Long Traipsing Poems
Long Traipsing Poems. Below are the most popular long Traipsing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traipsing poems by poem length and keyword.
When my soul feels weary and weak
and I struggle to find the light…
To be in the stone garden is all I seek, traipsing along barefooted in delight.
When my body is bruised and sore
and my fingers worked to the bone,
I close my eyes once more
and I’m in the garden of stone.
When my mind seems to be going mad and my heart feels too tired for more…
I think of all the moments I’ve had
barefoot in the stone garden I adore.
Often I close my eyes and dream
of the stone and moss beneath my feet…
I hear the soft babbling of a stream
And the morning choir begins to tweet.
The flowers of every hue begin to show
as morning breaks on the glory before me,
when I cease to exist, somehow I know, barefoot in the stone garden my soul shall forever be…
06/20/2022
Foraging through time's annals
Peering through the faded panels
Catching a glint through corroded channels
Seeking the sallowing bridges to re-enamel
Shuffling along desert lanes beaten down by Assyrian
chariot trains
Walking subsumed Royal Persian road, linking cultural
chains
Striding through exhumed Alexandrian cities'
ethnocentric strains
Strolling pebbled Roman boulevards accentuated by
aqueduct drains
Riding the Mongolian steppes listening to the murderous
refrains
Traipsing through gold-crowned Ottoman mosques
sprouting Christian veins
Lumbering penitently along Via Dolorosa grasping
sacrificial blood stains
I heard a ‘dillo muttering,
a-traipsing and a-bungling.
I could not make out what he said,
a-chattering, a-sputtering.
He started rooting in the bed,
a-grubbing and a-burgling.
Then all at once, he up and fled,
a-prancing and a-scuttling.
Was glad to see him go.
Again! my pillow, rustling,
a-chattering, a-sputtering.
It filled me with a sense of dread,
a-shaking and a-shuddering.
And now he’s underneath my bed,
a-grubbing and a-burgling.
I woke, my heart a-fluttering,
a-racing and a-thundering.
I think I’ll read a book instead,
These dreams are weird, you know?
I desperately wanted to come back
And you surreptitiously checked out of my life
I no longer have a friend, confidant, lover and wife
Indeed, I’m out of luck
Thank God the firmament remains blue
The clouds are traipsing left and right
The birds are enjoying the slow flight
And my pain is fresh and new
Yet I’m a survivor
Indeed a valiant fighter
I resign myself to suffering for a while
I’m found guilty and sentenced
Without a fair and just trial
I realize that love makes no sense
You can laugh, giggle, jump and dance
I’m now hurt, out of luck, mute and unbalanced.
Copyright © July 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Pas De Chance
Je voulais désespérément revenir
Mais tu as discrètement quitté ma vie
Je n'ai plus de femme, d’amante, de confidente, et d’amie
En effet, j’ai vu ma chance s’évanouir
Dieu merci, le firmament reste bleu, pas trop moche
Les nuages se déplacent à droite et à gauche
Les oiseaux de branches en branches s’envolent
Et ma douleur est fraîche et nouvelle
Pourtant je suis un survivant
En effet un vaillant combattant
Je me résigne à souffrir pour ce moment
Je suis reconnu coupable et condamné
Sans un procès équitable et approprié
Je réalise que l'amour est insensé
Tu peux rire, sauter, piaffer et danser
Et moi blessé, malchanceux, muet et déséquilibré.
Copyright © Juillet 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
Sin Suerte
Yo deseaba desesperadamente volver
Y tú silenciosamente dejaste mi vida
Ya no tengo esposa, amante, confidente o amiga
De hecho, vi mi suerte desaparecer
Gracias a Dios el cielo sigue siendo azul, no demasiado feo
Las nubes se mueven a derecha e izquierda
Los pájaros vuelan de rama en rama
Y mi dolor es fresco y nuevo
Sin embargo, soy un sobreviviente
De hecho, un luchador valiente
Me resigno a sufrir este momento
Soy declarado culpable y sentenciado
Sin un juicio justo y adecuado
Me doy cuenta de que el amor no tiene sentido
Puedes reír, saltar, patear y bailar.
Y yo dolido, desafortunado, mudo y desequilibrado.
Copyright © Julio de 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de varias colecciones de poesía.
Glassy water streaming down
layered rocks, crumbly and brown,
mossy carpet clings nearby,
above withered leaves that lie;
red and orange, yellow fades,
the leafer has seen his day,
now they’re back in the city,
the woods sink in lethargy.
Waiting for the snow to come.
birds are gone, no insect hum,
just this brook babbling on,
on its bed, twisting and long.
Hunter traipsing, some are near,
orange-clad and seeking deer,
nipping chill lays on the air,
gray times coming, cold despair,
water-spray now has a bite,
makes these falls a chilly sight,
not yet an icy pillar,
will be when the season turns,
melancholy in my mind
as we enter barren times…
Hello intrepid reader of poetry.
Nice of you to drop in.
I would offer you a diet soda,
And a few tokes of the ganja out in the garage,
but I am not there, and you aren’t here; so that’s that.
