The earth shakes, mimicking my weary bones,
And the ground is wet with tears left behind.
The cage of whiteness, locked tightly inside,
Upholds the heavy weight of every day's design.
Secrets and memories are ghosts we keep,
Bound tightly within the walls of the chest—
Forgiven, forgotten, or just cast aside,
The architecture of a heart aching for rest.
My steps falter on the unpaved ground,
Stumbling under the weight of a calcified spine.
Yet all this physical aching scarcely compares
To the quiet, structural cage of skeletal frame—
That has, until today,
Only answered to the marrow of your name.
An idle mind is dangerous and bold
An idle mind is stories untold
An idle mind is lost in space
An idle mind is a slow embrace
An idle mind is doubt and fear
An idle mind is both far and near
An idle mind is restless streams
An idle mind is built on dreams
An idle mind is sharp yet blind
An idle mind is cruel but kind
An idle mind is dark and deep
An idle mind is awake in sleep
An idle mind is warmth and cold
An idle mind is bought and sold
An idle mind is melody unchained
An idle mind is a road unpaved
As I walked around this rusted mobile home park on a cold December night, with unpaved roads and the usual strays nowhere in sight.
I stopped to look up at the beautiful moonlight.
It was a large full moon with a lonely star nearby.
Seemed strange that no other stars were out in this clear night sky.
That single one did however shine ever so bright.
The sky is blue, clear, jovial and ethereal
To welcome with open heart spring which is
So beautiful, fresh, colorful, and at ease
Oh! It's a reborn again time which is real.
Oh! Friends, it's the most wonderful season
Green lawns and shrubs return to the horizon
The birds resume their blissful refrains
Listen to the sound of the old fashioned trains.
Little children play on the unpaved avenue
Gorgeous ladies walk around almost nude
Where some amateurs fall into pleasant dreams.
The trees are already full of sweet sap and the streams
Are in good and superb shape for the season
Dear friends, naturally the harvest will be cornucopian.
Copyright © April 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Sun setting can I see nor a moonrise,
Tall towers nor let me see smiling stars,
Nor with sunrise, how moon melts from my eyes,
The dazzling light my eyesight always mars.
Smoke and dust make things much dimmer than are,
Greens greying are, flowers so rare to see,
Birds save pigeons from towns are driven far,
How in commune with Nature can I be?
I’ve to trace steps and watch wither I walk,
No more can I marvel heavenly art,
For, stare and stalk the unpaved stones that flock
Whilst potholes pry and raise beats of my heart.
How can I in touch with Nature e’er be,
Oh, when my mind must always be in me.
____________________________
Sonnet |10.03.2017, revised October 2024| nature
Poet’s note: A man in touch with nature remains in touch with his inherent goodness. But what if city dwelling deprives him of Nature?
Unplanting a growing garden; uprooted what is normal in conformity
Destiny wove the cloth that led you down an unpaved path to me
In the realms of free will, some paths don't cross organically
Dreams are what was once thought to be truthful wise; normality
Twisted the nightmares become lifetime cures, of thoughts allergy
This waking vision; happier still, you were a part of my reality
Pens, and pen knives,
minor gadgets and gizmos,
chopsticks
old zippo lighters,
motheaten books
that crumble an old-fashioned wisdom
into the mush of a quaint twaddle,
words to muddle over
on a day locked into a raincloud.
He collected all sorts -
mostly useless things,
mostly the unimportant, the worthless,
gathering together
all the small curiosities of the bygone,
things often broken and long discarded.
His poetry is a collection also,
a jumble of oddments and offbeat widgets,
stuff he finds hazily dreaming
beside unpaved roads.
