Long Off the beaten path Poems
Long Off the beaten path Poems. Below are the most popular long Off the beaten path by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Off the beaten path poems by poem length and keyword.
Take me back to Akureyri, sunshine capital of the north
Through lava fields and bluest waterfalls rushing forth
Summer solstice came and we never saw the dark
A perfect time of year for an adventure to embark
Natural hot springs buried like hidden treasure on the way
Find them off the beaten path when it feels you've gone astray
Sipping water from a stream melting off of glacial snow
Refreshments courtesy of Skaftafell near Arctic Circle, just below
As the sun dipped down at 3am to quickly greet us once again
The feeling of a lit up ghost town emanates a calming zen
To see once more the humpback whale and smell the fresh sea air
One day I'll buy another ticket, and tell them, "Take me there."
Jan 5, 2023
In an unkept place beyond anyone's watchful care lay vessels which carried the powerful blood of a forgotten people.
So strong and powerful, their very presence brought fear and panic to an entire race of people who believe dominance is theirs.
Underneath the 'ole' shade tree lay weather beaten slats of wood proof of a cultures existence.
A dark skinned people whose lives were valued less than that old hunting dog licking his colored masters wounds.
No names, memories, or accomplishments nothing at all except dated brittle epitaphs marking their era of life.
Dusty black Hebrew Israelite feet and cracked aged hands lay in those hallowed tombs-their names mattered to no one.
Shoeless black feet trod and stood in places I have never known and will never see yet, their strength is who I am.
Their proof of toiling in cotton fields beneath the scorching sun washing white folks cloths hanging them on the line to dry.
Same precious hands held offspring not their image that suckled the rich milk from the breast of the woman in the unkept dark place.
Let's not forget the shoulders which rocked the weight of misses churin' to sleep as if they were her own.
The unkept places off the beaten path lay the blood of the forgotten dark people.
In my sweat I am drowning
My passion is the coast ward soaker
Off the beaten path resounding
What could there be more purely mediocre?
I was a weather forecast and you a gale
In my tears I'm crying, I am drowning
Off the beaten path resounding
What could there be more purely mediocre?
I was a weather forecast and you a gale
That moment my soul grew chill
As I fell down the hill
My throat coughing
I crave the cool, chilly calm
And so you came gently gurgling
I am coking off my own vomit drowning
Resounding the gasp, of grasp of our last embrace
Towering over me more purely mediocre taunting
If I could just have but just a taste
Off the beaten path resounding
Deep into that darkness shivering
All my soul within me delivering
'It's that northeaster wind,' I muttered blowing
That moment my soul grew chill
As I fell down the hill
My throat coughing
I crave the cool, chilly calm
And so you came gently emerging
My last thrill, even still
If I could just have but just a taste
of your spirit soul's breathe in my drowning
1/22/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
When I was eleven years old, my family took a cross-country trip out to the western
United States.
Along the way, we made a stop at a gas station / grocery store off the beaten path
somewhere in Arizona. Out front of the dilapidated store was an old Indian in full
Indian regalia sitting in front of a hand painted sign that read: “Best Memory in the
World. Never forgets a thing.”
Curious, I walked up to the old chief and asked, “If you never forget anything, what
did you eat for breakfast on your eleventh birthday?”
The leathery old Indian stared at me for the longest time before simply
replying, “Eggs”.
By this time my father was calling me back to the car and I left the old Indian chief
somewhat skeptical about his self-acclaimed World’s Best Memory.
Thirty years later, I was re-creating my family’s trip out west with my own wife and
children. As luck would have it, we stopped at the very same gas station and the
old Indian Chief with the same old sign was still sitting out front in his chair.
Excited, I told my children that I had seen this very same Indian years ago when I
was just a kid. I said, “Come on, let’s go talk to the old chief.”
So I walked up to the old Indian Chief with kids in tow, raised my hand and said in
my best Indian voice, “How”.
Without blinking an eye, he responded, “Scrambled.”
Lonely is the life of a writer- for we seek solitary places,
off the beaten path. Sometimes, I wrap myself in loneliness.
Not to say, I am forlorn or forsaken but I am a writer of sadness,
entwined completely in my words and poems. I like a lonely road.
Lost in thoughts, I meander a cemetery at times. It may seem gloomy,
in reality, it is full of peace and tranquility, could I ever find a quieter place.
