Sauntering Poems | Examples

A Boundless Utopia 16-03-23

Atop a grassy hill I sit,
gazing at the rich azure blue sky
watching a few birds fluttering in and out of my vision,
slicing through the air like knives.
I lie there for what feels like an eternity,
wind turbine turning in calculated motion
out of the corner of my eye.
My rucksack ties me to the ground,
filled with a thousand weights,
preventing me from being like those birds,
majestic, elate and carefree.
But I can imagine.

The innocent silky clouds transform and bend,
producing a multitude of bizarre objects,
an army commanded by the wind
sauntering across the horizon.
A world with no end, limited only by mortal minds,
a mini-universe floating just above our heads.
We are the creators of this fictional world,
where human though unfurls.

I see an emerald dragon,
a group of chariot wagons, their horses galloping.
A circus filled with the most exotic animals,
an ivy snake laced with diamonds,
a canoe slicing through the sky.
A gnarly oak, 
its trunk encased, fingers reaching infinitely high.
But each world is different for every one of us,
so tell me; what do you see
when you let your imagination
break free?

sauntering

Sauntering


How does one go about writing 
a lovely poem, one that does not have lines
like comparing her eyes to a crying 
Morning rose alone all night in the garden

I like olives, not the plant that is, rather
boring, but it's fruit, in a jar with the pips
taken out and free of bother, going through
pages finding a word that fits with olive

I wrote a poem themed on Oedipus,
But the site that prides itself on publishing
Everything, you can find the poem unless
You are prepared to look to dawn.

Let me say something trite: I'm happy 
to have a roof over my head, but if the
The roof is not yours, one has to side with 
those in power of the day.

Noctuary II

Echoes of summons ring on.
With them a sonorous clamour for painted lines.
The rim of night stretches and holds fast to
a colossal nocturne hung on furs-and-clouds walls,
and a concentric image of life rotates on
edges of weak silver.

Long-dead poets campaign openly for verses –
among them Wordsworth and Eliot –
each putting a swagger to his arrogant gait of lines,
sauntering towards a nest of whited papers.

Initiation signs, nebulous, line the torso of night,
and are etched deeply into the black bosom
of distant whiffs of ceremonies, like faint
stars of a tumultuous galaxy.

Memory Loss

Fold and make origami
Pieces lost in the folds of time
Ripples in crystal waters of stillness
A riddle searching for responsiveness

Zipline through the playgrounds of my mind
Inverted skies stretch beyond grey
Clinging to air thick with silence
Shaped by a hope refusing to conform

Sleepily sauntering down an alley
Directionless shadows endless in their growth
Opaque walls murmuring their speechless weight
Flickering with thoughts not comprehended

Unraveling the knots of oblivion
Words hang precariously in suspense
A burst of color breaks through the frame
Slowly fading to the edge of a forgotten dream

Someone Walking By My Sight

It's good to see 
Someone just walking gracefully 
There isn't enough 
Strolling or sauntering
They are such lovely words
The yellow colored leaves
Falling atop the umbrella
As well scattered at the byways
As she passes by my side
Looking silenly at her blankly
God made all things perfectly I see
Are all beautiful and welcoming
I'm breathing its crisp air, I love it
I love the rain as well.

Strangers in a Motel Lobby in Arkansas

motel lobby in arkansas
close to the crystal bridges
young man with tattoos walks to large creamer
he begins to pump creamer into coffee
sees me and indicates I go ahead of him.

Ii shake my head ‘no”
tell him to go ahead, he will be quicker than me
two polite strangers making conversation
in a motel lobby in arkansas
I sit down to eat my breakfast
watching people sauntering in and out

four children skip past, giggling like faeries.
they could be from new mexico or virginia
There are license plates outside from several states
I marvel that people are vacationing
in the middle of the week in arkansas

Rambunctious

Rambunctious,
lemon hot drum drop;

Sauntering in stage left
a playful approach;
Citrus flavors from Orange amps 
cleanse the venue;
Sick is about to take over stable,
the injection awaits behind the curtain;

Lemon hot drum drop,
you can feel it before it happens;
A smile for the crowd,
breaking a stone silence;
Bang 
     bang 
             into a roll..

Rambunctious,
lemon hot drum drop..

            into a roll 
         bang
bang..

Rambunctious,
sauntering in stage left;
Sick is about to take over stable.

