Long Footsteps Poems
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Beyond the lines of your poems—
the ones you once wrote,
the summers you spread across the page, blazing with noon sunlight;
the Saigon alleyways you walked, canopied with flame-red blossoms;
the tender first love that chilled every rainy afternoon;
the startled wings of birds flying against the wind;
the fragrance you pressed into words, learning to draw charms like the ancients.
.
Beyond the lines of your poems—
the ones you once wrote,
the paths you walked between letters of dream and truth;
your footsteps carrying the whisper of Nha Trang’s restless waves;
the nights behind the curtain where you met Princess My Nuong laughing in the rain;
the verses still echoing four thousand years of legends;
the deep sadness, the pipa’s tremor of the Dragon King remembering Au Co.
Beyond the lines of your poems—
the ones you once wrote,
the days you stood in parched fields reading verses to summon rain;
the days you copied children’s rhymes across endless new pages;
the ink still heavy with sorrow from a season-strayed wind;
the l?c bát spells you wrote to invite the apricot blossoms to bloom;
and I still stand beside the stone horses of the Ly and Tran dynasties,
my legs weary from an ancient race.
Beyond the lines of your poems—
is Minh the sun,
is minh the day,
so that ink and paper shimmer between dream and real?
Beyond the lines of your poems—
is Minh the moon,
is minh the crescent light,
so a half-moon glows forever in your poetry?
Beyond the lines of your poems,
beyond the lines of your poems.
--- Phan Tan Hai. Dedicated to poet Nguyen Thi Khanh Minh
Written: September 28, 2024 For Form J - Jueju Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France.
Rumi Quote: { In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beauty came into the room,
expectancy start building.
Hearing her gentle footsteps,
a tender touch heals the heart.
Sweet words ripple from her lips,
at the brink of a refrain.
They slide swiftly to the beat,
battling to build their own rhyme.
Issues vanish from my mind
when I catch her magic smile.
She draws me into her world,
as spring arrives in my town.
Shoes tell time from toe to heel,
she sings with a velvet voice.
Harp in its rack, she wails down,
offbeat tune crafted with love.
`
“In the craft of a rhyme, there’s no loss in the time”
Sitting at my desk, gray walls, unflattering
as the fluorescent lighting brings boredom
to the page as I challenge myself to write
“In this cubicle I stay, among all forms of gray”
Free verse or rhyme, it matters not
if that thread of inspiration isn’t woven
into my thoughts as I struggle for a theme
“With words come a cost, if thoughts are found lost”
Love is the standard for me, regardless of form,
through dawning horizons and moonbeam quivers,
my footsteps lead into the vast display
“Come morning or night, my heart tends to write”
And again I find, that merely the thought of you,
your beauty, your smile, your kiss embraces me so
that my pen finds its way to the page happily
“Your love forever keeps me warm, no matter what my chosen form”
11/27/19
Written for : The Free Verse vs Structured poetry contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Facing this road ahead,
I turn my face to the light’s warm spread,
And wonder why my feet are here to grace
This trail well-worn.
Snaking in a white twist
Through woods that whisper and air turned crisp,
to whisk me away to lands far beyond
And skies of joy.
Boots splitting the branches,
Heaving footsteps on terrain used much,
This thoroughfare has no life nor love nor
fresh comfort wise.
Treading along, hearing
deep songs of promise beyond that fill
My bag of hope with bounty and plod towards
My lofty goal.
Suddenly, my feet cease
In a crease of the grove where roads cross,
Where heart’s desires meet noble choices
and eyes lift high.
And I know that my world
Can never seize the power that shaped
me strong, and the journey belongs to Him
who says, “I Am.”
Shifting my load to this
New road, I glance behind to glimpse the past,
The land is His; the choice is mine, in this
Beauty-packed woods.
When I ruminate in trepidations forlorn,
Darkness traversed in search of dawn,
Vying fertile shores, oceans I crossed,
Nightmares that my dreams doled out;
Looking back now, how I fondly recall--
In those hardships success was born.
