Treks Poems

The woman with three names

There is a quick-witted woman I know with three names; her silhouette is a mystery; she's had multiple fragile frames.

Many have tried and failed to tame her rather long mane, but honestly, they were lame flames.

Her treks motivate her for life’s endless, gruelling games.

Called a traveller but never exploring for fame, she isn't one of those Instagram dames. 

Nobody can catch her riddle

runner strides, she won't win any elections; her temper never slides. 

But that humour will take you on some rollercoaster rides.

A compass nucleus of fears revives stifled tides. 

Some have labelled her a peaceful poet and writer. 

This makes her laugh; she's always been an ample fighter. 

In her day job, she wrestles with a highlighter.

Glued to a screen, she implores the sky to make her mind lighter. 

When she was knee-high, she dreamed of being a screenwriter. 

A secret rapper, perhaps she will win a Grammy as a songwriter. 

Only time will tell where she will land with a whisky and pen in her hands on another all-nighter.

Dodo Talk

Words are born and some change, adapt, some wilt;
Norse drips into French seeps into English, hidden treasures under silt.
Blendings swirl meanings and semantics shift our daily use;
once uttered by tongue, electric touch now lets language loose.
Ancient lexis under threat became narrower with colonial treks;
Luhu and Yahagn, two dodo vocabularies now buried within texts.

A JOURNEY TO ME

Through winding roads and stormy skies 

In silent thoughts, my spirit flies 

A quest for peace, a heart’s decree, 

This winding path is a journey for me 

  

With every step, my world unfolds 

In Dark Ally's tales, My Future was told 

I picked up a canvas blank, there was a chance to be 

Each brushstroke marks a journey for me

  

Through storms uncalm, I found my way, 

In moments lost, in the grey stormy rain 

A search for self, I break free 

Life’s hardest treks are a journey to me 

  

I paint with purpose,  

colors blended ferocious 

For every bad start comes a victorious end 

In hatred of my disdain 

the climb turns in hope 

I find my truth, a journey for me

High Fidelity

Do you know my friend named Faith?
With trust in God, she treks through inconveniences,
stepping sprightly over them
with supreme optimism.

Smiling with ease, she saunters
along her life’s path, sure-stepping
for always she knows the way to go.
In the darkest of her days,
she still marches on;
a soldier of hope is she.
Some nights, she strolls, 
face toward the heavens,
searching for the Star of David
so keen are her convictions.

To her friends and family,
she is an angel 
ambling happily alongside them
and slowing down to lift them up
should they stumble and fall.

She loves her man
with the heart of a loyal lioness,
and he cannot help but reciprocate
her many kindnesses.
Do you know this woman?
Her faithfulness is to the sky,
for she’s got
high fidelity.

Mortal Footprints

Oh what a fine example makes

Free of malice and past mistakes

No footprint born of mortal man

That treks across both sea and sand

Nor golden god on winged horse

That maps our world or steers our course

Our deeds are there for all to see

Forever near our fate shall be

Just Walking

Side-walk treks along concrete ribbons.
Listening to the passing cars,
to the slipstreams of travelling minds,
their encapsulated lives
humming electrically just as mine.

I don't know this part of the city,
people in my neighborhood
tell of dark days and violent nights
in this borough.

Maybe I should whistle,
stuff hands in pockets,
as if I had a gun,
or a bible?

Occasional smiles
as folks swing-on by,
even the kids are happy,
to be just where they are.

This walk is leading me onward,
and if I get more lost
than I am now,
I shall have found my way
into, a better roadmap
of myself.

No Regrets

. for public domain

Sighing, she withdrew from her life's labors;
her age beckoned a restful luxury
from her now-passing spouses, grown children,
busy neighbors, and weary market treks.

Much more than her shoe soles had worn thin
from everyday care and worry,
endured throughout many doldrums and years
of dutiful and endless wear and tear.

She drew curtains, leaned into the shadows,
and tossed her legs onto an ottoman.
Small tears of joy ran her cheeks as she sat
peaceful to reflect on all of it.

Bluebird, Come Soon

A day like today, what a marvelous thing 
To be given a taste of the soon coming Spring 
When all will return from their long winter's treks
And all will wake up from their long winter's naps
With love in the air and the freshness it brings
May someday come soon, ushered in on the wings
Of a bluebird, she's fancied the heart of this man
Who writes her these poems, her guitar near his hand

Novelty Rides Inc

He saw a gap in the market,
Knew he'd found a niche
Got the idea at Scarborough
From donkey rides on the beach.
Camel treks from Whitby
Going the scenic way
Following the coastal road
On to Robin Hood's Bay.

The very place where, if
Local legend had it right,
Mr Hood and the Vikings
Had a very dirty fight.
He advertised on the Internet
Pretty sure there would be
A plethora of investors 
All as Foresighted as he.

