"trodding" poems
regret and guilt
eat me alive at times
wishing so much
i could undo
all of my crimes--
so many things
from my past it seems
all the huge mistakes i've made
seem to haunt my vivid dreams
and oh the pain, the fear
that constantly encompass me
whenever I think that one day
all in this world will be able to see...
but there is no undoing
that can possibly be done
to mine own undoing
you see, i'm the one*
who committed the acts of sin
and no one can help me now
no one can let me go back and begin
to try to undo what's done somehow...
so off i go trodding through
until the end of time
when my days will come to an end
*and all will know my sins, my crime...
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
You will be argonaut
one more of the supernumerary
trodding upon the cindered ones
come before you
limbs wooden and somite
encircling a moon
tumescent and blue
in permafrost garrote
on constellations edge
tottering over synapse
mocking
like a mime on highwire
your guilt
lupine in its longing
sawtooth timberline in vivisect night
down promontory
to frozen wave
the broken spoke of your step
on sleetslick carapace
past the preterit
embalmed hide of the world
into the silent millstone
berserk
to return emptyhanded
and changed
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
A dutchman in dusty brogans
Hill and gully.
Walkabout dreamer mastlless ship
Hill and gully.
Raggamuffin rover.
Hill and gully .
Phoenix scattered in the sand
Smoldering embers.
Hill and gully
Shimmering in the distance
oasis in the heat..
Hill an gully walkabout
Waltzing all about
One day he walks up to himself
And ends his walkabout.
One climbing uphill
One trodding down
Tuckererd out and out of tucker
Waltzing matilda
Endless walkabout.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
This, the generation
Of the Trampling Bull,
The trodding of the Crop,
The headlong raging run,
With never any stop.
Having pulled the stakes,
Dragging tethers;
Pawing unchecked,
Throwing clods above his withers;
Fence posts falling,
The corners cave.
Town boys chase him
With sticks,
Unable to check or to drive
His rampant run,
O'er suffering fields.
Where are the men
Who'll come to force him,
Bellowing,
Back into civility?
Where are the men?
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 8:41 PM UTC
how to make ghee
how to to clarify,
place the salt free butter in pan
turn the heat on very low,
then just listen............
first,
silence--
then sounds of drizzling rain for a while grow
to a creek starting to flow
then hear the steady rain pelting on leaves
(if it starts to sound like popcorn,
maybe turn the heat down),
then let the rain keep
trodding, until
it gets quieter
and quieter
and quiet
then
turn
off
flame,
the
ghee
is
ready
strain,
and
bottle
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
swirling through muddy fog
expertly as I can't
issues nagging tasks at hand
weary trodding tagging panic
Didn't I so recently feel joy ?
Same me in Same life
seen through shuttered eyes or light
surely I can change perspective
why suffer life as if defective?
Logic Need Not Apply
calm the breathing
laugh at nothing
smile as if
my bliss
is true
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
fading mist desperate hands can no longer cling to the rising sun
dew settles as dew does
small deer find tasteful treats between the trees
a rabbit stirs
rays of light hit the lingering souls of water wondering where to go
so they throw a party and invite seven colors to join them.
I unbuckle my pants to **** and just barely miss a flower.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 8:10 AM UTC
If I see you
—walking down the street in the arms of another,
staring at them like they were the blessed mother,
holding them like fragile equipment—
I'll trod along, pretending to never have known you were there in the first place
My love, will you let me stay slave to loneliness,
will you continue to shun me in your desparate attempt to move on?
The thought of you in the care of someone else
irks my mind and pains my soul
It punctures my armor scathed
like the claws of a lion that fell itself
The very sight of your iridescent face
gleaming like a multifaceted gem
struck by light in a way it shows
life in glamorous technicolor burns my thoughts
The way your hands are clasped with theirs
Contrast to mine holding my own
together in prayer that you are mine alone
but what I wish differs from what I see
My love, will you let me stay slave to loneliness,
will you continue to shun me in your desparate attempt to move on?
If you see me
—strolling pass by you, trying to catch a glimpse of your face,
admiring you like you are a dancing sun,
trying to catch your image in my memories—
trodding by, just pretend you didn't so it wouldn't hurt any more than I have already hurt myself
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
I saw Heaven hanging over my head like a chandelier, it's
angels were swimming in the light, whispering sweet hymns,—
in a kaleidoscope filled with broken dreams.
The gates fell open like a strand of hair, trumpets were blaring for kings, with thrones like rocking chairs, of my ancestors and their heirs. On earth, I had cattle trodding around my heart to pay for love; as dowry couldn't pay enough for who I once loved.
I drank the tears of Heaven's rains, to tie my tithes wrapped
around my neck; waiting for their fortunes reigns.