As I watch frigid woes glinting on snow,
Winters that melt and in rivers flow,
Parched-leaves tinting autumn’s glow,
I wonder how seasons in throes know;
Behind clouds of despair rises arc of hope.
When I spend today in tempests bygone
Brooding in defeat of conquests lost,
Yesterdays that were callously tossed;
I once again follow footsteps of the past
Imprisoning my triumphs of tomorrow
Arresting winsome ambitions of now.
Learning the lessons from where I was
I reassure anxieties perturbing my life:
Travails of turbulence won’t last long,
For a darkest night too brightens in dawn,
A rainbow forms after a storm is gone.
So, I clasp the hand of a leisurely walk
Unfettered by constant tick of time clock,
Passionately answering call of my heart
Bequeathing moments that forever last.
August 8, 2022
Placed 1st: Free Verse -Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Know Your Enemy!
Look at me, eye to eye,
I am not your friend, I am the enemy.
You don’t see me….but I’m out there!
Inside the darkness, inside the watching wood.
I’m a gravestone, all colour bleached,
a shade of shadow… that’s different… dangerous.
Not even the trees are aware, I’m there,
as their branches just sway, away, the day.
You draw your curtains, you stiffen
the night pushes closer, you listen.
It whispers dark secrets you can’t hear,
your thoughts hold tension; cold, weighted stone.
Branches and leaves, my partners in crime,
as they fracture my outline.
The wind tests my balance
slides my jacket, pulls my resolve
but I have learnt the language of… stillness;
the understanding of… watchfulness.
I perceive the rhythm of your house,
sense its window-eyes drift to sleep;
your weight of experience drains you
so therefore I have the power.
Nature now feels my thoughts,
thoughts that don’t belong in these woods.
Insects avoid me, unsure if I am alive or dead
while animals swerve and curve away
and the sky rolls ponderously by,
pulling the night's solemnity with it.
No, you don’t know me….yet
but I know.. who? You..
now in the tar of night I move,
the ground feels my weight...but holds its silence.
Your mind hears a bully of footsteps
but I am not there, I can’t be!
But you sense a menace of energy
from someone moving towards you!
Then the cold grasp of silence
coiling itself around the room
and you know I’ve definitely, defiantly arrived.
Zig-zag, jig jag, slip-slow, tip-toe,
My name, Fear, a relative;
sometimes distant, sometimes near.
Too late you realize, I’m already inside your mind.
Know…. your…. enemy!
Ian Souter May 2026
Weekend's sweet reprieve unfolds
in Lagos's vibrant streets, alive
with rhythm and laughter, I stroll
down alleys, searching for a place
to rest my weary soul
A lounge beckons, warm and bright
pepper soup's spicy aroma wafts
I sit, and soft drinks soothe my throat
three ladies join me, their smiles bright
dancing queens, they throw me off scale
their laughter infectious, joyful
Music's melodic whispers weave a spell
calm atmosphere, yet beneath the surface
strange words simmer, "I must have you tonight"
their eyes lock onto mine, a mystery
unfolds, and I, a curious man, step into
the unknown, the drama begins
A leader emerges, signals me to follow
"a mission awaits, my husband's failed his role"
the road unwinds, strange and unknown
no car in sight, just footsteps echoing
through the night, a building looms
near a forest, dark and deep
Instincts stir, my inner mind racing
with thoughts of danger, unknown forces
hefty men with oversized heads
watchful eyes, mysterious staff and beads
the ladies, beautiful, yet veiled intentions
Trouble's shadow looms, I take my first step
back, calculating escape routes
but the mystic's gaze freezes me
boys surround, forest's eerie silence
a shout trapped, helpless, I wake
The dream dissolves, like morning mist
leaving questions, wonderings, and unease
what secrets lay behind those mysterious eyes
what lay hidden in the forest's dark recesses?
