"pathway" poems
Out here in the fields of the distance
whither the wind blows the silence further afield;
roughhewn footprints show a windswept pathway
from whence feral feet lightly trod
Only the passing whispers chase after the gypsy wind:
that the silence be in quire, placed aloft like a sigh,
pealing through the gentle sway of sweet grass' hush
There are no walls need echo an evanescent wind-song
as each breath of earthen psalm vanishes
lilting into the crystalline quietude colour;
The callused patience still held in these hands
is frayed and tattered, but hope heals stronger
than a ream of paper wings to fly away
And I'm mindful I'm not alone again, lost in
a lingering silent storm — pensively listening —
enraptured aneath all the big skies hold
Jesse Stillwater
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
Pinto?
No, not the wild-spirited, color-splotched mare
with mane streaming like flames-thrown
behind in the wind
Taking desert inclines
with scuffing hooves on rock
catching her balance in mesquite
curbing?
The sage, dust
All
that nature throws in its pathway to knowledge
toward treachery of crosswalks?
“P-l-e-a-s-e don't slow down!
Stop signs--?
”No!
Just keep going!
Don't slow down now!”
“They'll hear us coming
3 blocks away!”
Pinto?
Clogged carburetor--?
No one much-mentioned
rear-end inferno reputation??
A mere twinge in my signature
Woman-without-a-clue
“Hey, it runs, right?
Gets where we're goin'?”
Kids duck in back seat
so as not to be seen
In the cloud of smoke
We make our approach
Hiss Spitter, Belch, Pop
and--
BANG!
--Like a gunshot
Kids take cover
on street, in backseat
duck down
so not to be noticed...
“Oh Ma!
MA!!!
Not right here!
Farther down!”
...so not to be seen
...by friends that matter...
in this ride
from hell!
Backfiring Beast--
“Friends”
skitter away
from what will emerge from the smoke and fumes
of high-risk-situation
Kids spill out through jammed door
to unexpected accolades
onto equality's curb
of laughter
Public school's
wake of exhaust and relief
I drive mercifully away
Start of another school day
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,
Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,
The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
the silent tress hold memories
of winters sweet melodies
search high and low
and in every fox hole
where oh where.. can she be?..
oh feet that quickly flee
who then holds your stories
or keeps you... in times keep
but the trees and stones
that stay beside roads
you gave a glance to safely keep
but in every time
of past and new
they pass by you
without speaking speak
beginning , end ...old and new
oh what stories you doth keep
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Somehow your heart enzymes inveigled a way into my system
I surmise it was your energising tongue which smuggled them in
my pseudoanaphylactic longing to snuggle in vein against your protein
its aim a happy interaction tugged by frenzied polypeptide chains
when your petite triglycerides coil avidly around my pH changes
hydrolysis replenishes steroids to stop any pleasure level plunge
so that functional-group transfers may intervene at all active sites
supervising where coenzymes await love's coursing stem cell sights
that photosynthesise my eyes to sensitise to you despite the dark
dancing in all my living cells with infectious smiles an epidemic
when your DNA can't polymerase enough of the audacious lipids
pleasing as they kiss the density away of fatty acids on soft lips
that release protease inhibitors in ways not too selective
so our hearts find their metabolic pathway audaciously live
and offer themselves completely to a frolic in love reactive
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
In the pathway of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.
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Technology
Has empowered humanity
Like humanity has been never been empowered
The concern
It has not only empowered humanity to a new level
Brings in the ill effects humanity might face
In the present and future
The new concern for humanity
The use of technology in the wisest way possible
Earth and nature
The very root of humanity
Been in shade
Noblest thing that can be done
Is the wise use the of technological advancement
In the pathway of revival of nature
In the natural and earthly essence of life
Of course
In global scenario there are corporates
Big hulks
That only go for accumulating more and more
Whose concern
Is not the nature and humanity
Now the question arises
The history of humanity
We crave to discuss about now
Has it the future time frame long enough?
As the past time frame
We are talking about in interest
Or the ignorance and unconscious humanity
Lead to the path of eliminating its own race?
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
The pathway to the hidden falls,
greenest trees and ivy walls,
Humid day and rain a threat,
Forest living, thick and wet.
Pebbles on this path to be,
Never ending, fast to me.
Flip flops make an obstacle,
For me to keep the pace we go.
The peach in hand is almost eaten,
When roaring waters reveal this Eden,
The water falls so quick approaching
seems to stick my memory's poaching.
We climb the uphill train of rocks,
more like boulders, need for socks,
Majesty miracle's tickle my senses,
Like watching babe ruth swing for the fences.