I kissed an angel that melted my lips, and had suckled on the ******* of mother nature, who fed me milk and honey to keep me alive. I danced around the edge of an end, where life begins once again. My toes felt cold as a tear drop lost in snow,— my ears were ringing like the church carillon, calling me to repent.
And from the stained glass window frames, it all immediately painted out my pain.
I thought of you, just before I took my last breath, begging the favours from the mistress of Death. I felt like a flower in your hand; each petal being picked away, asking the question of,
__"does she love me or love me not."__ I thought of being holy enough to fit in your heart, but I was as holey as the holes in my socks. My prayers all stunk of the lie behind them all. I looked into your eyes to see heaven inside, as I was living in the world.
I bit on time to have it for seconds, and served a dish of revenge only in my heart,— I was taught it will always be a cold meal; so
I'd use my spark of love to keep it warm. I shared stories with
the world, told my biggest secrets to the sky, and left
breadcrumbs to them, in every word of my poems.
Still...in the chaos of my mind, lied a still river flowing with worth. Drowning myself in your eyes, as your every tear was the inspiration of what became our story. But I know in the end, our love will just be another person's story...
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 7:22 PM UTC
Trodding in a sweat soaked fashion along limestone calles.
Sandals gradually changing from worn to white as we faction the way.
Our Maya entourage in tow toward their Sacred Cenote.
So here we are now what a strange ****** array.
Did that turn down second guessing pass us by? No se.
Will we awaken destructive ripples in His waters we play?
Enough offering hands of cervezas, pan dulces?
To quench hungry prowling here in Death's domain
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
~for all the old poets,
especially one so denominated, my old faithful friend…~
<>
the
THEY,
emboldened and italicized,
are whispering and whimpering,
even
whining
that I’ve gone
wimpy,
lost possess of mine
facilities and faculties,
no longer able and capable
to command, demand, in hand,
import
a decent poem
from & in the English language(s) to
purport,
lost my edges,
hide behind the hedges
of inconsequential ancestral
and incestual rhymes,
these
THEY
do oft appear as voices in my
now emptied and unemployed head,
but familiarity breeds contemporary
contretemps of contempt,
for they are remiss,
in dismiss when the eyelids
flutter,
the noble temporal lobes
mutter,
*’tis thy~thyme ole man,
for spillage of your*
FPOTD
(first poem of the day)
thus kneecapping the cancer
of a restless dark hour period
where failures and faults,
of lines
crossed and uncrossed,
bear you to pieces,
bare your lifetime
laundry list
of pulsing, palpable,
fulminating and always ruminating faults
of which penance cannot be bought
by the bags of pennies and sordid assorted coins
that THEY
will find in the back bottom of thine closets,
along with the manuscripts
of the discarded and forlorn,
unloved and unpublished poems that you chose
to have buried with you,
lest you think that
eternal rest
will best
them voices,
they will accompany you
to permafrost of forever dark,
their once and future demise,
a travesty of
justice…
enough.
lists of to do’s;
the exercise of delaying death
for one more day,
by trodding on the treadmill
that postpones the inevitable
that can
always tun longer and faster
and cannot be outdone, outrun,
but
this poem
disgorged and disbanded,
it’s bytes,
will not bite mark me
in the forever future
*their bytes are alive now,
free to be chomped and well chewed,
and once fully digested,
be return to our Mother
Earth*
where some disclaimed poems
go to be buried
within it’s eternity
Apr 21, 2024
Apr 21, 2024 at 10:16 AM UTC
Sweeping shadows encircle the sky
As waning beams flee the scene
The daylight now begins to die
Havoc breaches the peaceful screen
Round about the celestial throne
They trod to find the sacred zone
Turning twisting once and twice
Sometimes three or four to suffice
Having gone so far and wide
They vowed to rest and renew
But who knew who was on his side
For their leader they overthrew
Victory!they screamed and cried
Victory! Is all that we require
But who believed that leader lied
And all were burnt in the fire
Round about the celestial throne
They wander all night and day
Trodding to find the cursed zone
Their journey put on replay
Round about the celestial throne
Ghosts inhabit the road
Pondering about the ****** zone
And all those who mount on board
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
The man from the sea
Salty, wind-blown hair
Wood-worn hands from the ships
Eyes to see land along the horizon
Mouth to sing with the voices of the waves
Rocking, iron legs, made for the sea
The man from the trees
Tangled, leaf-filled hair
Calloused hands from climbing
Eyes to see disguises in the branches
Mouth to sing with the melody of the birds
Jumping, strong legs, made for the trees
The man from the sands
Sandy, sun-scorched hair
Nimble hands from the ropes and silky sand
Eyes to see amidst the light from the sun
Mouth to sing with the cat-calls of the burning winds
Moving, steady legs, made for the sands
The man from the grasses
Sweaty, sun-bleached hair
Paper-cut hands from weaving through the blades
Eyes to see danger amidst the weeds
Mouth to sing with the whispers of the rustling stalks
Skipping, quick legs, made for the grasses
The man from the river
Dripping, slicked-back hair
Smooth hands from the flowing water
Eyes to see fish amongst the rocks
Mouth to sing with the sound of flowing river
Slow-moving, quiet legs, made for the river
The man from the mountain
Thick, shadow-covered hair
Hard hands from the heavy stones
Eyes to see distantly from the mountaintop
Mouth to sing with the tumbling rocks
Trodding, stout legs, made for the mountain
The man from the ice
Frozen, ice-cold hair
Blue hands from the frostbite
Eyes to see places where the surface is thin
Mouth to sing with the crackling of the frozen ground
Tip-toeing, careful legs, made for the ice
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 4:09 PM UTC
Your hollow eyes as you walk past
Showed me your heart.