.
.
.
.
They heard the movement every morning,
No one knew what it was.
So, it was called 'a shadow'.
It sounded like someone passing by,
But the sounds that were heard were strange.
They weren't the usual footsteps.
With time, they got used to only feeling it.
Each morning, they knew when it was time they heard the dragged sounds.
With backs turned to the sounds,
And the tall fence right in the middle,
None of them knew what made that sound.
Some assumptions were made at first before they just let it be.
The day ended early on a Tuesday; the following week.
Then came the end of Thursday,
The end of Friday came, and it struck!
They hadn't heard the dragged sounds for some days.
One person mentioned it and others went 'Ahh' 'Oh':
'Maybe they stopped coming'
'Maybe they travelled'
'Maybe they changed routes'....
But the shadow didn't change routes.
His gait improved.
The sounds they heard were of him working hard to be better.
He still went by that route.
.
.
And soon the sound they had gotten used to became a memory.
But the shadow never left...
In the library - for contest
Books are the ever- burning lamps
Of knowledge and wisdom....
It 's a well-established truth and I
also nod in full agreement...
But let me say this, I am not a nerd
And I am not a book-worm....
Nor do I have a flair for reading much
and all my friends know this too well....
But in these few days what surprised
them was my frequent library visits
My tryst with our town library..
was on a rising note day- by -day
My friends got curious and dubious!
Free-times or weekends my schedule
had changed,
My footsteps take me to the library road ....
All roads for me led to library not Rome!
Friends were not on my agenda as before...
Intolerable, all in a group they did approach
Asked me the reason for my library craze...
I shrugged, I smiled,I winked,
I blushed but didn't disclose....
My visits to library stay continued...
One fine morning greatly dressed I,
left my home as my perfume lingered
My destination, I need not say now
I know you readers have guessed it right!
My steps moved in well-paced rhythm
Hilarious spirits , morning pleasant!
Sun smiled at me and flowers wished!
Into the library i did step in...
And as his glimpse my sight caught
I blushed, I waved, smile creeping in
Bright face, so elegant , so handsome
Waved back and sent me a flying kiss
A research scholar and my new love!
Day in and day out he enjoys with books...
"The origin of species" by Charles Darwin
Rene Descartes and his philosophy of,
Cogito ergo sum !
My experiments with truth by Mahatma Gandhi!
Hereditary principles by Gregor Mendel..
Sociological thoughts of Max Weber
These are a few that I recollect..
Oh my dear soup friends...now that you all know
Please maintain silence.... is the board I'll point at!
My other friends are still curious....
I leave it to them to find on their own!!
My love has filled in me a new passion
my reading habit is slowly improving!
I sat with him last week with Pygmalion
Classic of versatile George Bernard Shaw
How hours passed like minutes, I never know!
I Worship library now as a repository
of knowledge of varied genre!
In reading and applying what we read
lies our real wisdom!
for contest: In the library
sponsorer-Isaiah Zerbst
by: Anulaxmi Nayak
on:13th August 2015
Traditional poetry is written in METER, wherein the words in
any given line are read/heard in syllable groups called 'feet'.
An IAMB is a foot containing one un-emphasized syllable,
followed by a second emphasized (or 'stressed') syllable.
PENTA is the Greek prefix for five. The phrase IAMBIC PENTAMETER
refers to a poetic format in which each line contains five iambic pairs (individually, ten alternating UN-STRESSED and STRESSED syllables).
The result is a distinct but pleasant pattern that might be compared
to the sound of someone (or someTHING!) walking with a slightly
uneven gait: ... step-STEP... step-STEP... step-STEP...
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An 'iamb' is a pair of syllables
that sound like zombies coming down the street;
First, one soft step and next, a step that PULLS.
(You'll know when one's around just by it's feet)
'Pentameter' is bound to stop them then -
It's found to top their footsteps off at ten!
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