Nothing is more secluded. I go hiking and love to listen to birds sing.
Ever feel alone, although in a crowd of people, I have many times.
Solitary does not mean lonesome or friendless or abandoned.
Sweet is the life of a writer- for we seek out aloneness.
_______________________________________
July 22, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Loneliness
Copyright Protected, ID 16-810-877-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Loneliness
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
Third Place
Cliche Heaven
Be it as it may I'll try my hand at some clichés
and address the elephant in the room soon when pigs fly.
It’s a win- win situation, put your game face on, work the crowd
as we wrap our heads around comparing apples to orange.
We are all data driven, with an ace in the hole, stick a sock in it
while stepping up to the plate and peeling back the onion
and easily hit it out of the ballpark with a world of hurt.
Be my team player, run with this, my agent of change
but don’t throw me under the bus as you think outside the box.
We can touch base later seeing where the rubber meets the road
and put boots on the ground, a perfect storm, deal with it.
Here’s my two cents, if it works I'll go off the beaten path
driving route 66 on the road not taken when it’s up for grabs,
and taking a walk in the sun, learning the new math.
That said, don’t put me out to pasture, wait for it,
there’s no sign of my slowing down, its going viral.
These are the signs of the times, take the bull by its horns,
It’s a brave new tomorrow and all bets are off.
Don’t force my hand to be up close and personal
I’m a rebel without a cause and to die for.
Don’t get bent out of shape raising the bar in the winds of change
There’s something for everyone, just another babe in the woods.
Stay tuned, like, duh, as a matter of fact, at the end of the day,
it’s a last ditch effort as you live and learn the luck of the draw.
Pay it forward, that’s the ticket, give and take, get a wake up call,
same song and dance, say what you will, you’re as sharp as a tack.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, just splitting hairs to reinvent the wheel
and walk the red carpet for a quick buck to pay as you go
Heaven help us,
I believe there's an app for that.
Momentarily
by Odin Roark
How elusive the quest
To place oneself in sync
Wavelength to wavelength
Response to reply
So many agendas beg ignoring
Those places where integrity remains suspect
Where job
Marriage
Relationships
Friends
Acquaintances
Eye contact
Undeserved pleasures
Even fantasized harmony
Portending confirmation of truth
Are often merely layered fears
Forged in distrust
For lest we forget
No one promised answers
Even as schemas know no boundaries
The road signs always offering direction
To the many of want
Facilitating few of need
They nevertheless remain available
Such goes this phenomenon of plans
Diagramable life
Representation of what might be
But rarely is
What is intrinsically longed for
Yet seemingly uncatchable
Like forever morphing mercury
Still
So desperate are most
Clutching to random connection
Often without reason
That attention from others
Is embraced as self-realization
Perhaps a venture off the beaten path
A bushwhack through the untrammeled past
Might beg consideration
Where revisiting the child within
Will remind how infant outbursts
Conveyed rudimentary logic
When diaper rash urgency
Void of language
Save scream and cry
Defined simple organics
A voicing in search of form
So easy to ignore this
Time’s simplistic message
Reaching back toward the dawn of man
When primitive bone and stone
Drummed the truth of need
Food
Shelter
Cover
When duplicity hadn’t been invented
When progress was preserved by raw instinct
Today
Actuality is in questioned focus
Our civilized regression
This guised-in-furtherance flight
Toward make-believe escape
Has jettisoned logic into the abyss of ignorance
Manipulating instead today’s lie of norm
Into modern truth
The hunt will continue
Beneath self-created imprisonment
To find that somewhere yet to objectify itself
That place where slumbers intrinsic reasoning
Kept safe by nature’s heartbeat
Requires nothing but simple acceptance
Of that known simply as
Ever available
Truth
Searching minds continue
Trusting consciousness will prevail
Even allowing occasional laughter
Along the path where delusions entertain…
Momentarily
Of all the things he loves about her…of those he can and cannot see…he loves how emotional…how nostalgic…how sentimental she can be.
He loves how in the big and in the small things in life her sentimentality is infused…which is why he understood her tears…as she gazed at her new shoes.
Her old shoes were showing their age…from all those years of being worn…they were weathered around the edges…and the toe of one was torn.
