Plod Poems | Examples

calypso

compelled each day to plod that beach

        her dazzlings - quite beyond my reach

            those eyes like jade and deep as death

    that whispered “come” in witching breath


soft-danced, those briny bullions rolled

        bright cresting swells with coins of gold

            that she claimed hers to snatch and save

    such wealth, that girl beneath the waves …


that wealth now gilds … her lovers’ graves.





Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden

The Proverbial Path of the Just

“But the path of the just is as the shining light, 
that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.”
Proverbs 4:18

King Solomon shared with the Jews over time;
much he had learned from his own dad, King David.
The path of the just is no quick, speedy climb
for the light it brings forth is way off the grid.

Solomon had wisely asked God for wisdom;
He wrote proverbs galore, one of God's sages -
sharing divine wisdom with those who'd become
carriers of that light down through the ages.

Believers today find the path of the just
in Jesus who's the Truth, the Life and the Way.
Steadily we grow as we learn about trust.
God's Spirit shines through us till that perfect day

That perfect day when our spirit is transferred
to the presence of Jesus and Father God
Meanwhile, we must keep on studying His Word
sharing more and more light as His path we plod.

Paris

One glorious, sun-drenched, thirsty December day,
I sat, numbed with the agedness of a visitor, and
Fumed eloquently with joy for the benefit of the
Seine – the ointment of Paris.
Somewhere along the gritty line laid bare by sere weeds
Of winter,
A restless tranter eulogised:
“Ce est Paris!”
From the whistling, grating metro to the navel of
Elevated Eiffel, the tall, metallic maiden,
I saw frantic beauty.
I inhaled the peace of the atrium, sighting
Our Dame....
“Ce est Paris!”
The voice, girly, and with the earnestness
Of chivalrous youth, came again, cold and soft,
Just the way of a sprightly winter.
Turning, I saw Paris in full nakedness of her beauty, like
A priceless fresco hanging from the sky.
“Do you need company?” The tranter anglicised her French.
In one gulp I swallowed the pride of Paris.
“Hmmm!” I grunted, wincing loudly from brio,
Counting my woes should I plod away to the red light areas,
“Give me Shakespeare and Company”.

Silent No More

 Clouds dim from a fevered night
bare as  skin of dragonflies trapped,
and she paces along tattered leaves strewn
on barbed fences of life moaning
through a distant breeze:  yet the candle
burns inside her heart to feed
dire hunger of jailed souls....

There,this bruised woman circles around
in a furnace of hope...on a barren lane
where mangled sparrows cry in despise;
and the will to plod an inner odyssey rages,
searching for some need
to fill breaths of peace not only for herself
but for a biting desire to give women 
and children a voice  which honors plain dignity
violated and  spit by vulgar words, alcohol, 
shattered glass...enough!
her own pain hollers from the marrow,

 the kind that flames the heavens and rain.

My First Ever Poem

Down a grassy lane,
I trudged beneath pale blue skies,
a rambling spirit,
vivid scenic hues a spur,
to a literary verse

Images abound,
for me to seize and savour,
in a magic whirl,
or vortex as I ponder,
shrouds of verdant silhouettes

Hedges, bird shrieks, rocks,
taunt and tease wide awake eyes,
stirring cues unfold,
lavish signpost for lush mindd,
creative deft scroll then poised

Downward Plod I chose,
as title of lines scribbled,
for my first poem,
whose birth meandered footprint,
a release for budding pen

My Many Selves

Adrift in sweet reverie while composing my journal
I sense myself wandering streets in solemn austerity
'Tis such a blunt shift from my usual musings nocturnal
To what do I owe this odd disturbing disparity?

In this vision I plod narrow alleys austere
A familiar dream within I-him I'm now aware
Presently it has become abundantly clear
We are one, he and I, as our souls we bare

In a flash the scene shifts to daybreak vernal and bright
In calm balmy bliss on guitar Bassa nova I-he strum
Dark angry clouds lift, azure clouds gleam bright
from whence have these diverse me phantoms come?

With a will I submit to my encyclopedia self
as inner projection reveals the multitudes I contain
Much more engaging than the one-I volume gathering dust on the shelf
My enigmatic space-time selves shall always remain

We the Arcane

We, the Arcane, plod along,
Our faith keeps us strong,
If folk listen to us,
There'd be Peace, no fuss,
Far better than a bomb,
Prayers unite with aplomb,
Peace now! Damn right!
No need to get uptight,
Cost annihilation,
Faith leads liberation,
our faith keeps us strong,
Humans, plodding along...

Deciduous Time

Oh how I rue this deciduous time;
relentless in it’s passing year by year
while robbing memories we hold so dear,
and shedding yonker that was once our prime.
Through time we plod this monumental climb;
the cliffs of life we grapple fighting fear
while ever facing time’s relentless jeer
as youth is spent on chasing dreams sublime.

