Short Trackless Poems

paths they find and pave
when tarred baked basked masked, dare to
erase their footprints

29 June 2021...

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Standard bearer,
above the fray

Others follow,
trackless fields

Trailing echo’s,
dead and gone

Then tomorrow
—tomorrow then

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2020)...

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Across the trackless desert of your dreams
Float images and emotions so supreme.
Will you take ...to bring back from that place...
The message of your heart and the meaning of your dreams?...

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plows through thick forests
paves paths betwixt barren lands ---
darkness left trackless


04 March 2022
H Forms - Traditional Nature Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France...

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Night's sparkling sky
boggles my mind.

Do I see there, the beginning,
or is it the end?

Is what I see, then,
or is it now--or is it when?

Oh, what do I see, there,
in that trackless abyss?

Is it was, or is it will be--
or is it simply is?...

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A shrunken, bitter fruit
dropped from a brittle branch;
the summer rains have passed it by;
the harvesters have let it lie
and Winter stalks the field.

Numb through long days and star shy nights
beneath a void of trackless snow;
dull passersby may never know
the bounty death will yield.

© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson...

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Hopes unsung and 
left to question,
my imaginations emancipation.
An unsustainable fantasy,
no history,
no one left to please.
Trackless paths so overgrown,
now unknown, 
a life over-owned
Beaten down, 
forced to listen,
contradictions, 
harsh conditions.
I'm breaking out of disrepair,
I'm getting there,
 
I nearly care...

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Some enact outstanding feats
of altruism in the world,
some pray, administer and comfort;
both create shrines of hope.

Yet there are others tasked to
reveal waymarks on invisible pathways,
cairns and inuksuk, signs upon the trackless;
word-symbols, 
akin to rocks and pebbles.

Poets who scribble, often by chance, 
point a way, and when they do
God builds a small shrine
for them also....

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A trackless train, no destination
     A soul stretched to the point of breaking
Confusion without revelation

Feelings of a heart that’s aching

In blackness, pain, no commutation
     A sleep from which there is no waking
Delusion without consolation

Feelings of a heart that’s aching


Oh, the broken heart, 
              In splinters, pieces scattered
Heal, oh broken heart
              Though torn apart and battered...

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The path between myself and the distant man 
twists and turns. There are gullies and ridges
hags and troughs, a hoary dusk.

We are converging. He has my hat and clothes, 
my resemblance.

Once I miscalculated;
I was out on the trackless moors too late, 
darkness fell
I had to lose myself to find myself.

The figure is waving, not in greeting but warning.
As we draw nearer the sky darkens,
suddenly he is gone.

Later I look from a dark window and wonder 
which of us came home?...

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