Wellspring Nov 2017

As I wait for the inevitability that lurks beyond the horizon,
I wish I could sleep, relax.

As I wait for this torturous life to continue,
I wish I could look beyond, longingly.

As I wait for the tests and trials to come,
I wish I could believe their words of comfort, help.

As I wait for the oncoming storm,
I wish. Hope.

Yup. Procrastinating again. I have and exam tomorrow, but that'll be easy, it's a poetry analysis and CRT, it's the maths exam I'm really worried  about...

We don't have to walk far
Under the cover of canopy
To find exposure.
Once outside the city,
Outside the usual framework,
Outside the boundaries of polite necessity,
We can truly breathe.
On the trail
I bathe in dust
And my hands converse with trees
When asking for support.
Nursing logs remind us
Where we stand
In an ancient cycle,
And we can confess anything.
Stripped down to our bare humanity.
It's the intimacy
I used to chase in pillow-talk,
But without the dance.
The trail is always a soul's journey,
Whether solo or shared.

10/22 Inktober prompt: Trail
George Krokos Oct 2017

Man usually leaves a trail of destruction wherever he goes
and replaces it with construction of that which he knows.
________

From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Star BG Aug 2017

The Vessel I live in
is of Human form on Earth.

The address I live at is
in the country of my heart.

The street I live on is
Love Avenue
Compassion Lane
Abundance Road
Joy Drive.
Peace Crescent
Harmony Boulevard
Freedoms Trail
Bliss Highway.

And the heart is my roadmap.



StarBG © 2017

Serena L Aug 2017
300

Something happened. I didnt know how to feel. A walk seemed like a good thing to do. I followed the trail. I got angry. Why? It doesnt make sense. But it does make sense. Why? So angry. Clenched fist and uneven breathing. I cant do this. Stop. Breathe. Stop. Sit. Count cars. 25 cars speeding down the freeway. I see them. Do they see me? 50. Calming. Counting. Losing track. 100. They keep coming. Sometimes many all at once. 200. Sometimes sparce and few. 225. All these cars. All these people. So many lives. So many in different situations. So much i dont know. 300. 300 people have just passed me. Its been no longer than 10 minutes and so much experience has just driven by. I may never know their stories. Never to be seen again. Fleeting. Gone. 300 people who dont know me. Dont know my story. 300 people. Some would care. Some are too busy. Sure, some empathetic. Some feeling pity. Walking. Thinking. Numb. Smile at the nice people passing by. People pass and yet the road seems deserted at times. Walking.

There is an end. Though it maybe not quite an end. Things are not the same but thats where you end up.

I turn around and walk back.

Coming to terms.
Jackson Cavalier Jul 2017

Wander worried rambler roam.
Wander down the path of a riverside wood.
Step by step,
Shuffle to and fro.
A Forgotten industry remains.
Man made mines,
Dug out quarries,
Fencing, barbed wire, power lines, and pressure treated wooden poles.
Littering the landscape.
A blood letting favor, favored low.

A hydroelectric dam.

Murky and historical waters enter its mouth,
and then,
exit from its other side.
Constantly sucking, and spitting, and churning turbine whine,
Spinning gear stuck,
clamped to the spine.
Luck may have it that these waters may never go dry.
Luck may have it that these currents stay 'live.
Merrily manic, it flows.
Strong and bold,
sparkle, sprung, sold!
Pushes and rolls,
gives and goes.
Cold.
Electric mother glow.

Neon, argon, blazing blast,
to give city speckled lights a mast.
A grip to grasp, to squeeze, to cast,
shadows in the night.
Yellow, orange, red, and blue,
the shades of dreamers,
with their sorrows leaded, heavy,
holy truths.
Unspoken tomorrows, last goodbyes,
mouthed silently at last
in their heads a film score out of time.

The air is baked, the land is spry.
The sun is shattered through prism pines.
I carry myself upon the leaves, of dead footsteps, make believe.
Native footpaths of long ago
and red sandstone trail of men to behold.
Come to this place and let sights be known,
Come to this place and let sights be known,
histories of ours, histories bygone.

Hiking thoughts put into words. The Red Sandstone Trail is a trail that follows along the Raquette River. The trail-head is located in Colton, NY. The hike is one of historical nature. Many remnants of business and industry remain abandoned along the riverside. A picturesque picture painted by the clash of man made industry, and the awesomeness of nature.
Patrick Jul 2017

The ground beneath our feet shakes
As the American Spirit springs forth
From the geysers, from the sewers
And cloaks of ambiguity mold away

Directions no longer divide us
Tragedy brings forth the needle and thread
To sow friends and enemies together
Against a common foe -- apathy

Oppression knocks on the nation’s door
As we sharpen our spears to a point
And cry out into the starless night
Against the hammer of tyrants

Freedom’s trail will be blazed
Fields of grain will turn to flame
Cold winters will feel the heat
Of summer storms sailing to oppression's door.

Sam Jul 2017

If I die in the mountains, leave me there to rot.
My boots will outlive my flesh.

So just push me from the trail, and cover me with dirt.
My soul, it will be free.

Bury me where the air is fresh and foliage is lush.
My true home, and the only one I've known.

Don't cry a single tear.
My corpse will disappear.

Far below the earth.
My heart can finally rest.

Clouds rolling across our azure sky
As far as my eyes could see.
The white man told us another lie
For he just couldn’t let us be.
Behind us all of our homes were burned,
Nothing as far as they were concerned.
Destroying us and all our years
Marching us onto the trail of tears.

Behind the mask they wore a disguise
In an attempt to cover their lies.
Teardrops falling like rain
While our blood spilled again and again.
One in front of another across our sacred land,
Oh if only we could have had our last stand.
Destroying us and all our years
Marching us on the trail of tears.

First the weakest fell, then the old
Then the youngest, all turning cold.
First my Aunt, then my mother,
Then father, my son, my brother.
I carried them all as far as I could
While the soldiers beat my manhood.
Destroying us and all our years
Marching us into the trail of tears.

I focused on one soldier with a crooked cross
As he told us it wasn’t far off -
I must killed him a thousand times.
He laughed and spoke in white man’s rhymes
As my feet began to bleed.
Cold, hunger, thirst, the water we need -
Denied to us and all our years
Marching us down the trail of tears.

More than a thousand miles we walked
And yet today my people are un-talked.
Could you walk barefoot in the cold that long
When all those you loved fell so wronged?
All for nothing but a gold filled piece of land
From which we, my people were banned -
Removing us and all of our years.
Crawling us along in our trail full of tears.

Somewhere in this society there is something so evil afoot. It's not anything new. As a matter of fact it's more common than you think. Daily the news is full of man's injustice to man. Yet all it would ever take is for those who claim to be good or righteous to stand up and put a stop to it all. But in corners of the world the trail of tears continues. All for some form of greed. I just don't understand.
Vexren4000 May 2017

The puppeteers,
Of war and finances,
Perpetuated the Plight,
Placed upon Our People,
Places, Lost we have the gods good graces,
And in our infinite paces,
We find no rest in our worn down spaces.

©BAS

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