And yet we’ve heard it said that as we age 
we gain more wisdom with each passing phase,
endowments mastered as life’s dream pursues.
But still with passing time the battles rage,
and loss of youth we shed as hopes abrase.
Deciduous time this aging poet rues.


September 3, 2025

THROWING PEARLS

Finally invited
Such an important event
What shall I bring
I have no money
I pray my poem
Will open up and sing
....the beauty of LOVE

Sitting patiently
Gift after gift, opened
Joyful laughter afloat
Down to one sack
And my presence
Marking sheep or goat
...to reveal

"Oh...let's not forget
This little card
Thank you, Trudy
...oh....a poem"
"Read it aloud!!!"
....no....I'll read it later
 
Passing to the door
I see the gift
Glistening in the trash
I reached in
Grasped it firmly
And I'm never giving it back
...to pigs who plod

Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-03-2024

In Between

There might be those who sail through life
And never hit a snag,
While others plod along or fight,
Each day another drag.

For most of us, it’s in between,
A balance, I suppose,
With lovely highs in opposition
To the awful lows.

So much is out of our control
And we can never guess
What ups or downs tomorrow holds
To bring us joy or stress.

No matter how we plan our days,
We’ll come to realize
The only certainty in life
Is that it mystifies.

Destiny And Luck

Time sat with her antinomic daughters two :
Destiny the elder,  tall, fastidious and hard ;
And Luck, the merry, playful conjuring guard
Who averts the pre-ordained, out of the blue


The old lady crocheting together events odd ,
Twisting her head ,opened up the dispute :
'Why need you meddle with and transmute
'All that ensues along Fate's heavy, firm plod                                               


 Considering the plight  on the marked path  ,     
"Mom " , said the other with a wry smile
" I let my picks find the vicissitudes wile
"That favour the brave who bear Life's wrath".


Thus went the dialectic , neither did concede ;  
Striking an attitude, blurted the  one serious ,
That every act has its effect due and various ;
The other  winked and shrugged, to plead  :
                                                                 
Hope induces vigour in crisis and breakdown    
 As morbid  defeat glides like an avalanche  ,
And committed strife finds enlivening chance 
If death is certain , survival is winner's crown .

Invoking grace

give love a nod
as we plod on
heart awed by bliss

Dark Grey Torrent

A hectic stare across the cliff,
grabs my prying mindfulness.
but yet I  hanker after urban fare,
such ruptured loyalty alas,
has a solid grip as I inhale,
the rampant toxic seaweed odor,
for which release a bland choice,
as bulging dark gray torrents,
remind us of some threat,
a fancy name as birthmark,
blemish, or craven riddle,
consequential strain I fear,
might alter this delay,
how city haven slant,
bustle, blast, benign graft,
has fallout clearly vetted,
sink block, suction pump,
remedial quick brush off,
two rocky worlds aside,
where common ground,
that less distinct blight,
consuming blind thought,
downpour on the crevice,
outskirt mere sideshow,
flight a gut reaction say,
let valor plot or plod,
whatever barren sabotage,
malaise, daft wanton dash,
each muddled exit’s close loop,
one must master by right,  
ominous veil now pending,
scatter brained inkling wrought,
lure, allure, attachment beckons,
departure problematic when pressed,
bursts of rain, bursts of sound,
seeking shelter but clueless,
would things be otherwise,
in large built up areas,
I ponder this dilemma,
while dreaming of fair vales,
or mystic laneways of yore

A to Z of Knowledge

Advice has no use to the ‘know all’
But pride often precedes a fall
Crass indignation when questioned
Denying each truth that is mentioned
Evidence he calls refutable
Facts, he says, aren’t indisputable
Grey is the colour of dubious knowledge
Hark at the novice as he enters college
If one week of lectures makes him feel all knowing
Just grin politely at ignorance showing
Kith and kin revel in such peace and quiet
Life is so peaceful, it’s almost a riot
Motor mouth’s gone for a couple of years
No doubt he’ll grow something between his ears
Or will he just come home as bad as before
Pounding our eardrums until they are sore
Quoting past monarchs that once held dominion
Recited - ignoring conflicting opinion
So if you know someone who ‘knows more than God’
Tell him that learning’s no sprint but a plod
Utter confusion may darken his face
Vitriol, soon will take confusion’s place
“What do you know, you’re so uneducated,
X-Ray your brain; you’ll find you’re overrated.”
Yet, when it’s back off to college tomorrow
Zero shame shown when he says, “Could I borrow…..”

If It Wasnt For Poetry

From the very depths of my inner being I cherish  poetry,
without the written verse I’d  be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of  laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that  angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen shed her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece  “Downward Plod,”
shortlisted for Creative Writing Ink poet challenge,
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began

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