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A wrinkled, old man
sits beside the road
eating an orange
Parched mud, bare bough trees
Little footprints on the climb
Children up the hill
Children on a trek, inspired by a photo :)
Glenn Currier May 2019
Now they are memories
like silver threads in a gliding tapestry
how wondrous feeling and smelling the sea breeze
the aromas and excitement of the market
the cool magnificence of the mountains
in late autumn on the brink of winter.

These travels and their newness
still dance in my head
but even now my gut clinches
remembering the effort and focus
on preparations each day.

It’s the dark side of the coin
sadly evoking shame
to even mention it
a blotch in the snow
on the marvelous trek north.

But write it I must.
I wonder if it take courage
to be pitiful in public,
but maybe that’s what poets do
undress in front of everyone.
It is the stuff of nightmares
and here I am doing just that.

On the other hand…

How sweet the peace
and routines
back home
sitting calmly writing
looking out on the back yard
the tallow trees coloring
preparing to shed a variegated carpet below.

Maybe it took travel
to help me appreciate
the beauty of
these serene moments
at home.
Written two days after our return from a glorious ten day trip from Texas to Vancouver and Whistler, British Columbia.  This  has been a draft, but I revised it and made it public today.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2019
You need

Someone
Who doesn't lead you
Someone
Who doesn't follow you

You need
The one
Who holds you, parallel
All the way
Be sure about it

Else
You are enough
To travel the time
Regard, how far
You have come
Genre: Observational
Theme: People crossing the way
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
Marching ahead
Broken paths we trek
Dare we try again?
Onward, Homestead

Let us trudge ahead
And never bow our heads
Even in death
We’ll make it to the Homestead
The journey to where we ultimately belong is perilous, but one way or another we will make it.
Rahmmie SA Jun 2018
He first saw her from across the street
She was arguing with a vendor and from the smile that adorned
Her beautiful face he could tell she'd won
Her igneous personality attracted him to her
There was no way he could not get attached
He was keenly watching all her movements
Committing to memory all that made her dissimilar to others

Her steps were fainéant
Like she had all the time in the world
He was beguiled by the way her hips swayed when she walked
He could not not follow her
He could not not know her
He followed her at the same pace
The thrill of hearing her voice for the first time made his heart race
But that could wait
For now he was content with watching her tread

She switched paths and walked into a building
A dance studio
He felt giddy just thinking of watching her dance
He knew she'd be great at it
The lightness in her steps hinted at it

He entered the building slowly
He was bubbling with anticipation as he searched for her everywhere
He walked into a room and found her
She was facing the door
She looked like she'd been waiting for him to come

"I've been stalking you for awhile
You might need to get a restraining order"
He smiled sheepishly

"I know"
She replied
Her smile promised no restraining orders in future.
Thank you for reading
Igorgoldkind Feb 2018
But I was,
Between 11 and 12.
I was a Vulcan ruled by Logic.
Chief Science Officer on a starship

Disdainful of the soft, mere humans
Who surrounded me.
Who had invaded my planet
Polluting my atmosphere with their emotions.

With indomitable desires,
With their fear and their jealousies.
With their pleas to my heart
And their illogical presumptions.
Snehith Kumbla Jan 2018
one night
when I can walk out
and see the stars again
flooding a clear upturned
sky bowl like still lanterns,

I will say
this is my home!
this is my city!

one day
when I wake to the
morning calls of birds
and a solemn flood of
silence at daybreak,

I will say
this is my home!
this is my city!

one afternoon
drowsy and calm,
settling into a book
as dogs lay sideways
under umpteen trees,

I will say
this is my home!
this is my city!  

and in evenings
spent in undisturbed
meetings and charm,
and roads untarnished
bright-lit and sparse,  

I will say
this is my home!
this is my city!  

I know I will have
to go in search of one,
waiting is a hazardous
stagnancy except in love,
for where the peace is,

I will say
is my home!
is my city!
Snehith Kumbla Jan 2018
somewhere
deep within
the heap of
habit,

a forest dusk
hum echoing
through ages
and time,

clean as a shroud,
pure as a womb,
await the embers
of a bonfire...
Snehith Kumbla Jan 2018
in uncertainty
the certainty
of adventure
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