A Narrow Path—not made by Men—
Unfolds—beneath the Trees—
No Trowel laid—no Footstep pressed—
It opens—by Degrees—
The Clover parts—as if to bow—
The Fern—extends a Palm—
And every Pebble—seems to know—
A hush—profound as Psalm—
No Compass—need direct the Soul—
That finds this Pilgrims Way—
For Nature—keeps her Sabbath here—
While Worlds—go far astray—
I wander—where no Echo treads—
Save that of Brook—and Wren—
And bless—the Road—invisible—
Unbuilt—by Mortal Men—
Awake me muse, for I need to commit,
To something, anything that will keep me fit
Before me sits, an unbuilt kit,
waiting for me to assemble it
With steady hands ready to work,
Unboxing, pulling out pieces,
for all they are worth
Parts and pieces dispersed here and there,
instructions interpreted as somewhat fair
Leave it to me, I’ll get it done,
better late than never, I told someone.
Time has come, to glue this to that,
prime, sand, then paint all that
To finish the task at one’s feet,
the process calls for it to repeat
Don’t call me a bad guy,
if I justify why you should electrify
You can paint or wallpaper any wall,
it doesn’t much matter to me at all
With all those lights still so dark,
plug in with “AC” to get a spark
Once we throw the thumb-wheel switch,
we behold all that glows,
hopefully, without a hitch.
I can proudly say to you this day,
this dolls house is ready and on its way
Ready for you to decorate
with folks gathering to participate
Thanking you in advance
for this build of mine
and approving of my timeline
At some point, you might say,
at his best, he was a gifted Miniaturist
I lay claim.
To the spaces between your
breaths that hang suspended like
dust in summer glare.
I lay claim.
To the corners ignored, in which
your shadow glides beyond my
feeble reach.
I lay claim.
To the fading spike of your laugh
that leads me through our closed,
unbuilt days.
I lay claim.
To the scraps of us that now stick
and flutter on winter roads that once
stretched for miles.
I lay claim.
To our solid silences that welded blood
to shape, and sewed adoration to final,
absolute pledge.
I lay claim.
To the story written, the history lived and
the dreams that will all be swallowed
whole.
I lay claim.
To these characters, these pages, these
canyons between our lines that carry our
wonderous, dying years.
Many nights there were no new dreams,
so I borrowed from the old
Resurrecting the scaffolding
of what lay unbuilt—untold
(Dreamsleep: November, 2020)
Divinely bequeathed a blank-cheque-Jackpot; in your
possession is the golden ticket
Sadly, many fail to decode it's often unglammed seed
Just as one person may look at a pile of stone and
merely see stone, another may look at it and
envision a majestic cathedral
Or one who tosses a priceless heirloom in the attic to gather cobwebs
Or mindlessly pawn it for a quick buck
Unmined to the grave - where lie companies unstarted
Masterpieces unpainted
Architecture unbuilt....in the cemetry there is buried
the greatest treasure mine, fruitless
You were proud who would not weep,
And I, too proud to smile.
Our words unspoken
The box of sweet perfume
Left unopened
Are things stolen from us that
Never shall return.
Beneath a bridge unbuilt
A once calm stream
A now wild restless sea
Where phantom ships
In ageless quest sail on
To find no home,
To reach no haven's rest.
How can you teach Poetry,
or breathe for someone else
Sharing what your soul has freed,
deep within yourself
Can you cross a bridge unbuilt,
its toll not yours to pay
Squeezing blood from wounds long healed,
—transfusion’s masquerade
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
It was a blossom cradled by a blinding sheen,
Though bold on wings of night it fled
Much swifter than what Nature might have felt or seen;
My heart sank deep as if of lead.
It was and wasn’t, for it may have lived or died.
What counted then was that it would
Survive in me, where letters could have wept or sighed,
Eternal in their haunting mood.
Unbuilt by storms and then restored to heights by love,
It surged and trebled like a song
More tender than the sun and whiter than a dove
Whose graces timid hopes prolong.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
empty nest
i came upon this empty nest
and felt of soul a bit bereft
i wondered how it came to be
and wondered if now fulfilled
its purpose was to be unbuilt
shells all scattered about below
nesting about like skinned wind
of parenthood and progeny in tow
a beautiful family once had been
now a memory twigged on the wing
natural progression of posterity
zeitgeist from parent to offspring
still deep meaning it has for me
to accept both aspects i've seen
treasuring both nurture and the nurturing
© Goode Guy 2015-04-23
Can I be your hero of tomorrow?
I know that I have not been
Your hero of before or today,
But give me a chance to stay
By your side next time,
I know I have unbuilt
Your empires before,
Myself slipping aside
As new problems come ashore,
While my talent seems to be
Removing people's pleasure,
Please let me be your hero
Of tomorrow, a day I might change.
we all are blind ,until we see-that in the gods plan.
nothing is worth the making if it does'nt make the man
so why do we still build large cities, if the man unbuilt goes--
for it's in vain we continue to build-------
---- unless the builder also grows,,
so
i looked at my friend that always stood by my side,
and wondered why does'nt our enter spirits agree
should i give up this friend that i so valued with pride,
just because he does'nt serve the same God as me.
Sifting through shadows of lost innocence
heaviness weighs chill eroding hope's gilt
skeletons wrought of protracted suspense
whisper pierce dissonant symphony's lilt
lifting vague reminders of dreams unbuilt
on shores of sanity. Love lesson learns
over broad spans tumultuous yearning burns
deep rumbling blunt warns solemnly heeded
quite sensibly calm maturity earns
tender strength soul protection when needed.
Three strikes on the snooze button
Then unwilling, still dark within,
I step out to stretch my stiff back
and you tell me - time to wake up.
This day I might return to bed;
Other days I will trudge to work.
But the self is the task today:
Verse, rest, reflection, dreaming on
These shards that dwell within my mind,
The unbuilt felt magnificence,
Looming over the central square
Announcing their will to be built.
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