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Kerli Tulva Sep 2020
A gravel is sharp and pain
piercing holes in the air
and same as a human in reign
with knives and crown in hair.

Against the wall try to lean
a hand to understand the fear
for you life is to live and read
while the time is there to bear.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch

What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?

Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.

For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on—
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Originally published by Strong Verse. When I was a teenager Johnny Cash used to pop into the Nashville McDonald’s where I worked to buy burgers after the Grand Ole Opry let out. True to his nickname, the Man in Black always wore black. I think he’s as immortal now as human beings can become, since someone will be singing songs he wrote and and recorded till the end of time. Keywords/Tags: Johnny Cash, black, hair, clothes, boots, voice, rasp, gravel, steel, guitar, songs, music, mountain, stone, heaven, manna, leaven
annh Jul 2019
Spin me some velvet,
Scuff me over with gravel,
Pick me some bluesy strings;
Tie me a bunch of wildflower quavers,
Let’s hear how your phoney sax sings.

Dip me in treacle,
Needle me with soul,
Groove me some dirt and some bass;
******* your ***** devil’s pipe strong,
Let’s play us some bourbon and lace.

Spin me some velvet,
Scuff me over with gravel,
Lay me down in meadowsong;
Rent me a dime’s worth of old dust and daydreams,
Honey chil’, you cain’t do me no wrong.

‘Sometimes I sound like gravel and sometimes I sound like coffee and cream.’
- Nina Simone

‘Sing me a love song in a slow, southern drawl to the tune of sunny days.’
- Kellie Elmore, Magic in the Backyard
rey Jun 2018
Driving through an untouched place,
The modern era has kept it’s distance,
Mother-nature has taken over.

We arrive to a grassy area,
Only the trees to provide shade,
We strike a match.

We walk aware of the beauty around us,
We walk in an unmodernized place,
No shops, buildings, and factories.

The urban areas have purpose,
But sometimes, just sometimes,
Rural feels more like home.

© Regan
I can’t find my retainer and I’m kinda scared so I wrote this poem instead
Update: it was in my couch.
MsAmendable Jul 2015
Long car trips
Crowded with junk
And cramping legs
Flashing light streaming through the window
Into the muggy car air,
A trapped fly banging on the glass,
Low rumbling like gravel thunder
And bursts of shaking
Rattling teeth and seatbelts
When you roll over stones
Wisps of vented air
Curling around your naked toes,
And sweaty, rumpled clothes.
Skin sticking to fake leather seats
The slight sifting sick in your belly
Sitting fat like a toad,
And hoping the stuff in the back
Isn't shaking or breaking apart
From the crunching washboard gravel,
And drowsy eyes, tired from endless trees
Slowly drift until you arrive in the dark
Snowflake Dec 2014
Sometimes the world is rough,
like gravel is always tough.
but when this happens I must trust,
the one that is closer then my own trust.
The river is flowing now,
this is bigger than a frown.
But now I must try again,
a old friend means a new grin.
Just something I came up with randomly. I feel this way a lot x3

— The End —