Long Retraces Poems
Long Retraces Poems. Below are the most popular long Retraces by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retraces poems by poem length and keyword.
How long will this road grow
Gliding down these asphalt ribbons
Content I drift with no urgency
My mind wandering where it will
My feet zigzag as the wind caresses my skin
I cruise safely as I watch the clouds moving thin
As I eat up pavements at a steady pace
A smile on this vagabonds meandering face
My today’s follow my yesterday’s
Each day the shadow of the last
I burn a trail without any traces
My spirit laments but seldom retraces
I deny my fickle conscience
To dictate my destiny in silent dreams
Where meandering is my only goal
The aspirations of an enigmatic soul
1.9.2021
Contest: VAGABOND DREAMS. ( FIRST PLACE)
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
S pring in her steps she wanders in wonder
R ecoils in amazement retraces the year
I gnites the haven the Persians call ‘bunder’
N o regrets but resilience beyond graffiti of fear
G ive me hope she exclaims I will not go under
I n the semi desert one forgotten Iris blooms
S urpassing the ruins and shackles of tombs
C risp early morning she takes shelter in beauty
O h Allah protect me while my husband is gone
M y children are hungry for them it’s my duty
I nstil all the love past seasons have foregone
N ever give up the new summer comes closer
G ive praise to beginnings a flower’s composer
S pring might well bring all the Peace we deserve
O n this day with the spring and lonely florescence
O bituaries settled and truce's armistice observed
N o winter shall break her so true to her essence
30th March 2017
As a byway ahead grows quite dim
late evening ‘s radiance slowly pales away ---
This fiery yet compassionate woman brushes luster
into her hair and retraces the gleam
of Mother Mary's pledge so she could face
her courage to raise consciousness from unknown whispers;
praying that daybreak would find a clearer path
back home to empowerment... a reminder
that though one’s world is vast and diverse,
she is connected to every female through ' gender balance':
And through a need for equality, an inner light-wave
cuddles her in the soft of a one-universe's halo,
anointed by the gods, the earth, and of freedom itself.
-------------
March Poems, Old Or New For Prizes Part 3 Of Easter Series
For Carolyn Devonshire's Contest
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'Gender Balance' is one of the themes
for International Women's Day
It was yesterday we grieve
For friends with sore repinning.
And fill our days only to concieve
The dreams of happier refining.
Today retraces those old steps
Along the friendship roads.
Lingering in parts of the past
Thinking of what the future holds.
Close with the darkening years
Although they are just behind
Softening the heart with tears.
The future will always be mine.
Brimming with innovation insights
Shaping the world of tomorrow.
With deeper design to drive delights
Life embraces more than sorrow.
We are not left in distress
Shifting towards the uncertainty
Faith is that bliss to be bless
And hope brings the best of eternity.
A clock spring strains to loosen its hoarded time.
Escapement teeth release it, chime by chime.
A seesaw swing—tick, tock...tick, tock... once more—
Its hoard of time released in a measured pour.
“At the third stroke it will be midnight!”—then
pip, pip, pip—counting seconds down until when—
the final pip strikes ‘now’ for every ear to hear—
Time borrows sound to make the moment ring clear.
The battery arrives; the wound spring has to go.
No pendulum nor escapement seesaws to and fro.
The second's hand still jumps across the clock's face—
With tick, tick, tick...the ‘tock’ is now out of place.
We chop the flowing hours with ticks, but not a 'tock'.
Our lives fall into moments, block by block.
If we mute every clock—the moments still flow free.
Time no longer ticks; we give it voice with what we see.
Quartz trembles silently behind the clock face.
Hidden pulses nudge the second's hand from place to place.
No rocking heart now apportions the seconds' flow—
There's still the tiny jumps that show us where they go.
Digital numbers count to sixty, then disappear.
Begin again as though the past was never here.
No circling hand retraces what has gone—
We count time passing, as numbers count up, and carry on.
The atom keeps a regular beat no ear can hear.
No hand needs to jump, no tick needs to reach the ear;
For the closer clocks come to the exact time;
the less they need a ticking face or a chime.
Antennas reach for time; far pulsars answer back.
Their ancient pulses cross the cosmic black.
We raise huge dishes, listening through the dark—
and find the universe already pulses out its mark.
We thought the 'tick' was something clocks had made.
Yet better clocks grew silent with each upgrade.
The seconds now pass as pulses on the screen—
Like heartbeats felt within, present though now unseen.
She longs to take possession of her heart, but she quickly forgets.
He used his flattering power to gleam the pages and feast.
Like the wind tossing the spider holding tight on a single web.
She retraces the steps in her mind, her soul dares not sleep
to be shattered by silence. She wonders if it will work,
are they destined to reach for spring sunshine, a bouquet of wondrous
beauty and sweetness. Like an eagle caged, she stumbles
and thought about the man in her heart. Her spirit calms a heavenly trust.
6/26/2018
Poetry Contest: Strand Special 10,Any Form ,Any Theme
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Old woman, sit.
You're a cornerstone,
As gray as the marble vase.
Your hands are as gnarled
As the oldest trees.
There are furrows in your face.
But something shines from behind your eyes;
A soft and clear, unwavering light.
Something that declares your soul still young,
And still transcends the night.
Old woman,
Do you search the skies in dreams;
Dance across the meadows grass?
Do you hold your babies to your breast,
And still dream that love will last?
Old woman,
You've earned your rest.
Behind your eyes, I see your light.
Your mind retraces each graceful step,
As golden sunset illuminates your dance,
And your heart reaches for youth's rhapsody.
Copyright Chula Flemling May 22, 1986
Foresight sends our mind's eye scouting on ahead,
To glimpse tomorrow's paths, before they are tread.
Hindsight retraces footprints when the deed is done.
Explaining why we stumbled, strayed, lost or won.
Insight burrows underneath, the obvious surface view.
Unearthing hidden seams of things we know to be true.
Oversight looks across what's ao obvious and plain,
Yet, it overlooks what's staring back again and again.
Short-sighted eyes see clearly, only what is close at hand.
But, distant meanings blow away like shifting sand.
Far-sighted wisdom scans into the distant years,
Seeing future harvests, hopes, whims and fears.
Second sight glimpses what has yet to come in to view,
Clear-sighted eyes cut through disguises to what's true.
Then comes the blindside, ambushing from behind—
Revealing what was shadowed, overlooked, unmined.
Out of sight, we slowly drift from focused thought.
With meaning, intent and purpose coming to naught.
Eyesight merely shows us what is there to see—
But never where our cleat focus ought to be.
We have foresight for tomorrow, hindsight for the past,
Insight for deep truths, oversight for chances we cast.
Yet the here and now keeps slipping out of sight—
Perhaps, we need 'now-sight' to hold the present right.
Yet with the here and now, slipping out of sight—
We need our 'now-sight' to hold our presence right.
Back I go retracing steps.
Against the tide I must tread,
Following the arrows down in reverse.
Each arrow head points back to moments gone,
To a time before the dawn of days past.
The footprints I must retread
Lead backwards on the path trod.
Heel to toe carefully placed in reverse,
To echo the way I felt at each step.
To unravel the memories woven.
Rewinding your life's design,
Sopping up past tears you shed,
Muting the cries with rags and sound proofing,
Pulling back from embraces hugs and kisses.
Is the toughest part of these retraces.
With each step, a tale unfurls,
Of joys and sorrows retold,
Where songs I knew, old and new are unsung.
I walk through gardens which were once in bloom,
Where flowers long since withered, met their doom,
This journey back to the past,
Rejigs it, to could have been!