Had something happened?
Or have you gotten sick of me already?
It’s as though someone plucked out your soul, and threw it on the roadside.
It’s just you and your empty body left
Trodding on this cold hard ground.
Time and time again,
I resisted the urge to call out to you,
To give you a warm smile
To ignite a flame.
Hugs I’ll give if I could
But you’re so unreachable I couldn’t.
(I miss you and your smile. Where are you now?)
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
they are *****
ripped and torn in places,
the treads on the bottom long ago
lost their roughness,
so the footing is no longer secure.
they are comfortable,
stretched out along the contours of me,
a familiar sight among my belongings,
a color my eye is trained to seek out
even in the darkest of nights.
but these shoes do not belong to me -
they belong to the man who bought them,
for whom they were an inspiration,
a way out of a previous life,
a means to further himself,
to become more.
I have been trodding in his shoes,
feeling his pains and triumphs,
knowing his path,
for it was my path,
and i am no longer the man who bought these shoes.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
I lept into darkness and the darkness took me back.
I felt around, looked high up, then low and down
But saw naught but black.
I wept for want of light and the darkness wept for me.
With sleeve I swept tear, but still this formidable fear
Of what I could not see.
Then joy! What pinprick peaked out of light afar!
That I wondered could it be so? At once my heart saying no
At sight of distant star.
I made to sprint, but the darkness sprant behind.
Trodding on heal, with terrible zeal,
Saying: “This will not bind.”
Still I ran with ferocious will, and let darkness be ******
Feet sinking deeper at first, then climbing with insatiable burst,
Through mounds of black sand.
Star grew faint, and the darkness darkened,
Then as fire ablaze, all in a wondrous haze,
The light us hearkened.
“This way” it whispered, and “WAIT!” I cried.
Then the darkness shuddered, hearing all that we’d uttered,
And left with “goodbye.”
I lept into light and the light took me back.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
An evening in November
Spent trodding over flattened grass
Between trees of a whispering orchard.
When the air is cold and sharp in your nose
And the sky’s aglow with gold,
When the night tastes sweet against your tongue
And the sun is pulled below,
Take a breath and make a wish
On the fading sunbeams between the orchard rows.
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 2:38 PM UTC
I am a solitary traveler
I walk alone
I've been all over this country
From time to time
I take a small job
As a farm worker
Most of the time
I am on the road
Trodding my path
Toward places unknown
I am a solitary traveler
I make my own rules
I forge my own path
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
trodding through trees,
Mother Earth
fresh and sweet,
twice this season,
twice so recent.
stumbled upon,
on the floor of the woods,
a pair of perfect wings,
not a feather disturbed.
only the very center,
the body,
not there.
a spine cleaned bare,
remained right there,
next to the
wings
of the penultimate one.
only silent space,
lying between,
each wing,
between
each one.
oh what mysteries surround,
lying around,
not making a sound.
only for those who wander
and look,
and,
look and,
wander around.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
a. Nocturne
Behold a heart full of stars,
a skyful of cyan grains
where we’ll watch motorcars
tracing the begonia plains.
Reflection of the pines so serene
in a pool daubed with turquoise and green.
An existence held by hands of elysian mould
paints the sundown with sapphires and gold.
On stygian seas,
the solemn moonlight smiles
as lighthouse turns
and tides caress the scattered isles.
Our dreams fill with saccharine desire
to cast melancholia into an astral fire.
Waves of warmth brush upon the gilded shore
of a pure euphoria we’ve wished to explore.
b. Island
The fires of your rainbowed tresses
endure the teeming tidal waves.
