Long Gravel Poems
Long Gravel Poems. Below are the most popular long Gravel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gravel poems by poem length and keyword.
I sat in my boat built of pine-needles, hope, and some twine,
Tangled in patience and twenty-pound test on the line.
My oars were two spatulas, chipped at the handle and blade,
Dreaming of sea bass in the silence the salt grasses made.
But then came the sky—it turned sour, a bruised, heavy grey,
And the inlet ceased its leisure to clear out the way.
A mountain of water—a wall that decided to rise,
And I felt very small in the wash of its cold, hollow eyes.
It didn't just tip me; it folded me deep in its palm,
A violent, wet secret that shattered the morning’s faux calm.
I was tumbled like laundry, a button caught loose in the spin,
Swallowing bubbles and shivering out of my skin.
Then—thump—on the gravel, I’m spat out like something discarded,
My pride is all dented, my fishing vest soaked and me half-hearted.
A fish flopped beside me, looking just as confused as I felt,
While the sun broke the clouds and watched all shadows melt.
I sat there, a wreck, dripping salt on the sand and the stone,
Glad to be heavy, and breathing, and mostly alone.
The boat is now drift-needles, a splintered and watery wreck,
And I’m just a human, with brine running cold down my neck.
Pofadder
Named after a snake that warms itself in tar,Pofadder lies still,mirage shimmering , and a petrol attendant grins, ''Don't blink traveler-you will kiss our eternity''.
Hot dust,no mercy,
Serpent sun coils on the road-
Town blinks, disappears.
Tietiesbaai
The ocean blushes against its rocky chest.Fishermen mend nets and tell naughty tales about how this bay its scandalous name.Waves laugh- for even the sea loves a little mischief.
Waves tease the granite,
Seagulls gossip, tide giggles-
Moon hides her face.
Klein Mier Nommer Een
A dot on the desert's tongue.Nothing here but wind,sand, and the stubborn hum of life. An ant carries a crumb across the gravel- proof that greatness begins small and numbered.
Tiny and marching,
Number One in endless sand-
Dust salutes softly.
Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein
(Spring where two buffaloes were killed with a single shot)
The signboard itself is a novel- a saga of hunters,thirst, and a tongue-twisting laughter. Locals say if you can pronounce it right you've earned your place in the heart of the veldt.
Twobuls,one bullet,
Name as long as a Karoo road-
Echoes laugh in dust.
Lekkersing
A village that hums even in silence.Children clap, women ululate,the veld itself keeps rhythm. They say singing here sweetens the soul faster than the sweetest honey. Joy is the only wealth that never runs out.
Song spills from dry lips,
Sun joins the noon choir-
Thorns bloom in applause.
Halcyon Shore Lodge, the highlight of each year,
Staying in a cottage by pristine water so very clear.
Dad fished, Mom read, I made many a new friend,
Had so much fun, didn’t want the summer to end.
Delivered newspapers on a jeep around the park,
The driver was the owner’s son, I felt a little spark.
He was sixteen, so good looking, oh it must be love,
We’d sit and talk, watching the shooting stars above.
Around a campfire we built, I sipped at my first beer,
We’d dive off of the steep rock cliffs, I knew no fear.
Taught me how to drive a car on a back gravel road,
"Bridge over Troubled Water" was our own silent code.
We talked about school and what we wanted to be,
Our hopes for the future, our dreams we could see.
It was good clean fun and the best times of my life,
Truth is my dreams failed, I didn’t become his wife.
Written September 7, 2012
For Craig Cornish's contest
Summer Fun
When I need an uplift for my weary soul and to clear my muddled mind.
I slowly cruise along a country road to see what treasures I might find.
I leave behind the frenzied traffic on the four-lane interstate,
To enjoy bucolic vistas along a gravel road, my languid soul to sate.
I see old barns with Mail Pouch Tobacco ads now faint due to age,
And remnants of Burma Shave signs with their charmin' adage.
Stately homes with white picket fences grace the country road,
With roses of every hue surroundin' emerald lawns all neatly mowed.
I cross a rickety wooden bridge 'neath which country boys are fishin',
And for long ago summer days of feckless youth, it gits me to wishin;!
A lady waves to me as she hangs her laundry on the clothesline to dry.
A sign on the old country store reads, 'Wave If You Can't Stop By!'
Farmers on John Deere tractors wave as they tend their fields of grain.
