Bus stop at rush hour.
A sparrow nervously paces to and fro.
Strangers doing much the same.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The
Frequent hours
Flock sky-high expeditions
To connect breaths world-wide
In the landscape of urge.
These
Minute minutes
Of Mother Earth's earnings
Mine and make value
If planned with the right pace.
Primed with tenacity
Predisposed to worry
Performed at a brisk speed
Persistent character
Promotes new ideas
Perserves one's energy
Precures one's future goal
04.08.2021
Sponsor Kim Merryman
Contest Pleiades P Poetry Contest
pacing the halls
in the middle of the night
a deathly silence
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
It took fifty-seven paces to the end of the track
But for some strange reason, only fifty-six back.
I tried it again, for something to do
While constantly phoning for breakdown rescue.
The ants were enormous, the grasshoppers blue
Inside of their wings only showed when they flew.
Thistles and lavender, cornflowers too,
But mostly just tarmac, a magnificent view.
Of the village below, a distant haze
Whilst here on the hill, we’ve been waiting for days.
Well that’s how it seems here in the heat,
A broken down car, my life at my feet;
Two tents and three cases
A bag full of shoes,
Four roll mats, gas cooker
And a map of Toulouse.
Wet suits and sun hats
A blow-up canoe,
Cool box and sun cream
A deck chair or two.
There are pillows for night time
A towel for the beach,
Two picnic rugs
And a goodie bag each.
“You can take what you like,
if it fits in the boot”
I spy a small gap
And fill it with loot.
The back seat is clear
Tunnel’s booked for tonight
We’re off and our hols
And we’re travelling light.
And the cemetery was littered with debris
While I paced the graveyards in crushed marble,
That seraphic figures draped the woeful air
Enshrining those long gone…names forgotten
By time’s entombment of a shrunken past
As black roses moved with the cold, cold wind.
From this moment, a heavy silence tugs me;
I kneel down and cry, sighing they find peace
As broken wings perch on my shoulders
That my hands fold in deepened appeal,
Requesting the guardians of life
To teach me stillness when the last twilight
Comes, till the gasp of arriving and leaving
Lays me to rest , tranquil and sweet
With burst of petals along my cemetery;
Knowing not if I have ever lived
In the fullness of love…or fallen from grace.
.................
For the Contest:Any Poem You Ever Penned
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Posted 5/20/2016 ... Not entered in any contest
Pacing by the window
On this rainy day,
Looking at the puddles
As the snow quickly melts away.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Dec.23/2004
Burnished copper leaves pace butterfly’s wings
as young maiden, pink dressed, leans
dreading harsh winter’s bark
© Debra Squyres
2/16/15
Written for: In Praise of Kimo –Using visual 1
Sponsor: Nette Onclaude
Sun on my face, wind in my hair,
Time to myself, no-body there,
Pacing the fields, forgetting my woes,
Where I end up, no-body knows.
Every step taken helps me to forget,
All my frustrations, all my regrets,
Dog at my side, together we tread,
Marching in sync while stresses are shed.
Freedom is mine while pacing the fields,
Wide open roads, forests and hills,
Boots on my feet, scarf round my neck,
Got to keep going, no stopping yet.
At one with nature and all she has gave,
Her beauty astounds me, this Earth she has made.
Thunder or hail, sunshine or rain,
Pacing the fields diminishes pain,
Eyes open wide, focus is bright,
Trekking the hills turns wrong into right.
Time has no meaning, everything’s still,
Negativity fading, wont becomes will,
Stopping to rest and take it all in,
Peace now replacing the sadness that’s been.
So if you can’t find me and no-body’s home,
Outsides where I venture, outsides where I rome,
Pacing the fields is where I shall be,
It’s the one place where life becomes clearer to me.
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