You’re dancing with starfish upon the seabed
and mingling in labyrinths from light overhead.
The mast is towering in summer air.
The sun is showering your seaward stare.
c. Nocturne
Our fantasies collide
upon a love laden tapestry
hung upon the universe
and doused in cerebral majesty.
Chameleon stalks in moonlit white
as the din of thunder quakes the night.
Old troubadour sings for the crumbling skies
and paints a floral temple within your lapis eyes.
d. Lullaby
Night’s dark halo o’er the city
showered with diamonds / veiled with gleams.
Sleepless labyrinth of gold lamplight
floods with ardor from empyrean dreams.
Night’s dark halo o’er luminous streams.
Laced in stillness, ghosts of the river,
a fog of nostalgia pours ‘cross the plain.
Silence wanders with cold shadows
trodding the orchard away from the rain.
Laced in stillness, our misty domain.
Song for slumber, a nebulous reverie
painting the valleys of our kindred minds.
e. Aubade I
Birdsong cradled on whispers of air
darkness engulfed with aurora.
Light pours across the emerald vale
and cascades upon sleeping flora.
Foxtails waver overlooking the shore,
blush skies fade to blue.
A caress of sea upon circle stones
as the sky dons a novel hue.
f. Aubade II
Dawn unveils dew swathed green /
sunlight parts the white-clad screen /
branches clutch foggy plumes
as river splits the forest womb.
We’re doused in rays of opaline,
a shawl of lavender rose,
and as our eyes fill with the morn,
we’ll paint our reams with loving prose.
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 1:28 PM UTC
You move beyond the luxury of panic,
Beyond the realm of heroic measure,
To such a point where clarity is superseded,
Itself a linear matter and beneath further concerns,
Beyond cursing yourself for failing to heed
Such self-imposed caution as had taken you this far,
And a life does not flash before ones eyes
As much as thoughts and images
Hopscotch into consciousness
Without a particular plan or pattern:
The party you left early, being under strict orders
To be home at such-and-such a time,
Only to be greeted by your mother
Who seemed genuinely surprised
You would take such strictures to heart,
Sundry boxes carried out of sundry workplaces
Under an equally broad array of circumstances,
Times you'd laid back upon the ground,
Looking at the clouds as or like a child
With no rationale save that it seemed like a fine thing,
Any number of snippets trodding on each side of the line
Separating memory and hallucination,
Wondering at last how a body mostly composed of water
Comes to such a pass,
And then there is nothing but.
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 4:11 PM UTC
They climb the ladder made
out of head-wood
laid together to make
up a tool and every fool
digs and digs cool mines
finds himself, trodding
the winepress
Every sngle step, every piece
is made of brothers
all climb, no one bothers
just to reach the other floor
Opening the door they see
find themselves knocking
the hells entrance
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
Though, the struggle continues
Some simple moments fill the day's happiness.
Trodding through the path
isn't easy
Yet, simple care is enough to make your day shine
Walks of life are always curved
Thus, it some time show simple straight lines to feel the day
Whatever comes and goes is through God
ACCEPT AND MOVE ON
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 2:40 AM UTC
But what happens when she falls in love with someone else and he starts to question his mental health? He has a hurricane in head in his heart in every fibre of his being there is a sense of something, someone missing?
But what happens when they go their separate ways after years and years of tears and tears and of begging her to stay? When his heart hurts so much he's on the floor writhing in pain, screaming her name, begging her to stick his world back together with cello tape?
But what happens when he watches her walk through the door not looking back, trodding on the old, dusty, door mat that says home for the last time as she glances back in the dead of night because part of her regrets what she's doing? For she was a constellation, her eyes reminded him of stars scintillating through out every nation, she was so out of reach.
But what happens? What happens when she finally settles down and he feels like he's drowning in his emotions his world is an ocean, full of deep blues and purple hues and what ifs?
What if he's okay? What if day after day after day the pain slowly starts to melt away just like the ice cream he had when he was four? When all of the sugar coated memories of her no long pour out of his soul in liquid form or when he forgets all of the things about her that he once adored?
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
Walking through darkness
I stand now just here
Trodding through blackness
I hold back the tears
Why am I crying?
This doesn't seem right
Yet somehow I feel
Like I have to fight
Fight back the sorrow
Fight back the pain
Fight with my marrow
It all ends the same
Crying again here
On this bed of tears
Fighting my sorrow
Fighting my fears.
I have some hope
But what of the other?
He goes still through life
Wanting to suffer.
He won't accept
What I know is true
His bitter denial
Turns my face blue.
Walking through darkness
I stand now just here
Fighting the darkness
Out pour my tears.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC