Macadam Poems | Examples

Ring

Plain emptiness,
where I touch an ebony
diamond, only gives
me edges— wiped in my
macadam; heartache an 
old rust from repetitious
beats

the faceted phantasms
link, perhaps to mask
their face— or mine;
light just off within
its sides— all my 
fingers stream sanguine, 

no fit for the hollows
on my face, madness
glitters— and so drags
my shadow's shadow— 
like far wishes took from life.

Placed Saucer

Breaking through day,
the last night,
where the mirror
on glass lips posed 
for a new moon, 
that only masked
its face in ebony
brims of space

trapping in my ache,
with cedar pandoras 
making the bleakest
of songs; a
viridescent heart—
under sylvan skin;
back to sun's cloned moon;

her moody phases 
cut you, while
salt gives the
macadam a required 
taste— alone,
with an empiricism 
of waste; but in a
candle's whiffs,
the flames—

round and round in
my head— afer an 
evening's quivering 
prayers, fixated on
poppies in morning—
breaking through day.

the growth of rain

heaven on its knees, drop by drop
sprinkling like sweat 
from our skies' bruised brow,
pouring out the macadam in my scars—
following floods race my tears' deja vu.

Slow Wings

Within my true macadam
tethered reins roll—
A ragged seam play
On cords unmade.

This bag of feathers
My pins, rehashed
held the dreaminess
In its youth's mask.

Pinions dark within
Move through my own
breathlessness;
A jab dug in my pillow—
Its cloth frisked.

Vigil my heart out of time
That her coma at last 
allows sleep—
A new probing dream
lifted by wings.

My pale dark in analysis
Glows while in the light.
But like a butterfly's effects 
in my skin—
Our cocoon's riddled strife.

The fiber of these 
slow wings—
falls first at
the thread's melting.

Civilization

Civilization

They take root
and sprout up like
the corn that used 
to fill these fields.
Acres of grassland, 
fertile farmland,
and the houses 
grow day by day.

Trucks filled with
house parts, baseboards,
light fixtures, windows,
sinks and toilets,
concrete for driveways
ply the muddy streets, 
soon to be covered 
with macadam.

Forests decimated,
their precious oxygen
gone as the logs 
are hauled away 
to the paper mill.
Nature gives way
to more civilization.
Animal habitat destroyed.

The tracts mushroom,
first one, then two, 
then a hundred, a thousand.
Houses complete, 
lawns are tended, 
concrete covers patios,
everything neat and tidy
a paean to overpopulation.

The Last Stag

He ventured from
 the wooded square acred forest that remained
  in search of food and a companion or two,
there was neither;
 down along the rows of $600, 000 homes,
  5000 square foot monoliths for two and a child
fenced in against the surrounding world,
 traveling along, alone on  a desolate
  macadam paved roads
and the concrete stepping stones
 that ached 
  in the touch on his swollen hooves;
it was the three o'clock hour
 the darkness surrounding the early morning hours,
  no traffic sounded on the pavement,
he stepped cautiously listening
 straining to reach the other side
  as the car reared its fender against him
it raced away pushing him to the curb
 where he lay slowly dying
  stretching his life into extinction
lost to the progress of mankind.

Trucking

Like thunder scolds
 the big trucks roll
eighteen wheelers rumbling
 turning,  rounded tumblings
 static cling above the blacktop sounds;
each load heavy and unmarked
 catastrophic diesel sparks,
 rhythm pounds loud along the tarp, 
tractor trailers clapping along the ground
 from the midwest highways bound
 slipping thru the backroad byways,
juggernaut bartering the tolls on a skyway
  four wheelers piggyback tows 
  convoy escorts ever on the go;
beating down the macadam and concrete
  trucking down the inner streets
  transportation, what a feat.

Just Another Stranger

On occasion
 I slip out of the comfort and sanctuary of the house
   going with the flow of traffic
   steady, in the slow lane, scanning the byways,
those familiar places that I know well
   having traveled up and down the macadam blacktop
   wondering why everyone is in such a hurry.
I pause at the red lights
   waiting for the change to green
   ignoring the horns anxious to move before their time.
that fast-paced mode, rushing, edging forward
   then breaking when the light hesitates
   then off we go into the flow
just another stranger, faceless, impatient, angry
   at the speed limiting their moves
   wanting to be away from here to there
a destination temporary in passing
  or permanent if returning home again
  passers by, just another stranger on the road.

Where Youth Did Tread

(An Addingham poem)

‘There!  Where every curve
injects another memory.’

