Short Cobble Poems

cobble stone alleys
muted rivulets of hope
a flash of lightning...

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On white washed cobble

a cricket creeping along ~

old man stooped and bent....

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On a starless rainless night 
'fore my eyes... 
The last of the snow-hill, 
Wind-blown... 
Melts

Left...
Is wet-marks, 
On cobble-stone 
Till, the next snowflake...
.
.
.
.
.
Drops...

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Church bells forged in the 
flames of Irish history
Reign down in a full-circle ring 
on crowded streets
Echo through soul worn cobble 
stone half lit alleys 
Bringing the gap where the 
past and present meet....

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A Mountain climbing I will go
over the foot paths
Over the cobble stones
Up and up I go step by step
higher and higher I climb
Over the boulders and over the rocks 
Onwards and upwards
to the tip pity top I go....

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The thirst to tell stories
To understand what came before
And how, stumbling
stupidly
with bloodshot and laughing eyes
we cobble together
little piles of rocks
which from afar
tower to a something other than Babel...

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Whistling breeze, a pleasing song so dear to me
The sunlit drops dancing upon warm cobble streets
Dancing sakura so pink and pure of a snow below
Small creatures gliding across the pastures beside me
A perfect day to begin a song filled melodic spring...

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Streets of years ago
Uneven,
Broken between time lapses
Old trolley tracks
That no one will ride on again
Cobble stones taken from history
And left behind in the present
Be careful walking through Brooklyn streets,
Their cracks are unforgiving memories....

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There is something about wine
That first glug when it’s poured
The first sip from the glass
The first time it makes you feel invincible.
When I sit at a table
On the cobble streets outside the bar
There is no drink I can think of more
That makes me feel alive....

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Grief

a fluttering of moth wings
turns the air into minute
whorls of short breath.
space does a catstretch to infinity
then curls into a tight ball.

one, one, one

a word once insignificant
echoes through the mind
like midnight footsteps
on a drizzled cobble street.
alone...

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For a small poem 


Night rain falls softly
On a cobble stones
Seen by a streetlamp 
From roofs rain rolls
Down like tears and
Not a word is spoken. 
                       
A little nothing
                       
A cat sits on 
                      The steps
Not catching rats
Admires 
The moon...

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Walking down the cobble gravel roads barefoot I waddle
I embrace my soul I hold I  cuddle
I'll take off my shoes and then my bare feet I dance in the puddle
Singing the sweet words my grandma used to muther
So I stop walking in the water
I stand tall
I shall not fall
I stand tall
Barefoot

12/6/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020...

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Midnight in droplet puddles
murky cobble stone
after a crisp whiz of rain,
men sound left alone.
Portal kept silence
into a magical dew
of faint world's absence.


9/14/2017

Contest:  'SEGUIDILLA' Contest 
Sponsored By:	nette onclaud


1. Midnight, not a sound from the pavement.
Verify syl count www.howmanysyllables.com...

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A Parisian smile
Awakens and touches me
After years of being away;
Cobble-stoned street
Of silky chestnuts
Echoes the steps
Of shadowy lovers who
Embrace and whisper shared sighs.
Music spills out
Of neighborhood bistros
As an aged dilettante
Recites his poetry
While pouring the house wine
For nodding audience
In state of ennui
While sitting in the sidewalk cafe....

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CRIMSON

Bougainville… 
white washed
walls of hidden 
hedonism
cobble stones of
past unknowns
Mediterranean
mysterious 
Islands of
indulgence
salt and sea



a serene
version of you
and me placid
crimson hopes and
expectancies
lie in veiled
secrecy 
the darkness
of disturbed
observances
clandestine





© Kim van Breda—21 December 2015...

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THE kiss of cold
--ness froze my soul
a tin can kicked
beyond winter's road

Hands in pockets
did not abate the shiver
ice-shattered thoughts
as I walk alone down

My cobble-path stones
across the way as I walk
and through a golden lilt
window-soul I hear

Chopin playing on air
My friend-soul I'm told
kissing my footfalls
------------as I go

:: 04-28-2014 ::...