They sure kick up lots of dust and I reckon they're prayin' for some rain.
I rolled down the windows to savor the wonderful scent of new-mown hay,
And slow to let an Amish family in their buggy move along the way.
Fat cattle graze on lush meadows, each with a meanderin' stream.
Horses gaze at me over fences as they look askance and dream.
I loathe interstates where folks think they're in the Indy 500-mile race.
I prefer old country roads where life is enjoyed at a much slower pace!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
It was early autumn on a solemn made-in-heaven afternoon
across the gravel road through a muddy field, up the hill along
a narrow trail that leads to a creek not far from a bayou called
Cassidy where the wild fern grows* and where I was baptized
at the age of 10. My dog would occasionally run upon a rabbit that always presented a chasing adventure that never ended with
a catch of the rabbit that must have found his greatest amusement
each time he was pursued by my best friend Jack, who also seemed to have gotten more pleasure in his rabbit-chase than anything we ever did together, even inclusive of sitting quietly by the bayou for hours as our world of silence and solitude was passed over by the world of noise and work.
071320PS *Inspiration: While I was sleeping, I kept hearing, "Where the wild fern grows".
I have counted her footsteps
for thirty-seven years
the same path worn
into my slope,
the same pause
at the thorny ridge
where she catches her breath
and adjusts the
weight on her spine.
Her daughters
used to follow,
small shadows
learning the art
of bending
without breaking.
Now I watch
the granddaughters
in school uniforms,
walking the paved road
that cuts through
my base,
their backs straight,
their hands carrying
books instead of
bundles.
But still she comes,
this woman
whose name
the wind whispers
Kamala, Shanta, Rukhmani,
it changes with the seasons
but the story
stays the same!
Dawn rising,
feet finding
familiar stones,
hands selecting
the dead branches
I offer
like a prayer.
The forest guard
has grown fat
on his government salary,
his radio silent now,
his eyes
finding other
thin women
to follow
with his hunger.
She knows
the sound
of his boots
on gravel,
knows which trees
to hide behind,
which paths
lead nowhere
but deeper
into his reach.
Some mornings
I want to
shift my stones,
close my paths,
keep her
in the valley
where children
wait with
empty bowls
and homework
they cannot
read.
But the wood
must be gathered.
The fire
must be lit.
The rice
must be cooked.
And I am only
a hill,
holding
the weight
of women
who climb me
like a ladder
to survival.
When the rains come
I wash away
her footprints,
but by morning
they return,
deeper now,
carved into
my memory
like a promise:
I will rise
before the sun.
I will bend
but not break.
I will carry
what must
be carried.
And when
my bones
become dust,
when development
flattens my peaks
and paves my valleys,
when shopping malls
bloom where
my forests grew
Still,
in the concrete,
someone will remember
the weight of wood,
the curve
of a spine
learning
to hold
the world.
The children
with straight backs
will teach
their children
about the women
who climbed hills
before dawn,
who made pathways
out of necessity,
who left footprints
deep enough
to follow
home.
Just a short, yet vivid memory. The ending, a bit choppy, but it wanted to share it just the same.
Theatrically vivid
Fresh on my mind
Feeling quite timid
Unforgettable time
My feet pedaled fast
Then slowed to a halt
Daddy already passed
But I had an un nerving thought
I kicked up the stand
Hung my helmet on the handle
Working tear glands
Heart heavy and full
I began to fear
The inevitable time
With my daddy not here
To guide my line
I sat on the gravel
Awaiting his return
My fears, he would unravel
There was something to learn
As anticipated
My daddy returned
He somehow evaded
While making sure to discern
His voice, like an angel
He couldn't stay mad
A gravitational pull
Couldn't bear to see me sad
An incredible man
Laid my path out before me
With a gentle hand
That could never quite scorn me
With time, I changed
I became a parent
Our relationship, estranged
Nothing could spare it
All of the blame
Resides on my shoulders
My love remains
But the air a bit colder
When I was ten I got a bike one Christmas
I learned to ride that morning,
though the snow was several inches on the ground
Though the gravel road was hard to ride,
it was straight and full of silence;
And me and my new bike were instant friends;
I knew that somewhere down that road we'd find
the old covered bridge...
It was long & tall and stood so proud, for it carried many souls,
My granddad helped to build it and I loved the tales he told,
Back when roads were made for horses
and a man revered his heritage,
But he knew he'd met the future
on the day they finished building the covered bridge.