Something here is overpowering
behind the force field something is flowering,
Wet smooth rocks lay geometric,
something alive and something electric.
Native American premonitions,
Thoughts of the beginning of all of this swishin',
Waterfall dreams sparkle like diamonds,
Foam and water, slippery minded.
Brain chemical explosion.
Somethings been bound.
Something is gone
something I found
Burned in my imagination
is this place that I visited
on my vacation.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
Robert Frost once talked of taking the ‘road less travelled’.
Well, I didn’t.
When the time came, I blindly went and took the safest road.
A very long path where the pitfalls were plenty.
I stumbled in the bracken. Stymied by the darkness that fell quickly as I ambled along.
The soul bruised, battered and exhausted at every infrequent stop.
It was not apparent then that in this venture there was a bleak dead end ahead.
I plowed on even though something inside was telling me again and again to turn back.
But, slowly, a gleaming light of hope crossed my vista beckoning me home.
I crawled. My strength regained as the light intensified.
Then the end was in sight - the portal was within grasp.
And so, yes, I now take that road less travelled.
Standing tall and proud as I gleefully stride down its glowing thoroughfare.
Smiling at the diverse and playful changes that cross my pathway.
All told, it’s never too late to trust your instincts and make a difference.
Just ask me.
And Robert Frost.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.”
John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States
<>
a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others,
unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further,
but as homage, a tribute, a salute
got to
got too,
no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever,
read the words and my own hands choke me
as if to pull out, to free
the upsurging words in my chest-forming,
to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in
wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true
my recent family history,
about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace,
escapees from a Spanish Inquisition,
a Roman one before that,
meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome
in a small village in Germany
(the irony does not go unnoticed)
from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk,
we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard,
attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t
always politely request
here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew,
fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p,
one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even
poet~traders,
and so a President’s words, hammer my cells
upon an anvil for human skins,
the future shape of me foreseen
and I think to myself,
alone and out loud:
This, This!
is what makes America great,
welcoming the stranger,
even predicting their
possible pathway to a peaceful existence,
giving their descendant’s generations liberty,
liberty to become poets,
free, who can stand upright*
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
Oh speak to me
Goddess
Angel
Who wears her blue
Halo
Around her neck
Awaken
My dollar eyed deity
And point your fingers
Full of bills
To the answer
Or the lie
Spread your
Deceitful wings
And embrace the lost
Fill them
With greed
And show them
The paper and metal
Pathway to
Sadness
For the weak
Always
Kneel to your
Valuable allure
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows,
And the birds sang round him, o’er him,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
Sang the blue bird, the Owaissa,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Up the oak tree, close beside him,
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
In and out among the branches,
Coughed and chattered from the oak tree,
Laughed, and said between his laughing,
“Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!”
And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat ***** upon his haunches,
Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
“Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!”
But he heeded not, nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he,
Hidden in the alder bushes.
There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw two antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward,
And a deer came down the pathway,
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
And his heart within him fluttered,
Trembled like the leaves above him,
Like the birch-leaf palpitated,
As the deer came down the pathway.
Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
But the wary roebuck started,
Stamped with all his hoofs together,
Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
Ah! the singing, fatal arrow,
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him!
Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer,
But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed and shouted and exulted,
As he bore the red deer homeward,
And Iagoo and Nokomis
Hailed his coming with applauses.
From the red deer’s hide Nokomis
Made a cloak for Hiawatha,
From the red deer’s flesh Nokomis
Made a banquet in his honor.
All the village came and feasted,
All the guests praised Hiawatha,
Called him Strong-heart, Soan-ge-taha!
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee!
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Oh the undescribable beauty
That your forest hold,
And how much it tells
Without a single word being told.
Each and every wanderer
Being called,
By the sun shining through the trees
Looking like little streaks of gold.
The pathway that leads to total
Freedom of the soul,
And you're in your element
When the birds starts to call.
Oh how truly beautiful
Your forest are,
It's just sad
That it has to be so far.