Nevertheless, this blank document is where I find substantial solace,
Away from the insane oozing organism,
Called Life, here in this fast-paced sojourn from point A to point B, alas
There is some truth lurking inside the small trivial things,
which tug at our sinking sanity, daily.
One hour after waking up,
we are planning dinner;
The highlight of another typical day.
But you, intrepid reader of poetry,
these are not your ways, nor your thoughts.
For you have significant work to accomplish,
important people to meet and enjoin;
Long books to read, and letters of importance to answer,
Then, another night of soft sleep to be had,
With dour dreams that never presage anything epic,
Never tasting anything with “sour misfortune’s book,”
Although at times, we must wonder.
So, you like poets? Here is my card:
As you can see, I am just another word dandy and time traveler,
Walking and traipsing this amazing planet, like you,
Like all the others who found the Muse and lent an ear, but
Are we not of the same splendid gardens?
The same fountains east of the eucalyptus trees?
Are we not of the gentle immortals,
who soulfully now reside in the secret shadows?
Will you now walk with me down this still path.
To the back house, out amongst the ivy trellises swooning in silence?
So, are you still there my friend?
My intrepid reader of poetry?
Did my latest poetic plunge bore you beyond all human tolerance?
Did you just waste two minutes of your time that you will never get back,
while reading this forgettable attempt at poetry writing?
So, where is everyone going tonight?
Any parties? Any ladies looking for a little nookie in the dark?
Hello honey. Nice of you to drop in.
What do the clientele call you around here?
Hi Vixen, care for a diet soda?
Form:
When not out clubbing
hey-ho the merry oh
at night with the Inuit
I suspect by intuit
an intrepid Inuk named Nanook
a-hunting walrus he would go
with his trusty harpoon
traipsing 'cross the ice and snow
then when paddling afloat he went
in the harsh Arctic environment
to keep out the bitter cold and damp
in the very bottom of his boat
there was a fiery seal oil lamp
which eventually burned a hole
and without trace into oblivion he sank
with nothing to mark the place
in those deep dark blue depths so dank
even so who can ever forget
this tall tale chilling yet true
as his demise to the pithy proverb gave rise
'You can't have your kayak and heat it too'
The first, carefree summer day a somnolent tune doth swagger
An intense heat hovers then releases a permeable dagger
Sapped of inner resolve, at noon retired to shaded bower, a truant
lagger
At eventide, resuscitated from the cool respite, from my shielded
lair did stagger
The next, searing day shorn of shirt and shoes but with my dignity
intact
I alight from my screened porch assured that my taut skin would
the beaming waves refract
A soothing, afternoon breeze ripples; my chest hairs retract
Traipsing along, unencumbered by the elements, I skip through the
manicured tract
My bare feet absorbing the ground's subducted heat
Disheveled hair, a fluttering mane swaying to my hip hop beat
The soft grass blades caressing my knobby ankles like a velvety
sheet
A winged armada skirting the shock waves pulsing from my
reproaching feet
Treading into lush, green garden cloaked with ingratiating beams
of light
Each, leafy tent bowing paying homage to the sun's infernal might
The pleasant aroma of waxy corn leaves and glossy ferns my
nostrils delight
The sweet scent of mellow berries and ripening mellons my taste
buds insight
At dusk, my barefoot odyssey abruptly comes to an end
A grizzled, sizzled wayfarer, to my artificial estate I slowly wend
Blithe journey my spirits exulted, but pain in my tendered parts did
the sublimity ammend
A cherry red shroud covering a weathered rind looking for soothing
balms my misery to tend
Red lips, coiffed hair, dressed to the nines
gown traipsing along the floor
waltzing to the rhythm of the beat;
dark suited, tailored etchings
styled elegance nonchalance enticement
midst thinning swirls of measured time;
with a glance, a look, a smile in your eyes
then laughter, subtle, softly memerizing
that old song played in our mind and hearts;
where years twinkled by in starlight
blinded by the joy and tears of yesteryear
and still, we are, waltzing to the end of time;
allured, enraptured, captivated,
by the simple hum pulse of two
held forever as one in a heartbeat waltz.
Nayda Ivette Negron's contest "Sweet Valentine" 1/27/18
I have had enough
Of traipsing around the shops
Looking at all the stuff
Stuff is what I call it
I don't know how else
That describes the tacky rubbish
That adorns every shelf
Where is the Christmas spirit
And the festive cheer
All I heard were moans and groans
Everything so dear
People look worried
Many looked concerned
Trying to make both ends meet
On money that they've earned
Perhaps it was the weather
The temp was 42
Shopping in the air-conned stores
Seemed the sensible thing to do
I could not blame the weather
That would be unfair
I suppose it didn't help
To stop the anxiousness out there
Young and old were sitting down
Resting and mopping their brow
Rubbing swollen ankles
Trying to get as much relief
As the heat would allow
I came back exhausted
Feeling hot and sad
Thoughts of Christmas of years gone by
And the joyous time we had
Everything was simple
Done with loving care
Most people were working class
Always ready to care
And share
With others who had even less
A spiritual feeling of kindness
And goodwill
Is it only me that feels this loss of divinity
Too much materialism
Too little Holy trinity