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Jessica Feb 2
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
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
Anais Vionet Nov 2021
Sleep wouldn’t come, the clock hands seemed to shrug, so I decided to walk.

It was dark, the kind of fall overcast that makes a low ceiling of the sky.

Early mornings, on campus, are always solitary - students shun sunrise like vampires avoid the sun - so I got sole custody of the university. With no traffic, squirrels, birds or humans - predawn was nonchalant.

The wind, busied itself, sweeping the leaves falling in twos and threes, first left then right and finally throwing them in the air like a carefree child.

Frost on grass looked grey, then would suddenly become silverlit by the moon.

If you measure time in steps, as seconds, and then miles become hours. Soon, dawn made night morning, dew became drops, and I searched for coffee.
Heidi Franke Oct 2021
Soft, slow and Brave
She Raged.
Walking forward with fear in one hand, love
In the other.
She let love
Lead the way
Soft, slow and Brave.
Part of the idea: the fear and love in a different hand are taken from meditation from Sarah Blondin. The rest is what I am dealing with. The sludge of depression, fear, and panic. Like tar pits.
Coralie Marie Aug 2021
maybe the point of arriving is finding one who´s just as lost
Dave Robertson Aug 2021
I’m climbing hills today
in one, effete poet’s way
they could be metaphors
for all sorts of ‘big life things’
but in another, my belly
is about to give my knees
some trouble

The sepia on this one’s different
there was sometimes bitterness
in steps made here
as the lure of the theme park rides
sat so near
but the years have done a lot
to replace the roller coaster thrill
with the heart weight of hills,
dales and rivers with tales to tell

You remember I mentioned
the metaphor?
And the belly troubling the knees?
Well these things came to pass
as I hauled my carcass up the hill
turning the air blue

The metaphor? Decisions
that once were natural,
easy like breathing
now can feel laboured, burdened
when a step is placed
how can I be sure the ground will hold?

Even at the peak, where I once
could exhale at the majesty of a job well done
I’m now fraught with the thought
of the journey down

This river is different
at home the stream accompanies me
on local walks, showing me the known
and keeping my chin up

Here, the bold broadness of the river
hides secrets and speaks in a deeper tongue
coarse fish, familiar to me
are replaced by those that anglers prize

I am both lost and a little more alive

Looking into the faces
of teenagers dressed for town centres,
either striding ahead
or shambling behind
parents intent on extolling
the virtues of fresh air and nature
while feeling strangely out of breath at the climb

closer in, the adolescent eyes show
a plethora of emotion
contempt, depression, longing
utter conviction that life is happening
somewhere, anywhere else

but if I may offer some advice: relent
as in a few blurred years
you’ll succumb to the same fossilisation
and will need some routes to remember
Wilkes Arnold Aug 2021
I can't sleep
I can't now
If I were to rest
This day would end

I can't sleep
Not now
What would it mean
This bitter trend

So I walk
I must
With no hands
Fresh legs on quickened sands

I'm lost
Under lights
Of lamp post leaves
And paved dead ends

I think...
Too often I think
That it's all too much
I can't sleep
I walk
I pretend I'm ok
Hit my bed and restart the day
Dave Robertson Aug 2021
The world doesn’t know it needs setting right
but we do it anyway
against bucolic backgrounds,
corners of this sceptered isle
known only to types who like to ramble

point to point meticulously planned
by his draughtsman’s hand
our mouths and minds driving us more than legs
words to square away despair at the world
or delight in some magical new tech
to save it

these are footsteps I’ve always followed
always will
despite a mardy heel drag  in my teenage years
the muscle memory - one foot, then the other -
cannot be unwritten
even as knees now complain otherwise
What do you do with the anger you feel?
What do you do with sadness so real?

I saw my home in the greater distance
A sight on the path of least resistance

What do you do when your home is always moving?
What do you do when you lose all your footing?

Together we walk the road we've never been
To find that hope on the far horizon

Hand in hand, walking toward the distant blue
I ask of this: let me come home to you.
I'm coming home.
Lily Audra Jul 2021
Blankets of verdant emerald over fallen limbs,
Crooken arms,
Enclosing up and over and under,
Walk, sting, stop, puddle,
Ankle deep in laughter and brown, murky water,
Joy spread across our faces,
Mud smeared up our arms, legs, hands and hats,
Indestructible powerhouses with totally vulnerable feet,
Like ducks and foxes and rabbits.
The spongy bark or mighty trees fills me with hope,
That my wounds will heal.
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