-ZvZ-
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave
A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam
Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide
Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky
There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo
Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held
Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger
harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
The Chains of ones fate are undenyable, as life carries on,
Servants caught in a hell of rebirth without ever escaping,
A red thread which leads verily onto a destined pathway,
Decisions, the pen and the ink for ones book of destiny,
They may ruin the servant, or bring them great happiness,
May mislead, trick, ****** or even manipulate them without their conciousness or understanding of the weight they brought upon their poor little, yet precious bodies which carry on depression as if it was the weight of the world or far beyond that registered mass,
In a hole with seemingly no escape to it, trapped in misery,
Chains of suffocating pressure are keeping them in place,
Oh what a terrible fate it must be to be in this position,
Patience, hope and positivity are needed to see another ray of sunlight, shining beyond the scene of the darkened clouds above
Once this trial has been overcome they too will shine with newfound strengh, energy and relieving glee from within themselves,
So fight on, you precious souls, you are worth more than you might think or would even admit to yourselves, then shine
That would be, a great wish of mine
~ Umi
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
Blessed are they whose baby-souls are bright,
Whose brows are sealèd with the cross of light,
Whom God Himself has deign'd to robe in white—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they who follow through the wild
His sacred footprints, as a little child;
Who strive to keep their garments undefiled—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they who commune with the Christ,
Midst holy angels, at the Eucharist—
Who aye seek sunlight through the rain and mist—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they—the strong in faith and grace—
Who humbly fill their own appointed place;
They who with steadfast patience run the race—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they who suffer and endure—
They who through thorns and briars walk safe and sure;
Gold in the fire made beautiful and pure!—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they on whom the angels wait,
To keep them facing the celestial gate,
To help them keep their vows inviolate—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they to whom, at dead of night,—
In work, in prayer—though veiled from mortal sight,
The great King's messengers bring love and light—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they whose labours only cease
When God decrees the quiet, sweet release;
Who lie down calmly in the sleep of peace—
Blessed are they!
Whose dust is angel-guarded, where the flowers
And soft moss cover it, in this earth of ours;
Whose souls are roaming in celestial bowers—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they—our precious ones—who trod
A pathway for us o'er the rock-strewn sod.
How are they number'd with the saints of God!
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they, elected to sit down
With Christ, in that day of supreme renown,
When His own Bride shall wear her bridal crown—
Blessed are they!
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She strolled down a winding pathway, admiring the brightly colored roses, listening to the loud chirping of the birds
As she walked,she hummed a tune of joy and followed the path marking on a map, just to reassure herself that she was heading in the right direction
Around a turn o the left she went, then back to the right, as her pace sped with every step
But then the beautiful path that she'd been following for so long fell into a babbling creek, only to continue on the other side
Had she, excited for her long journey, mistaked this path with the one she wished to take?
"No," she decided, for she checked the path a million times before beginning, and she was positive she had journeyed on the correct one
Should she give up on her journey, only to turn around and go home?
"No," she told herself, for how could she live with herself of she gave up on her dream?
But how will she, small and dainty, cross the sputtering creek that lays before her?
She gazed at the creek in front of her, considering walking alongside it until she reached a spot where she could walk across
"No," she determined, for there was no way of knowing whether there'd be a break in the flood of water, and even if there was, she'd be lost in the forest, continuously searching for the path
She glanced from left to right, searching for something to aid her in crossing the creek
To the left of the path, she noticed flat stones, the exact size of her foot
"Yes!' she exclaimed, as she sets them in the creek and skipped across them
She was back on her way, strolling down the pathway, headed towards her dreams.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
Running amok black bellies of hail-clouds
divest their hard cargo
on near-ready harvest and thunder claps
in spiteful applause.
Scudding sails of racing white galleons
arrive to the rescue
and change weather's position as quiet
breaches gale's disorder.
Setting the sun throws magenta feathers
across dark horizon
and to settle the issue parades jade tints
as the landscape transforms.
Waiting small boats plod homewards in
fish-laden formation
while wives run to stoke hot-kettled fires
of ready bath water.
Lighting a pathway half-moon winks as
heavier catches in
hauled nets silver the harbour and men
start night's final performance.
Sating hunger with coming and going
sow-and-reap women know
the meaning of sharing male labour in
scaling and salting chores.
Fisher-folks' world begins and ends
with the vagaries and quirks of weather.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
A young girl is walking on a sinuous and rough trail.
Wounds and scratches have found its place in her body, so frail.
As she reached the end of the pathway, she began to feel decrepit and impuissant that she wanted to discreetly skreigh.
On a cloudy dark night, a boy appeared in the fog.
He said
Everthing will be okay..
Don't worry..
Just take my hand..
He took her to a place
that is very bright,
dazzling that it hurts
her heavy eyes.
They both sitted on an evergreen
well-groomed grass.
She noticed the beautiful scenery that appeared.
It calmed her mind,
her heart,
her whole being.
The sun shines,
the water by the river is crystal blue,
the breeze of the wind blows her hair.
She have seen the skies,
the birds and the flowers
surrounded by tall trees.