When I was fifteen or so, I'd watch the cars go by,
The bridge would be my summer shade, I'd sit and drink ice lemonade
And dream of moving cross country to the sea,
But in my dream I'd come back to sit in the shade
of that old bridge;
Now my oldest boy is ten years old, city-born and city-raised,
I took him on a trip to see some glimpses of his heritage,
To sit with him and watch the fish swim by my old covered bridge...
But when I looked and saw the new highway bridge
that made my river seem just like a stream;
My boy looked at me and told me, "Dad, I've never seen you cry before"
I told him, "Son, my father used to tell me,
'you can't go back, so you've got to move on',
And today I met the future when I saw
that my old covered bridge was gone"
So we just quietly drove home
We just quietly drove home.
You can hear this poem on Mystic Rose's "Stories To Tell":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmgJWrMuKpk
after my beloved husband died ...
I visited his tomb often ... I found comfort being there
where the birds twittered and chirped
and squirrels and chipmunks scampered
all day
as I talked to him
~ one day I lingered too long and it was night
the birds songs were now branches creaking
the squirrels and chipmunks were safe in nests ~
as I walked the winding gravel road
that would take me to the ornate iron gate
I saw the shadow of a man
he seemed to be following or perhaps not, then
he was in front of me ...
~ everything about him drew me in
his face, his scent, he was like a magnet
and when he offered me his cold hand ... I took it ~
we were at the door of a crypt
it groaned as he opened it and we were descending steps
to a room lit by a glowing fireplace
I turned to him and was dazzled by his beauty
I was enthralled with his lips
and his deep voice was like honey
he offered me a chalice of red wine
it tasted thick and bitter
it's my favorite ... blood ... he says
then, he is stroking my hair "and neck" ...
~ I never felt his fangs as I melted into him
I woke in his bed, how long had I slept
I had been deep in a twisted violent dream ... screaming
... now, I had peace ~
he was at a desk writing and I stood behind him
he took me in his arms ... it was divine rapture
moving across the room he again offered me a chalice of wine
this time the red liquid tasted delightfully sweet
for it was the "chalice" of eternal night
___________________
January 16, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/The Chalice of Eternal Night
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1422-154-16
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The Chalice of Night
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judged 01/24/2022
Second Place
Two brothers salmon in the deep blue sea
Got the urge one day to seek some revelry.
So off they both went into the early dawn
With naught on their minds but to swim and spawn.
Up the big river with its mouth so wide,
It must be a mile from side to side.
For days and days those two fish swam
‘Til they ran smack-dab into a concrete dam!
Round and round that great grey wall
They swam, but found no help at all.
Relief came, not from heaven sent,
But sure enough from the government!
A big fish ladder with its lifts and falls
Helped those boys to skirt that wall
Into a lake with its shores so green
The two fish entered on another scene!
As if decreed by constabulary
The lake was fed by five tributaries!
“Which one to take?”, was their question then,
The answer came to the first brother Sven.
“I know where to go”, you could hear him say,
“I’ve been here before! I can find the way!”
So off Sven went, and his brother, Pete, too;
Guided by nothing but Deja Vu!
The stream they chose was swift and clean
But the rocks therein were hard and mean!
Bruised and battered Ol’ Pete said, “ENOUGH!”
“This swim-and-spawn life is just too rough!”
“Swimming all day against the stream?”
“This might be for you Sven, but it ain’t my dream!”
So he turned with the current and went with the flow,
Against his true nature, to the blue sea below.
He passed other salmon, in their eyes was a gleam,
All turning red as they struggled upstream.
Pete was red too from his tail to his face.
When he reached the blue sea, he seemed out of place.
The swimming was easy, with no current to fight,
But Pete couldn’t know of his fate nor his plight.
A flashy red Pete in the bright blue dawn
A sea lion spied him and SNAP! Pete was gone!
In the mean time, Sven kept on swimming for days;
His back out of water in the warm summer rays.
He made his way to a cool sandy brook
And spied a coy babe-fish with a cute little look.
And there on the edge of a loose gravel shoal,
They frolicked and played and fulfilled their role:
They had both done their best; standing out in a crowd.
Sven also died, but his maker is proud!
This tale has a moral, as all good tales do.
A metaphor of life, it is tried and true:
“Swimming through life is no simple feat,
Endure to the end, or end up like Pete!”