But her new shoes still sat in the closet…she hadn’t worn them yet….it seems her old shoes were full of memories she was not yet ready to forget.
But it was time…she knew it…and she knew the reason why…her old shoes were ready to be retired…it was time to say goodbye.
She looked at her new shoes then to her old shoes….and thought of all the times lived in between…all the places those old shoes had taken her…all the things, together, they had seen.
“My old shoes are like old friends.” She said. “They’ve earned a place in my affection. And just like a pair of old friends…I’ve learned to look past their flaws and imperfections.”
“There is a comfort you develop with old friends…an enjoyment you never want to lose.”
She said…a tear dropping to her cheek as she held up her old shoes.
I imagine she was thinking how one pair marks the end of a journey…the other where a new one begins…when suddenly a thought crossed her mind…and her face evolved into a grin.
“I bet these old shoes have one memory left.” She smiled. “One more walk, one more run, one more climb.” Then she slipped then on and laced them up for what would be their one last time.
Yes, this os one of the things he loves about her he thought…as off the beaten path they traversed…
how the last walk in a pair of old shoes can make her as happy as the first.
Meandering along Schwenksville Road...
while listening to SiriusXM Radio
An Autumn like day (August 28th, 2021)
found me and the missus venturing
along unfamiliar roads.
Said spouse manned wheel of automobile
courting entering land of the lost,
nevertheless experiencing zest
she drove as I determined,
whether we went north, south, east or west
her purposefulness deliberately linkedin
delving off course to test
comfort level, interestingly enough
not experiencing feeling over stressed
possibly because place names
(an abridged version follows)
Green Lane, Perkiomenville,
Sumneytown, Upper Salford,
and Zieglerville somewhat familiar,
thus any uneasiness
(straying off the beaten path)
got put to rest
regarding moseying along
our spontaneous quest,
cuz I trend toward anxiety
(and most likely
would suddenly turn gray)
at prospect of trekking into
hinterlands not many miles
away from the place
the two of us call home.
Joyriding not something we
(meaning said married couple in question)
indulge since cost of fuel thee
cannot deny nearly cost an arm and leg
as one who drives regularly can see
the folly spewing gasoline exhaust
tooling around within 2009 Hyundai Sonata
for no rhyme nor reason unnecessarily re:
leasing gasoline exhaust pollutants
into the atmosphere whereby eco police
unlikely accept me to cop a plea
one garden variety bummer
a bloke who strives to exalt glee
crafting poems, and reading as well
ranking his significance no higher than flea
common name for the order Siphonaptera,
dear unknown aforementioned comparison
ye might not agree.
Have you wandered off the beaten path and blamed someone other than YOURSELF? Or could it be that you never walked the path of others, because you were alone and LEFT. Did someone hurt you when you ran from the room in a rush, never telling others how you FELT? Perhaps it’s time you take responsibility and say what’s on your mind, rather than remain STEALTH.
We were made to be inquisitive and to question, but you never knew, because you never asked. You cry and weep inside while something holds you BACK, and you surrender, keeping on the mask. Most of us understand being afraid, but it’s not good to remain in the closet, not accepting the TASK.
Open your eyes, your ears, and you might just see and hear someone new, and discover it’s really you. Even you have yet to know the real you, because like a snapshot UNEXPOSED, you are still ENCLOSED in the shadow of the negatives. You are like a birthday or Christmas present, so beautifully wrapped. Don’t hide or be afraid of yourself or your shades of GREY, because you reveal your true colors when you step out into the light of DAY.
You have heard it said of you, “He’s/She's quiet and cool, so cute and plays by the RULES”. But did you hear when they said, “There is a dire need for social TOOLS”?
Perhaps you have allowed others to define the person they think you are.
This, you must forbid to be so, and slowly open your closet door.
Come on out my friend, show yourself, and have your SAY.
Let’s fly a kite where it’s windy at the beach or by the BAY.
Come on and unwrap yourself, because you have been put here for a purpose.
Unwrap yourself, because no one else can do what you were designed to do.
You have been gifted and touched by God’s hands of GRACE.
Step out into the world and leave your unique TRACE.
You need not rush, but proceed at your own PACE.
You are more than a pleasing face in a quiet PLACE.
Without you, we will digress as a human RACE.
So unwrap yourself, because you are truly loved
cj04102015