night yet clings
yet smothers the numb highway
breathe the wheel
sigh through the gears
wave-ride rubber after-shocks
follow the beam-eyed light
into the blossoming gray
adjusts to blacktop rapids
the sky is passing
it is now ahead of itself
convertible clouds weep dry tears
slip-slide the slick dark banks
with flickering wrists
A second light blooms
a small sun pastes itself onto distant white
a hooded bonnet shakes like a wet wolf
the horizon is now a mobile scaffolding
the whispering tread of a fast coming daylight
rushes into view, it snorts though a crystal vase
that the mind grips tightly
the roads blind ability
to avoid Niagara or the Grand Canyon
guides cold white knuckles
the drunk rocking of a back axle
warns you of a surfacing
unpaved parking lot
engine bones tick-over
articulate shuddering full stops
as they cough up stillness
here
at the end of
one half of a minute
and that is the third manifestation
of breathable light
The Strength
Your whole life is nothing but a chorus begging you to yield
It’s easier to surrender and makes things simpler
You would feel safer in the crowd that is drifting without purpose
Yet you dared to set foot on an unpaved road
Hoping to drag the unwilling world into the light
But they feared the glare, and hostility shot up
Your family was the first to shatter under the pressure
They pleaded with you to wander back on the path
Dangling the only thing you ever wanted from them: Love
It was all yours if you willingly went back
Fearing your potential, the teachers mocked and scorned you
They opened the gate of bullying and ignored the harm
A cruel plan sown to break you
And mold you into everyone else, broken, uniformed, and aimless
That is what they were hired for
But you ignored the lies of their empty jealousy
Your armor holding true to the storm of insults
And as you rose from the darkness, they were terrified
As the darkness was their true home
Yet you stood victorious, bathing in the brightness
And all was well
He began
Much less than
The new man
With a plan
From Christ's clan
As he craved
Paths unpaved
Hearts enslaved
Not depraved
He was saved
What's New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Mini-monoverse
January 2, 2022
At the road’s blind end at the edge of distant glen,
faded red arrows showed the unpaved pathway,
winding through thicket to the hidden rose garden.
Why charming rose was nurtured secretly far away?
Rose seekers should track the scent, some would say.
I tried but couldn’t find the way to the rose garden,
the posy of red rose for your birthday I failed to get.
You thought it was an imprudent act of neglect brazen,
my unintentional lapse upset you so much, I did regret,
a misfortune, my rosy heart I gave, you hadn't seen yet.
November 16, 2021
Contest : Rose Poetry
Sponsor : Robert James Liguori
i stand here
on these unpaved roads
kicking up dust
as i stumble
over rocks
castaway
like me
i watch
as you walk
away from the scene
like a hawk
in a tree
i am
unseen
i stand here
listening
to the flow
of the stream
the bird
in the distance
beginning to scream
i gather my thoughts
fragmented inside
alone in the dark
no sun through these trees
i stand here
listening
to the whispering breeze
my lips
as they quiver
unable to speak
i see the storm
approaching
above
all around
i drop to my knees
atop of this ground
i lie here
awaiting
the sun to arise
i lie here
alone
with tears
in my eyes
i lie here alone
unable to speak
july 21, 2020
An unsighted lamp that someone lighted
when you arrived with the mission of life,
illumines the unpaved dark path for you
to complete the journey you’re destined to.
The self-generated obsessive free-will
envelopes your mind with an unreal veil,
obscures the ordained destination He decides,
you would reach for you should at His will.
The unseen light from the omnipresent glow
floods your essence, but you don’t perceive,
for you construct the free-will encapsulating the ego
in the realm of fantasy shrouded in self-deception.
The designer’s all-pervasive light shines remotely
during the travel time allotted for your journey.
Its invisible rays will guide you like the pole star
to the end of your path where He waits for you.
December 15, 2020
Contest : The Light
Sponsor : Regina McIntosh
DECAYING HOUSE
Old lady living in old building.
Doors with rusty latches, windowpane
broken, cornice full of feral ferns.
Decaying house at corner of blind lane.
Showers percolate through porous porch.
Old lady watches in frolic fun.
She cleans pale torn carpet with much care.
Cats play on unpaved yard under Sun.
Sixty years back she planted sapling
turning huge massive tree at front gate
holds large boughs-branches- bunches of leaves.
now nests of termites in rotten state.
Old lady only waits for children,
grandchildren to visit someday.
She feels dynamism in each limb
with lively mind: No senile decay.
09/27/20
Second Place
'Writing Challenge- Decay' Contest by Constance La France
'Completely on your Choice (29) Contest by Brian Strand
Making Tough Choices
By: Miracle Man
August 13, 2020
Many spend their lives being to pleasure enslaved,
living for the moment, content therein, to exist.
Walking barefoot, on a road that’s always unpaved,
because temptation was a giant too great to resist.
In life, we strive, to reach the mountain’s top,
not realizing that from the summit, it’s all downhill.
Life, compared to eternity, is a mere whistle stop,
and time is something that never stands still.
“Good judgment comes from experience,
and a lot of that comes from bad judgment”
Will Rogers
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.