Analytic beauty that
nestled in verdant valley
allows the mind to review,
where archaic dry-stone walls
enhance the ancestral ghosts,
impeccable trees, nature’s
guardian to one’s heady days,
inscribed when lovers called.
Now historic brows lost
within the village face,
expressive meadows
from a bygone age did
grace now lay in waste,
every thistle upon
throstle nest cut down
and stone barns redundant. 
For cement and brick
replace the gathering blooms,
fertile soil lay under macadam
and house numbers 
supersede the hawthorn hedge,
and old ‘Bram’ on horse and cart
daily down moor lane
long gone and dead.
Oh. Them old manifestations
embedded, the labour
of many a village son,
where leaf and wood
do part but once a year,
after seasons of regrowth
give way to winter’s ascetic sun
that rolls across Rombald’s moor.

‘Oh. Yes, the sun, one thing
that man has not yet changed.’

© Harry J Horsman   2021

What She Said

WHAT SHE SAID

She said to me “You will not walk again.”

But I say I will.  Even if only atop waves
That roll in over the shores continuously,
Or  waves thrown about in tempest and
The invasions of such unforeseen  storms as these.

I was taken aback and I 
Shouted, “I don’t believe that!”
So, she pronounced it again, 
“You will never walk again.”

 She was slashing at my paraplegic knees, trying to
Wrench away my God-gifted hope: to tear from me
My full armor of God: to cause me to doubt the true
Love of God’s inseparable devotion as my ABBA!

But I will keep working to walk again, perhaps less
Briskly than I do now in company with angels, by
The grace of the Holy Spirit and alongside Jesus
Into a land far from the desolate, flat macadam 
To where her words transported me...For
I SHALL walk on beyond lamentations, beyond
Pacing on embers and ashes, to walking on
The calmed waters after such doubt was spoken.


**********.            *************               ************
(C). Sally Young eslinger  8/2020
Peace

Autumn Magic

The day chilled rainy and gray
 allowed the wind to sweep and sway
each and every tree that held tight its leaves
 now released them to the slightest breeze.
Driving down the blackened road eroding
 macadam faded into a multitude of leaves exploding,
the palette of beige colors warmly frayed
 into a mix of shaded cool arrays.
Indescribable in the autumn beauty
 the hues slipped down in skeleton nudity
of floating pale greens and burnt orange umbers
 with mustard yellows and crimson passioned wonders.
The brilliant glow of a yellow pineapple sunned pear
 could not match the creamed corn eggnog glare
where profusive light streamed in pink merlot blush 
 as colored magic sketched the last of autumn's brush.

Still For Coming Back

O’ dear look- 
the garden of lilac 
and cheery is
 alive

But- butterfly is dead
bees are flying 
distractedly

Lover and beloved 
on opposite doors 
of garden

News are fractured
 in fractional 
lands

You’re walking 
against feelings
on tears

I'm walking afar 
on the queue 
of ants

The soaked river 
shore rubs out 
memory

The soggy footstep 
misleads our
 feelings

The sun is going 
behind the lap
 of mountain

No fragrance of 
wonderful news 
in my inbox

Per bit of breath 
feels lonely in the 
orbit of moon

Cheap wine’s dealer 
is coming in 
boozy odors 

Macadam, rocks and 
pebbles plays game 
of shock together 

For next day all 
words lock up 
my ink pot

For coming back you 
and wonderful news
I'm waiting

-October 30, 2018 Chattogram

The Road

The road

It stretches out before me, 
 the yellow center line 
 holding my attention.

It tells me that humankind has tried 
 and made its mark known and imprinted here.

But from the woods, the trees stretch their trunks angling across the tarmac,
A  canopy of leaves umbrella across the lanes 
 dropping leaves upon the blackness,

The colors blend the black macadam 
 into reds and yellows and greens.

The sun etches streams thru the branches down to the lines 
 and flows around the bends.
 the road disappears and nature reclaims its place

If only for the moment, the world is clean and pure again, 
 alive with living and life.

Squirrels and birds clatter in the trees and brush,
 running and racing thru the leaves.

A truck rumbles in the distance.

Everything suddenly scatters 
 and man leaves his mark 
 yet again.

No Services This Exit Shhhh Contest

Trailers sprout from desert floor    
Tombstones marking the graves of my aspirations.
Tumbleweeds snag remnants of dreams
And blow across macadam prairie.

A highway carries hope far past this place
Of broken dreams and suffocating despair,
But me the mountains trap; they surround me,
And I'll not see home again.

Inertia Be-Damned

Let me bash tambourines and praise the mind-body continuum
Grind out the miles, suffer the sweat.
Find me a hill to break if only in my mind
The foot-step's prints on the macadam
Invisibility obscuring the pain I must have.
The anguish broken to bits again.
My ears pop with the inspiration of all ages.
My thighs approve though my calves complain.
For a long instance my psyche melds with my physique
And I am one.

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