He checked his e mail hourly,
Couldn't understand why
After forty three days
Not received a single reply.
He sent the camels back to Qatar
After a very drastic rethink
Then devoted his life to
The Pursuit of strong drink.

You can find him by Donny station
A sight to make you weep
As he rattles his tin can
Begging for his keep.
There's a moral to this story.
Always look for the hitch:
Though better than the alternative,
Life at times can be a bloody .

Beyond Reach

Ah, how I wish I could freeze time,
And vanish into Daisy's mystical rime.
Unreachable in child's school hood,
after cutting short a fleeting childhood.

Everything here appears to be blissful,
A vast amber bumble bee bolts onto a bristle.
I long to gaze at the vast sea and vivid sky,
Well, I'm keen here, but must move away.

Without hurdles or goals, I will be stuck,
In cosmic dust, I hovered and struck.
Faded into the night at dawn and twilight.
The stars pull me into a multi-blossom sight.

Holly heralds, zesty flavors, and mossy smell,
I had no wish to bid my pure soul farewell.
The palm slipped into the moon's grasp,
Orchids, violets, and waves of toffee inclasp.

Excessive enthusiasm for the cool night.
Even black stars prefer photophobic light.
An infant treks to the twilight kingdom.
Alike a pilewort nurtured to be handsome
 
Teardrops of nostalgia remain out of range.
Then, hunt for the hay in a secluded grange.

Written: December 22, 2022

Beyond Reach Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose

Crystal-Covered Slopes

 winter wears a white coat
ice magnum opus wide range
let yourself defrost 
7/7/5 

looming snow-capped peaks
frozen water treks slowly 
sky has a somber color
5/7/7

frost flakes piling on the grass
sparkling like diamonds
dawn beckons with a bright smile
7/5/7

Syllables checked by HMS

Written: December 08, 2022

Triple New Charlieku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina

A Rift Zone

*Neighboring Mauna Kea has been sleeping for centuries, but notice the red flows popping and flowing in the gray areas below Mauna Loa's actual summit. Those are rift zones that pave through gray areas untouched, then pop out further downhill wiping out whole communities. BEWARE OF RIFT ZONE--which has been ongoing now.

Mauna Loa created Kilauea Iki, Pu'u O'o, Halemaumau, and Loihi Seamount (the underwater volcano).

*Image of The Big Island Rift Zones by UHH

A Rift Zone

Our fatigued town of Hilo by the bay,
woke late Sunday and watched black turn to gold.
Midnight's oil peters ere dawn the next day,
seen three lava streamed, some people unsold.

Volcanologists call it, a rift zone,
where red skies mock as magma glows on top
while forcing lava tubes neath, treks unknown.
O'er a hundred quakes daily, stresses swap.

Slams of earth's crust formed Everest's complete,
Mauna Loa was churned out from the ground up.
Twenty-nine faced thirty-three thousand feet,
shows this volcano's peaks, win the gold cup.

Confidence of sight, conscious bets clearly,
ignorants deal with escape plans dearly.

2022 December 01

The 90's Generation

Those were the days when children went out to play,
May be with cricket ,football hockey or mud and clay,
Watching TV, reading comic books a whole long day,
Or Going to hill treks,picnics or a tour to the bay.

Licking the popsicle to chill out from soaring sun,
Kicking  the bicycle until we have a boring run,
Flicking the article which had some daring pun,
Nicking in the tropical and exploring its fun.

At calendar, wistfully staring,
Wishing for gods to start caring,
For us to get a break from daily struggle,
And pray that summer holidays be double

Everywhere Comes Back To Me

My travelling shoes
got up early,
they had hydraulic jump-starts.

Countries spun my head around
while I discovered lands
only Albatross dream of
in a limitless sky.

Across many countries
I loop-di-looped,
crop-seeding my
ever seeking mind.

The trips and treks
trudged to a stop
in the late middle ages
of my historically mobile plod.

Now the world comes to me,
to reveal all I missed.
The nooks and crannies
of distant plateaus and valleys,
stones left un-turned,
faces posted from places
once so sea-sealed
or landlocked,
only the address-less
could find them now.

Everywhere comes to my door
entering announced
by wind-blown Tibetan cloud horns.

I open a carriage window
in a train of thoughts
and let that 3-D atlas
of all that was overlooked
chug on by,
watching from my roost
and long anticipated
nest of rest.

Treasures To Walk

Brecon Beacons
        for pony-treks
Cumbrian fells 
      & bubbling becks
Dartmoor 
  with rocks rain scarred 
Lake District views
     beloved of bards
Northumbria on moor & hill
where Roman echoes linger still

Stone-bridged hamlets 
                   in the Dales 
with enclosed leas along its vales
Snowdonia one thousand yards high   
      reached by slow trains up to the sky
Pembroke with its distant trail so long
   heritages for us to protect & prolong

National treasures to preserve & enjoy
 by rich,the famous &hoi poloi.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007

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