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Martina Jul 2021
They met on the equinox like spirits out of an ancient myth,
To paint the leaves gold and kiss the summer goodbye.
For a brief moment, everything did turn shiny and new, solid.

But Frost came, reminding that Nothing Gold Can Stay
And they grew brown and dry.
Winter went by,
Silent and haunting like a ghost:
White sheets thrown on a body made of fire to suffocate the flame.

They met again for a pink and a red moon,
In some mystical manner once more,
To break and wreak havoc
And divide.

The storm drowned Percy on the coasts of Italy, 'heart of hearts' written on the stone.
They sent his to Mary in England,
Its resting place a dusty drawer for years.

At least he didn't turn around to see her,
She didn't disappear.
Norman Crane Aug 2020
Two posts emerged on my Facebook,
And sorry I could not peruse both
And be one user, long I stood
And scrolled down one as far as I could
To where it went into a long blockquote;

Then read the other, as just as shared,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was classy and about footwear;
Though as for that the likes there
Had rated them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
I believe with no comments written back.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever tap back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two posts emerged on my Facebook, and I—
I read the one less thumbed-up by,
And that has made all the difference.
kiran goswami Jul 2020
She decided to build herself a road,
instead of taking 'The Road Not Taken'.
Dez Apr 2020
It is the way of life
For even my beautiful wife
Shall one day grow old
So do not be so bold
Nothing will stay as it was set
All empires were crushed out like a cigaret
So why do you think that you should last?
Or that the glorious morn should hold fast?
The flower of the field will fade
And as Frost once said
“Nothing gold can stay”
All will eventually fade away.
What sad reminder that we are feeble and out of control.
Casey Apr 2020
Take me to where the sidewalk ends.
Past the dark streets that wind and bend.
Return me to what I used to know.
Bring me to the roads diverged into the wood.
Let me take the road less traveled as I should.
I refuse to stay along this normal path.
Our prompt was to pick our favorite poem(s) and write a response.
Mark Toney Mar 2020
~A parody inspired by "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost~

Two drunks converged in a crowded bar
And sorry that I knew them both
And be one patron, long I stared
Looking out for each I really cared
As both of them bent I swore an oath;

I helped the one, and deemed it fair
He having perhaps the better claim
His eyes more glassy and worse for wear
Though the other also was passed out there
In reality both wasted about the same.

And both next morning equally lay
In heaps their missteps left them in.
Oh, I wished them both a better day!
Yet knowing how wine can make you stray,
I concluded they both would repeat their sin.

Forever I’ll be telling this with a sigh
Everywhere ages and ages hence:
Two drunks converged in a bar, and I—
I helped the one most weakened by,
Stirred but not shaken in diffidence.

© 2020 by Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
2/24/2020 - Poetry form: Parody - A parody inspired by "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. The title may remind you of 007, James Bond's penchant for martinis. Bond's preference was "shaken, not stirred" and reversed it for my title. Now you know the method to my madness ;) - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Michael Stefan Feb 2020
Mr. Frost, so prolific that you are
I was hoping that you could advise
For I find myself in a yellow wood
And I too am but just one traveler
My two feet can only tread in one direction

And I long to leave a black boot mark
While I continue down the right path
Leading me so expertly to destiny
But much like you, obstacles arise
But unlike you, my path further divides

Where you stood before a fork
I now spy a great and twisted rake
That fills me with impending dread
Paths varied in their wear and tear
From paved to grassy, or overgrown

Mr. Frost, here is my dilemma
You chose the path less traveled
And it made all the difference in your life
But how can one traveler ever know
Which specific path for them is right?
I truly love Robert Frost and figured that I would write a poem dedicated to his prolific "The Road Not Taken".  It was so beautiful and genius in it's crafting and delivery.  I have always wondered what it would be like with more than one path.  I think in today's technological and complex world, we are constantly assaulted by numerous decisions that echo through the rest of our lives.  R.I.P. Robert Lee Frost.
Lawrence Hall Jul 2019

                  From an idea suggested by Pharaohnica

                              And with a tip of that cat to
                           Carl Sandburg and Robert Frost

Invisible to radar, mizzle falls
Itself making the distance invisible
Sandburg said that fog creeps in on little cat feet
But rain-fog is sometimes the entire cat

And if you walk outside into the cat
Beyond the cat, the paws, what will you find
Perhaps, like Schrodinger, the cat is not
But then again, like you, maybe it is

The mystery is lovely, dark, and deep
But we have chores to tend, and they won’t keep
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
IZ J Jun 2019
There was a brown haired regional manager on my tv screen
There was an empty Reese’s blizzard cup in my left hand
There was my mother still out front of the house in her car


There was my college bound brother sitting on the couch watching alone

I began walking up the wooden staircase
Making my way to my room

The place where I would
Shut my door
Grab my phone
And leave my family behind like always

I’m telling you this without a sigh
And I’m telling you this with no regrets
The story of a staircase

An after ice cream staircase
On an after ice cream night

A staircase my feet didn’t touch  
As I chose to sit on a couch
And spend silently spent and silently recognized time
With my silently recognized role model

And that has made all the difference
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