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We're built to be uNeven.
In balance or Knot
We're Weaving.

Nature makes it this way
So the earth can sway
Else we'd be hot,
While freezing.

Look to your feet
If you don't believe me.
Touch your skin
Epidermis is breathing.

We wiggle when we wobble
And we giggle when we cobble,
Yes making shoes one too small
So we can hobble? lol!

Now THAT'S perfectly uneven.
Thinking.
;p...

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Mere words are placed upon the page
Where ink conjoins with pulp.
And higher themes than tongues can wage
Are sought in parsing prose.

Language is the mind’s attempt
To cobble thoughts from words,
Yet seeks discourse on things exempt
From rationale’s employ. 

‘Tis not a boast upon the breast,
That burden to un-bear, 
But hope that scripting at its best
Does speak without a breath.
...

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(Chopin's Ghost)

THE kiss of cold
--ness froze my soul
a tin can kicked
beyond winter's road

Hands in pockets
did not abate the shiver
ice-shattered thoughts
as i walk alone 

The cobble-path stones;
across the way as i walk
and through a golden lilt
window-soul i hear

Chopin playing upon air.
My friend-soul i am told
kissing my footfalls
- - - _ - _--> as i go

:: 04-28-2014 ::...

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do not look for me
among gravestones by black attire
   once chiselled ergo sum
but instead a mother’s arms
a womb from whence laid cobble stones
I paved in tears, in many strides
and tread along forever
then glistening bud
and falling leaf
find me somewhere in between
where I’ve sat
among scenes of many views
the hourglass and all its sand
a grain within grains, find me
and shall not all ends
deliver all beginnings


...

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Larva of meal worms are tasty Corn Cob Cobble said.
A meely worm collector who is always well-fed.
I love them he told me, want to give one a try?
They were squirming and ugly, I gave them the eye.

I had one before, I lied through my mouth and my nose.
These worms gave me the creeps from my head down to my toes.
Suit yourself Corn Cob Cobbie said, popping two in his mouth.
I watch his esophagus twitch and wiggle as they both headed south....

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Larva of meal worms are tasty Corn Cob Cobble said.
A meely worm collector who is always well-fed.
I love them he told me, want to give one a try?
They were squirming and ugly, I gave them the eye.

I had one before, I lied through my mouth and my nose.
These worms gave me the creeps from my head down to my toes.
Suit yourself Corn Cob Cobbie said, popping two in his mouth.
I watch his esophagus twitch and wiggle as they both headed south....

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He staggered down the cobble stoned avenue,
weaving through narrow passages,
wondering where the road would end.

Walls rose up around him, 
shuttered windows obscuring quiet lives,
quiet loves, and passing fancies.

In the distance, snow covered peaks tower
above the village, heavy with 
winter’s white abundance.

Will he find his way home?

Will the snows stay until Spring’s thaw?

Will the town survive ‘til dawn?

We’ll never know....

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My soul in the darkness it did abide,
The essence of my life slipping between this life and the next.

On the fringe of suicide and contemplating death.

I see a small light in the darkest time.
I reached out for help and my soul began to take flight.

Each street light and cobble stone left behind as my soul yearned for the rising Son.

Who embraced my soul and gave me life so I might live forever and ever by his grace.  I am blessed indeed!...

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(this poem is a bout falling asleep but there is no category for it)


Heavy lids; burning eyes,
no more chance of getting high.
Dreams both start but don't sound,
as carriage carts drag on cobble stones.

Your heart - slow baritone beats,
pulling you away to sleep.
And it suffers you,
for your loss of control.
It scares you too.
Still, down you must go.
Into the vast sea
of nascent mortality
of terminal vistas.
The hindmost journey
being quiescent aloft....

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