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This King’s Road
My rose petal garden
As I pick myself up from my roots.
I shake and shiver,
Jitter and jive my way through
This living almanac                  of fate:
Some Velvet Morning in my cup
Of coffee,
     Some luck,
     And a mission          to create.
moon man Mar 28
Wake up, get ready, leave, come back, sleep
Wake up, get ready, leave, come back, sleep
Like a giant loop, I follow the path.
No real goal in sight, no real plan when I stop.
It’s almost as if I’m sleepwalking, hell, I probably can sleep through most of my day and my body will still follow the path.
But one day I’ll need to look back at how long I’ve been on this trail, and all the self destruction I’ve left.
I don’t know if I have any more with me or if I’ll return to the trail. But I do know that after such a long slumber, even if it’s just for one poem, it’s good to be back.
A couple, with a couple of sticks
Walking in convoy
Wearing out disjointed joints
To distribute the pain of future loss
Weapons of choice
They carry no voice
Only the weight of their owners
Who, thanks to the sticks, will live to walk another day
Note 1: based on seeing a couple in a gapped-convoy, walking with two sticks each as we walked down to the Marina at Benalmadena... then written-up at the Marina, in rain showers. UDID 9002-1012-1.0.0
Zywa Dec 2022
I have walked for hours

and I didn't see anyone --

yet there is a path.
Collection "NightWatch"
Zywa Aug 2022
Step by step I walk

through the landscape, more and more --

it penetrates me.
"Marcher, une philosophie" ("A philosophy of walking", 2010, Frédéric Gros)

Collection "Inmost"
This *****
Artificially awake
apples 20 years have passed
oranges i want a do over
manhole cover coins
savage glares across the 4 wheeled property lines
young moms not giving a ****, that's alright
kiss of sun hidden from
anxious from blue oak , it's ridges pluming in the dappled twist
and floundering wave, wiggling wave of oak leaves green as frogs.
ponytail suzy, *** from galaxy sci-fi
i brought up a cup while it was empty there,
but so distracted by my own trembling effort,
every hair a furry hood, every fatty fixture of my face a rebounding basset hound
tennis shoes up to my neck, dumb naked in my greenery,
already old somehow, the window closing,
the permanency of parks, like a stilletto in a limosine,
green fixture of my white blinded attempt to see tomorrow,
tourist .
thoughts of Sylvia
, my gaping awe at the feminine,
and its green garden.

Anais Vionet Jun 2022
I’m crushingly sentimental, you might not know, I don’t let it show, but it’s true. I’m walking in the moonshine and moonshine is how I feel - I’m intoxicated - by you.

Some nights when I can’t settle - I walk - and find myself outside your dorm. Your light’s on tonight, everything’s right, when you're a few feet away safe and warm.

I’ll wait a while, in the windy cold, the crunchy snow, deep in the sharp blue moonshadow. When people pass by, I look down at my phone - oh, don’t look at me, there’s nothing to see or do.

A walking girl, a stalking girl? Lingering, at 2am, drunk with desire, yearning somewhere inside for the ephemeral closeness of you.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Ephemeral: "lasting a very short time."
Jessica Feb 2022
I am most alive on a warm summer night at dusk
Walking through a field of tall grass
With a warm gentle breeze blowing
Stars just starting to fill the sky
The sound of the frogs and crickets in the air
No one know I’m there
Dave Robertson Jan 2022
Well, ol’ boy
stood in the vista, a little lost
but feet finding the pub

that sun tried to make its point
which, though we acknowledged,
we tried to sidestep

clag mud added heavy boots
while loose, happy chat sat
in apotheosis

til a moussaka
and a couple of sublime fish dishes
let us sit down and rest

after miles
these muscles pretend to ache
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