pharaoh's snake

dusk darkened 
travelled footpaths 
in repent 
I struck those paths
understood his pledge un-blurred
epiphany this night conferred

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