Trail Poems

If I were a poem

If I were a poem
metaphoric words would dance in
synchronicity,
similes would waltz the frown 
from off my face.
If I were a poem
I'd wrap sonnets around you,
Like tourniquet stanzas 
healing chapters in verse.


If I were a poem
cliches would clash with
unwritten rules,
words would not rhyme and dear diary would not exist.
If I were a poem
gone would be the

Whispers of a Summer Trail

We hike the trails where emerald silence grows, 
The forest hums beneath the morning light, 
The mountain breathes in rhythms nature knows. 

The beach wind plays with gulls in seaward flight, 
We splash through waves, our footprints wash away, 
The forest hums beneath the morning light. 

By lakes so still they mirror skies all day,

Bombing the Ho Chi Minh Trail, 31 May, 1970

B-52: a city on its own. 
You mess with us, we’ve got technology.
I loved it when we flew into the zone:
as Ernie said, “We’ll kill ’em till they’re free.”

My job? To watch the black cascade of death
and myriad explosions in the woods:
Louisiana lilt – “You hold your breath,”
that’s Ernie’s voice – “delivering the goods!”

The pretty

Bright Angel Trail

My knee was a cracked hinge,
each step a bargain struck with pain.
The canyon walls pressed in,
heat still rising from the stone
long after sun left it behind.

Halfway to the distant rim,
I flopped down on the trailside bench—
the slats grabbed hold of my full weight
as if they meant to keep me.

And then I was above it all—
a

FREEDOM TRAIL

Civil Rights fight is where the need for freedom began
An end
Society says Race once again
Thrown in the face
The upward battle
No settle
The Blockade
No sitting in darkness under a shade
No hidden words
Having a mind to excel
The need to prove
Inspired and determined to move
Don’t need permission
Created from above
Freedom to think of
Society doesn’t want races to interrelate
There is a

Buffalo City

He took a plane to Rapid City
Hoped the bike trip would be pretty
Took a cab to where the trail began—
He had the spark of a younger man.

Next day he cycled on the Mickelson Trail
Though he knew he was in a moving jail
Higher ups told us he must be kept down
If left alone, he'd gain a

OFF THE CHOSEN TRAIL-

OFF THE CHOSEN TRAIL

Off the chosen Trail
 He stands barefooted 
Walking barefooted 
Grounding his vessel

He  walks that-A-way
Beloved grounding his flesh 
His soul and spirit thrives

Barefooted stretchfore upon
I step upon intimate spaces
Walking in faith on jagged waters
Like Jesus  I look at Him 
As I leave the waves now  Walking to heavenly steps

Following you

Displaced--The Trail of Tears --- REVISED

Time Period~~1830-1850

	
As rain falls hard and soaks the ground
and thunder roars its mighty sound,
so tears of the displaced may fall,
our cries bespeaking dearth and pall.

The Deep South tribes of long ago
were forced to forge a trail of woe,
of death and want, with goods so small,
our cries bespeaking dearth and pall.

We Cherokees were brought to tears
when

The Divine Paper Trail

The Divine Paper Trail

Written everywhere in theme
For everyone to perceive
collected verses on paper-
puzzle piece designs,
blueprint on the narrow trail
A reason to follow,
discover the outcome
up ahead, beyond turns and bends.
She went down that narrow path,
up the mountain high
and over to the better side.
Saw through an opened door
Paradise newly spread out-
glorious parcels of land restored,
wrapped in brightness
together

I Could Sit Here

I Could Sit Here”

I could walk along this sandy shore.
Crashing waves to and fro.
Sandpipers chirping,
Seagulls circling,
White sails sailing. 
I could sit here for a while.

I could hike this rocky trail.
Relish the splendor of snowcapped peaks
Bathe in an icy brook
Cast a line without a fly
Bull elk braying in the meadow below
I could sit here for a

The Trail Blazer

My hands are on the rail
I am bla?ing the trail
And i am fully on course
To fulfill my chosen cause.

The children are watching
To see what they are catching 
Leading by example not just talking
They are watching to do the walking.

Wearing my customised  blazer 
I am on course, and I am a  trail blazer.
 

Let delight trail plight

Joys thrill upon suffering grief,
In dense darkness lamp’s light as if,
Good days all gone, should one get bad,
All alive, poor soul lives like dead.            
________________________
Translation |31.10.2024|happiness, joy, grief, men

Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. Like the light of a

Blood Trail

Innocence a foreigner
if beautiful or dark
No one who can lead the way
— has purity of heart

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)

Faux Trail

Wayne followed every traditional route. His ignorant bliss bid others chart his course. Comfort was in knowing all carried precedent form. Locked doors blocking every end. Turn left, then right, again and again. Would they lie? Did they lie?


road trip to nowhere 
tradition loss prediction 

walking to empty 




[Note of feet: Majority of society are

The Santa Fe Trail

The Santa Fe Trail

                                       The expanse is awe striking 
       

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