Long Footpaths Poems
Long Footpaths Poems. Below are the most popular long Footpaths by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Footpaths poems by poem length and keyword.
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…
In a still valley, beyond the meadow,
A park sprawls in the summery glow,
And the lemony chiffon clouds arise,
And touch sunset strawberry skies.
Black diamond crows on silken wings;
And daylight's exotic chorus sings!
Sweetest blooms scent Strawberry Park,
And starlight magic is the even dark.
Near the oaks, where the road turns,
The roving brook babbles and churns.
Lovely birds sing aloud to the silence,
As pale butterflies break the suspense!
Besides the lushness of blooming trees,
There's abundance of wild strawberries;
And solemn sunflowers nod at their idol,
In their windswept, summertime revival!
With golden footpaths, and many fountains,
It has a view of the distant mountains!
Wild, wild, days scream at Strawberry Park,
And beautiful, scented shadows after dark!
In the heart of the Loire valley
Where the river wends its way
A young dreamer lured by nature
Free of care played music gay
As he wandered along footpaths
Playing lightly on his flute
By the vineyards in abundance
And the orchards full of fruit.
It was there that he encountered
A fair maiden and her art
She was painting on her canvas;
With a smile she stole his heart.
From then on they met in secret
Near the rolling hills in green
Where the flowers looked in wonder.
They were happy and serene.
They made love and plans together
Spoke of dreams they meant to share
Looked at life through coloured lenses
And built castles in the air.
Then one night a storm erupted
Unexpected in mid May,
Raging waters in a frenzy
Came and took her life away.
All his dreams were quickly shattered
And the castle tumbled down
For his Queen of Hearts had left him
Broken king without a crown.
In the ruins of the castle
He was left to sit and grieve
And his friends who came to visit
All were kindly asked to leave.
Days and nights passed undetected
As he dreamed of raven hair
On his lips he felt her kisses
Woke to find she was not there.
Then one day, he rose with vigour
Once again he built the dream
Made a castle even finer
Standing stately by their stream.
And the people came to marvel
At the wonder of this sight
For there in the very centre
Was her statue gleaming bright.
Now the castle so resplendent
Stands a testament to love
Which will never wane or wither
Conquers death and soars above.
-------------------------------------
26th August, 2015
Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian
Contest: Partner Up
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
I stood on the tip of the top of the cliff and looked down,
Though valleys seemed colorful, scenes deep down were grey and brown;
A few freshwater streams were springing from filmy fountains,
Lo, why these ants-colonies roam on the Rocky Mountains;
The entire landscape looked like a huge monster's mouth yawning,
Are these sounds and noises around foretelling some warning...?
This scene of the yawning of the cliff valley of nature,
Reflected, like a mirror, the rich-poor caricature;
Dining on Ayan Black Chicken, Wagyu beef, Kopi Luwak,
Iberian ham, Moose cheese, Black watermelon, Blue Duck...
Wearing clothes of velvet and silk weaved for them alone,
Adorned with gold, gems, and diamonds - the rich have their zone...!
Does even the Public Distribution System assist?
Each hungry moment of the poor has an ironic twist.
Stories of humans eating grass, lacking food, lo, pity!
Malnourished, lacking jobs, many poor beg in each city;
Fawn-colored messy clothes - only rags they can afford,
Having no house they sleep, like dogs, on footpaths of the road...!
Systems and States, like ladders, aid and abet the wealthy,
To grow, progress and develop through ways, often, stealthy;
Schemes and plans and strategies for the poorest are plenty,
Yet, in reality, do the poor get any penny?
Gulf betwixt the rich and poor, like cliff and dry land cleaves say:
Fraternal love of caring and sharing is the true way...!!!
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.
Before the rise of the sun
just before breaking dawn has begun,
shadows haunt the hallows unfreed
where whispers slip in and out the trees.
The leaves step lightly along the paths,
soon, the trees bare their naked dances
as the wind rises to tease the last few branches
to release last leaves of summer aftermaths
to dance and race along the cold footpaths.
Alone, lost the wind begins to cry before the freeze
a whirling whine within the lower trees
announcing autumn 's end to the harvests;
hidden in between the skeletal figures alarmists,
a lonely howl that rises before the sun
and all the forests weeps at the end of season run.
Here it comes, the mighty bellow
of winter fall beyond the warm and mellow
screeching in the shadow of the hallows
whistling the song hung like gallows
of spring and summer lost to the darkened shadows.
Evening settles along San Antonio’s River Walk
where the river has carried centuries~
Payaya canoes gliding through reeds,
Franciscan friars mapping water to mission,
stone masons shaping banks
that would one day cradle a city.
The water moves with its old patience,
green and unhurried,
bearing the memory of every hand
that once depended on its flow.
Cypress roots clutch the earth
the way they did long before
the first chapel bells rang.
Bridges replace where footpaths once wound.
Boats slip past,
their lights shimmering like stories
recalling river foraging,
and irrigation lifelines
I feel how the river gathers every era~
Indigenous footsteps,
mission bells, and
modern dusk~
The place seems almost sacred,
not through grandeur,
but through the
quiet and faithful way
it keeps passing moments
in the curve of its water.
the footpaths that stretched
out of sight until never
the parched ground and grasses
when miles seemed forever
wild garlic, the nettles
the heat and the heather
the flies that would zizzzz
past our ears to wherever
the bees in the foxgloves
collecting their treasure
the midges that danced
in a group all together
the butterflies that zigged
and then zagged for good measure
the dandelions drifting
on the air at life's leisure
those long lost hot summers
full of fun love and pleasure
- I remember those walks
and the woods
and that weather.
"I write from the core-
A mythic- street voice imprinted
From lived truth.
Shawdows and light footpaths walks with
Me;
I turn experiences into pulsation
Mental image into momentum,
Silence into something that
Share ideas.
My lines carry fortitude and grace,
Syllabary rising from the everyday
Rhythm shaped by subsistence,
Imagery born from what the
World trained me.
I am a writer of volume,
A poet of emotional transparency,
Building architecture from pain,
Alchemy from the imperfect,
And fire from the spaces I refused to fold.
This is my terrain-
Where honesty stands towering,
Where spirit threads through the grout,
Where every poem is a step evolved
From everything I've lived and everything
I'm becoming."
From now on, I'll focus eyes above the trees
when years have yet to be designed
with unknown lands, the eyes can't see.
I can't forget what's left behind,
or the weight of tears that buckled knees,
but will look ahead, and set them free
Scars left upon the heart grew deep
and I felt the thorns that taunted me
But, I'll release the ghosts and set them free
to make my peace with destiny.
Some tears have washed away the times,
of steeper footpaths that I have climbed.
I will persevere, again, regain
a willingness to change the rhyme
Next year has yet to be designed
where eyes can see, where promise lies
We can't forget what's left behind,
but to all those things, let's say goodbye...
and spread new wings to fly
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