This place is filled with love, joy and happiness.
This is the place that she can choose to be with
or she can be in another world..
- Ella Salvador
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC
~
Painted in a corner
Smeared about the floor
Chants of lone forgiveness
Quiet in the war
“Deafening the sound of death”
Garden roses trampled
Broken stems abound
Wilting on the visions
Blooming losses found
“Petals of peace scattered carelessly”
Blood along the pathway
Eyes hid in the mist
Penning someone else’s name
On this lengthy list
“Alphabetical to the grave”
Standing from the shadows
Crossing battle lines
Reaching for the freedom
Voices loud can find
“Speak up children, your voices matter”
Put aside your weapons
Time has come to cease
The nation now has gathered
United prayer for peace
“On our hands and knees we pray… send the evil far away”
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
Though nurtured like the sailing moon
In beauty's murderous brood,
She walked awhile and blushed awhile
And on my pathway stood
Until I thought her body bore
A heart of flesh and blood.
But since I laid a hand thereon
And found a heart of stone
I have attempted many things
And not a thing is done,
For every hand is lunatic
That travels on the moon.
She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout,
Maundering here, and maundering there,
Emptier of thought
Than the heavenly circuit of its stars
When the moon sails out.
6.5k
It's always been you!
If only you realized how much you mean to me,
Not a moment goes by when I don't stop to think about you,
Your peculiarity alone can do that,
And, that's always been you!
What makes you so special?
In layman terms,
You are my greatest strength
And, my greatest weakness.
The serenity in your halcyon heart,
The charisma of your captivating eyes,
The elegance in your illustrious smile,
The tenderness of your seductive lips,
The spark in your gentle touch,
The gracefulness of your alluring neck,
The radiance in your dazzling lustrous hair,
The lure of your hypnotizing heaving *****
The haven in your scintillating navel,
The holiness of your ravishing waist,
The sanctity of your fascinating hips,
The wickedness in your mesmerising curves,
For my hopes lie on,
The gateway to your heart,
That is now open,
Through the divine pathway in your sacred forest,
Filled with untold and concealed secrets,
And, mysteries unknown to man,
For I hope to touch, nurture and caress,
Every deep wall in you,
For you are the prayer to my appetite,
And, the incarnation of my desires,
It is now that I get the privilege of being a being,
To realize,
You complete me!
You are desire,
You are passion,
The inspiration for wanting more in life,
The personification of loving life itself.
The paragon of my eroticism,
And, not an end will there be,
For my ***** crave,
To be destroyed,
By the ****** dynamite you are.
An eternal pleasure in sensual misery you are,
And, a heaven in my hell,
The zenith of all climaxes,
And, the paradigm for my resurrection.
The yearning for the man in me,
You are!
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Independence is our cry,
pride is our name.
We are all separated by countries and oceans,
but our mindset is one and the same.
The concept of change, we fear;
the idea of an altered lifestyle haunts us,
but the awareness that our home is binding our thoughts
remains as our threshold away from the darkness.
You board the plane, begin to set sail, put on your best shoes and run
away from the chaos, breaking the chains, stating your name to be free.
Your heart is racing as the grasp of new land is just miles within your reach
the only words your mind can make up in that moment are “¡Libre soy alfin!”
The moment is just minutes away now, you can almost feel la tierra
El momento is almost here and you just want to chant “¡LIBERTAD!”
But you can’t. You’re not there yet, only growing more eager.
You’re impatient now; what happened to the claridad?
What happened to that clarity in your mind when you were so sure of what you wanted?
It has been replaced by the fear of not being enough.
It has been replaced by the fear of getting sent back to that confinement you once called home.
Now you realize this new life will be tough.
You step foot en la tierra libre,
the anxiety gets to your bones.
Thoughts race through your mind
there’s disbelief that this is your new home.
The sensation of wandering on clouds,
sleepwalking your life away is overwhelming;
your eyes now resemble that oceanic pathway
whilst los abrazos de abuela you are yearning
The concept of change we fear;
the idea of an altered lifestyle haunts us,
and the awareness that our family is still stitched at the lips
has become our allure back into the darkness.
But independence is our cry,
pride is our name.
Precincts may separate us,
yet our mindset remains one and the same:
¡Que viva la libertad!
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Not one corner of a foreign field
But a span as wide as Europe;
An appearance of a titan's grave,
And the length thereof a thousand miles,
It crossed all Europe like a mystic road,
Or as the Spirits' Pathway lieth on the night.
And I heard a voice crying
This is the Path of Glory
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