The silvery rainclouds keep on rolling in over head
Some woke up today feeling a deep sense of dread;
Many feel no choice but to let their fear win instead
Note: This poem is about how stormy weather can affect people emotionally.
Concrete inspiration happens
when we believe
and love
long lasting rewards
like rain on warm pave
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain-soaked pavement gleams~
a crow shakes its oil-black wings,
scattering diamonds.
The air smells of ozone, earth,
and something like forgiveness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The old man spills his groceries~
apples rolling like lost marbles.
A stranger kneels, not glancing
at the impatient queue behind her.
Her hands move without hurry,
gathering what was scattered,
as if the apples were her own.
The man's trembling fingers
find hers—cold skin meeting warmth~
and for a moment,
the pavement softens.
It wasn’t until they dug it up,
and gluggy clay stuck to the road-machine,
that you understood it was thin like icing.
Until we walked the dog daily,
you never stood on it mindlessly staring
at patterns of pink-yellow tree-bark peeling.
Concrete-veneer smacks our feet,
then it’s just dirt and rock, down, down,
all the way to the centre of the earth.
Pondering the Pavement inside the park
daily at morn is the activity
of mine to encourage me in any work,
as in last phase, life is dull, losing beauty.
Pondering the Pavement inside the park
is not only a routine morning walk,
but this habit now a days give me a jerk
reminding I’ve still friends to meet and talk.
Pondering the Pavement inside the park
entertains me in dull monotony.
I’m sure to put this habit a high mark
offering zing and zeal in symphony.
Pondering the pavement inside the park
protects me from sinking in depression.
Otherwise lone life might turn more dark.
This walk provides me full satisfaction.
Pondering the possibility
Of pavement as concrete garden
Not green but faded grey
Definitely depraved hardened
Even so one lone weed flower
Rises between crumbling cracks
Indifferent boisterous bold
Never shrinking or looking back
Growing even glowing
The blue sky never hides
Hues of rainbows and sunshine
Even the rain washes pavement pain
People are like weeds and flowers
Amethyst hearted unaware of their power
Very much like violets in spring
Elephant ears hear voices ring
Making mahogany men feel as king
Eager to have stroked self esteem
Never mind peace pavement dreams
That wars are won and lost for queens
Sectioned and lined
they're all refined
cracks I can't hide
or feelings inside
I wiggle and turn
like an earth worm
dying on the pavement
with no bereavement
I am not the only one
baking under the sun
skin is cracking
body retracting
I turn and coil
trying for fertile soil
it's too far away
I am left to decay.
The cold pavement is hostage to anguish and blues
filled with dealers, pimps, and guys like Louie the Bum
who hustles dimes and quarters from drivers
hoping the traffic light stays green
so they can pass beyond the railroad trestle
that crosses above the road
It separates the depth of their fears
from desperate people
who languish in an atmosphere of miserable, gloomy grief
with empty eyes focused on nothing
but days and nights in a sideshow dressed as confusion
Where they wander the cracked sidewalks
lined with bars and empty buildings, soaked in broken glass
where scattered garbage is blown around like tumbleweeds
crossing the pavement of the damned, who linger on the edge of life
hanging onto each breath of lament
searching for something without a description
weighed down by their decomposing soul
that begins to peel away their last vestige of humanity
leaving nothing but ground-up up fragile memories
of what could have been
This walk
is my only escape.
My feet—
the concrete—
a closeness so sweet.
Soon the bell will ring,
and the ridicule will begin.
But for now—
the concrete and me,
the rhythm,
my thoughts.
A sweet escape,
wrapped up in a steady pace.
Where will I hide today,
my grey friend,
when away from your steady strength?
The library?
The canteen?
The willow tree?
Oh, pavement,
I ponder and long—
let me melt into you.
Another day
will surely break me.
But if I somehow
make it back to you
as the leaves fall in the afternoon,
it will be you and me once again—
and a steady beat
of heart and feet.
I ponder the pavement way more these days
as I walk past crowds of angry faces
their glaring, daring, provocative gaze.
I look down and check my own shoelaces
as I approach, much safer than to chance
an eye contact with some angry tirade.
Easier to give the pavement a glance
as do we all, an urban masquerade.
As much as I enjoy chewing gum spats,
trashed burger wraps, old butts from cigarettes,
needles, black bags of trash with writhing rats;
some things about the past I have regrets.
Trading smiles with cheerful passing strangers
while strolling down the street with head held high,
cold soda pop, Smokey Bear, Park Rangers,
USA, the flag, mom and apple pie …
This might have been an astounding scene, once.
Though, cracks and crevices, these days, it confronts
The hedge plants, like uncut hairs, have grown wild.
Waste-hills are higgledy-piggledy piled.
Manholes and potholes are littered around.
One who falls in could easily get drowned.
Flags, once painted on the walls, look faded.
With red-spit splashes, dustbins are shaded.
Here's one; there's one; you'd find in each corner
An artist exhibiting his honor
Are these singers part of an orchestra?
Is earning fast pennies their formula?
Hungry beggars terrorize one and all.
Scaring cat-dog-fowl-swine-cattle groups brawl
Beggars share their alms-bread-chunks with stray dogs.
Everyone sleeps together like dried logs.
Amidst sellers' and buyers' hard bargain
One could hear sounds of much party jargon.
Cutting across them rush the pickpockets.
Thieves hide behind municipal crochets.
Floods of populace flow gushing wildly.
Though vexed within, they seem to smile mildly.
Each one rushes as though under a curse
Indian pavement is a universe.
I study the cracks
each path a distraction traced—
when the future looms
above with uncertainty
offering risky outcomes
My gaze seeks the ground—
not from guilt but from the weight
of skies pressing down
with my exposure too much
as shadows play on pavement
The pavement forgives
it never asks where I go
never counts my steps
it traces fear and feeling—
but never glances ahead
Beyond the curb line
the sky's horizon beckons—
I keep looking down
as hope drums in my footsteps—
replaying in old sole tracks
Shadows walk with me—
good company for downed eyes
the sun waits in vain
to look up risks being seen—
opening unseemly doors
At wit's end, I breathe
the pavement pardons my stare—
Rain weeps, fills puddles
Light reflects, blinding my eyes
forcing me to look away
Rain dampens the fear—
clouds hush the blaze into blue.
I lift my head up
to see sky and road entwine—
winding to the horizon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cracks map forgotten rivers: tar-black seams~
occasionally, one splits into a canyon.
hot asphalt breathes tar-scented hymns
while bus brakes screech the chorus line.
pigeon’s sudden backheel scatters scraps.
ants haul crumbs like miniature sherpas.
a dropped coin rolls, gutter bound.
discarded receipt whirls, a brief and weightless ghost.
above, glass giants hold the sky’s reflection—
my eyes stay earthbound, counting
the braille of footsteps left behind.
my shadow stretches, thin as doubt at noon.
here, gravity feels optional.
I walk. I ponder.
Old, friend, as you come slowly into view,
why is it, I ask, am I always seeing you?
Your grainy, pitted, asphalt complexion
seems always to pull me in your direction,
where your answer is dispiriting, but true.
Running from my nose, a stream of blood
drops on your pebbles, mixing with your mud.
Our visits, for reasons multifarious
and circumstances, diverse and various
are punctuated by your answer with a thud.
Sometimes, it's another drunken fight
or a girlfriend who kicked me out at night.
Is it comforting to know that, in the end,
I always have you, my faithful friend?
Very soon, I see we two will reunite.
Concerning our reunion: in this regard,
my heart and face are already scarred,
and I can feel you now as I make impact,
and though your message is a fact,
why must your delivery be so hard?
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