Art Of Endurance

In desolate wasteland of deprivation,  
sauntering languidly with my indigent life, 
I tried tolerantly for so long 
to smoothen the angularities 
of our beleaguered bond. 

Swirling in the egregious whirlpool 
of searing indignation, 
sucked into the chasm
of despondent desertion,
I searched in vain 
for the pathway to your heart.
The feeling of dismal denial 
made me abandon the pursuit. 
 
But had I cultivated 
the art of endurance 
and stayed on resolute, 
I’d have seen the butterfly 
of yearning return reticent,  
flitter in the air of changed time 
on its wings of dream
in my sensuous sky 
with the lattice of your charisma. 

With the whispering wind 
it’d have created the music, 
harmonized with the rhythm of my heart, 
where longing would have danced 
with the ripples of rhapsody, 
roll between you and me, 
entwine us forever. 

Purifying the renascent craving called love, 
I’d have weaved the novel design of desire  
in the tapestry of heavenly togetherness, 
that wouldn’t have frayed
till the end of time.

A Delightful Encounter

Walking downstairs;  I see particles of light,
Shimmering in my dark brown long hair.
The light of stars is so bright that it
Envelopes all the darkness into light.
Sauntering there; I am made aware,
By the crispy clear voice of my dad saying,
“Come over there!” I stare looking at his short 
Grey hair illuminating a silhouette of bright light.
Dressed all in white, standing. 
A long wooden dining table is next to him. 
That’s where my aunt and uncle are seated side by side.
My father then extends his tan brownish colored hand,
Offering me a golden colored round Ladoo.  
I take it and eat the Ladoo with fervor.  
Chomping away nothing flavorful and salivating,
As my surroundings change to pitch black with holding 
Nothing but air.

Floating Figure

Seraph in señora form
She moves. Nay, floats
Across opulent floors...
Swaying
Strolling
Sauntering
Her unnoticed, untouched outfit
touching touch-me-not touch
Her crystal topaz physique....
Spirit
Searching 
Something that’s unseen

Circles

Sauntering along a tide line of dreams, 
step by step through the tranquil sands, 
conscious I breathe, 
then floating next to myself in the sea, 
where my breath is the breeze that 
birthed wave’s to break around my waking feet…

D.N. Read©2024

seasonals

seasons arrested
a sauntering airs freely 
a mass of escapes
panoramic difference
relocation picturesque

New York Was So Relaxed

New York was so relaxed Lady Liberty was slumbering with snores.
There was a garbage strike, and the taxis were sauntering with oars.
No one was excited, hot dog men were yawning in their wheat buns.
It was a lazy August day, and Central Park had many quiet nuns.

Atlantic ocean was taking a sabbatical, the pizza palors were napping.
The dogs and cats were dead asleep, no animals were crapping.
Tourists were taking naps on almost every kind of stoop.
Pigeons were deep in meditation in every single coop.

This Is Fun

I wish I were a poet.
I think I am, I know it.
My mind says “don’t blow it.”
I think I’ll give it time.

Poems I’ve read a lot, you know,
I haven’t read enough, although,
to make a mark in time and show
I think I’ll give it time.

This is fun. It gives me rest.
Especially when I read the best.
My soul and heart they do arrest.
I think I’ll give it time.

Sauntering, laughing, skipping, beguiling,
thoughts and words, visions compiling.
As I write, my heart is smiling.
I think I’ll give it time.

	TIME’S UP! ??

About the Meadow

Listen to the billowing wind
The cool oak tree’s shadow 
Renew while sauntering in
And gaze about the meadow

Watch the daisies dancing
Birds and bees romancing
Radiant sun enhancing
Beauty about the meadow

Oh how it warms your heart
Soothing and healing you start
Pondering that you are a part
Of the bliss about the meadow

Jumping, skipping, frolicking free
Laughing and rejoicing that you see
That soon you are about to be
Wandering about the meadow

Suddenly dark clouds appear
Rumbling thunder and lightning you hear
Startling you as rain draws near
Trouble about the meadow

Off to the barn you run and hide
It’s cold, damp and musty inside
Patiently there you wait beside
The storm about the meadow

An hour later the rain stopped
You wonder, has the storm dropped?
You opened the door and out it popped
The sun about the meadow

Oh, lovely and fresh the smell
The ambience makes your heart swell
Capturing your heart that’s dying to tell
Your adventure about the meadow

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