"tromped" poems
I tromped across North America a few years back
Following the Mayan Elders
Listening to the powerful Lakota Brothers sing songs of mourning and joy
Building community
I was following a White Cherokee
We created clan
I was motivated by the teachings of the Anishinaabe
And represented Thunderbird Clan
We stopped in sacred spaces such as Serpent's Mound
And Cahokia Mounds
We peered briefly through the veil; Samhain
I followed the red path and eventually found I had always been on it
I met Hopi and Navajo elder's
And my friend Sea, a pipe carrier brewed a special tea
I was gifted tobacco that had been grown from seeds
Recovered from an iceman's medicine bag
She transmuted the ancient tobacco into a tea
By folding it into a sweetgrass and cedar brew
Sea gave it to me in a basic stainless steel carafe
Every time we drained the carafe
I refilled it and the essence was just as powerful as the previous brew
When I finally caught up with the Lakota brother's in Sedona
Their voices were raw
We all were
I shared the tea with them
So much magic on that journey
The joy on those brothers faces as the tea reached their throats
I gave them the carafe and told them
It was the gift that keeps on giving
Their thankfulness has been the gift that keeps on giving
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Let me tell you a story.
When I was young, I was convinced one of two things would happen:
I would either die young or I would live ignorant.
And I was allowed to believe it.
I was careful, avoiding snakes, spiders, dirt, human beings, love.
I horded books, enough to give myself a doctorate in any field.
And I was called paranoid. Idiotic. A fool. Freak. Doomed.
But, I kept living anyway. Destroyed, most of the strings in me cut.
But living. And I was allowed to believe it was a gift.
Of course, this is a fiction, lie, metaphor, but the truth stands.
Children are not born to be afraid. They are taught.
Fear is conditioned. Rewarded. Considered a virtue.
The wildness of youth is tromped upon by cleat-clad "caution."
Gone are bright eyes, reckless smiles, heads thrown back. Life.
Dull glances, insurance, cul-de-sacs, and bitten tongues reign. Fear.
And fear is one of the deepest scars we can inflict upon another.
This story is not mine, though I have been the one to tell it.
But I am human. An ocean. A fault line. A candle facing a storm.
This tale, in some chisled fascet, mirrors my own.
And it will continue as long as I draw breath.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
Holy Spirit
Have I only to speak your name and The Fruits of your bearing become Mine?
What of my Name …
Did It Stand By Thee,
when the statues fell,
and the horses tromped the citizens blood underfoot?
Was this a fight to the death?
or was this something that I stayed Four,
and became myself again?
Look Up Dear Citizen,
It is for You to decide Now.
Is it Well with Thee?
Or have you become that,
which, Stolen in this Flight of Darkened Angels
Cross’s the Globe like so many Chagall’s
I Claim Thee Reconciled Spirit.
Beauty standing Upright upon the Wall of Life,
Grace’s Free Giving, standing for the Citizenship of this World.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no...
staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no...
I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no...
hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped...
or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no....
I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it...
I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no...
I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned
sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged...
aha sauntered! no! ****** it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no...
govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right....
I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off...
I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped,
no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile....
no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no
**** you words....
I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no...
minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right...
I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no....
ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I watched the scarlet specks slap the stage that resided beneath my feet. She grabbed my hand, some unknown perfect stranger, still confined to her own hospital bed, and said, “It’s going to be okay. You did the right thing.” Returning my countenance, that had thus far been afflicted, with a smile. And oh how I wish I could believe her, but even without glancing up I was all too aware that her eyes were out of her lips’ jurisdiction.
Still I stood in place; my palm yet to be released by this compassionate maiden who I knew recognized her own ****** and pangs in my premature senescence. But again, I focused on the crimson beads that remained between my legs, muddying the unblemished sheen of that linoleum floor.
This junction of misery and recognition of loss came to a precipitous end when the nurse tromped through and encroached on our plane. Hurriedly, she jostled and jammed me into a small bathroom; the impression of the unnamed woman’s touch still native to my hands.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
Ah, to be an ostrich!
I'd bury my head in the sand.
I could remain oblivious
To what was going on in this land.
I'd hide from gnawing hunger
That showed on children’s faces,
And my total lack of involvement
Would leave no guilty traces.
Ah, to be a bear!
I’d hibernate in my cave
And wouldn’t worry about
Those whom I couldn’t save.
The lost and disenfranchised
Could struggle on their own,
While I stayed safe and sound
And slumbered all alone.
Ah, to be a turtle!
I would hide in my shell,
Ignoring world injustice
And abuses here as well.
When the power-grabbing wealthy
Tromped on the rights of the poor,
From such wrongdoing I’d hide
Behind my keratin door.
Ah, to be an eagle!
I'd soar across the sky.
Removed from worldly problems,
I’d never have to ask why
So many people **** others
Because of ideals so absurd.
I could maintain my distance.
How lucky to be a bird!
But being an ostrich is awkward
For people tend to stare
When your head's under the ground
And your **** sticks up in the air.
Being a bear can be hard,
For a cave can be damp and cold,
And not to mention lonely:
I guess that would get very old.
And about being a turtle—
And this is the honest scoop—
Your chances are very good
That you’ll end up in soup.
Finally, on being an eagle:
Though flying brings you great mirth
And you love high altitudes,
You still must come down to earth.
- by Bob B
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
When I was sure she was asleep I
slithered my way out of the sheets
like the snake I am.
I stood and gazed upon her
as she dozed apparently
safe and sound.
When I was dressed I stepped
into the hall and flicked the
light switch.
Gathering my toothbrush and
things, I turned and went back
to the bedroom, where she
was sitting up straight and
just staring at me as I
entered.
I hesitated when I met her
eyes, seeing the questions
she was unable to hide.
But she didn't say a word,
just arched her brows and
watched me.
I felt her vision track my
movements as I went and
packed undergarments.
When I was wearing my
bags and ready to leave
I hesitated in the doorway.
She hadn't moved, but when
I looked back she said to me:
Turn the lights out before you go.
Meeting her sight was
like being alight with
emotional fire.
So I hit the switch as
I tromped down the
steps,
and ventured out onto
the front porch and into
the dark.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
i find
old friend
of mine
that
you have left
your footprints
in my mind
from
the days
when you tromped
down the bracken
of my narrow and
parochial upbringing
then
planted the paper daisies
and bright poppies
of free and radical thinking...
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
A thousand and one ways I've said,
a thousand and none you comprehend.
How can I say,
such that you'd see?
How can I say,
such that you'll understand,
that I'm not made for this,
not made of love and kindness,
not made for love,
not made for this at all.
I ache where it hurts most,
a dark cloud of storm,
a black heart pawned,
no hope to see through wrong.
They said hearts weren't made for sleeves,
and I trusted none of it.
I bared and I cared,
then I saw,
the world that tromped,
mercy far from reach,
pain stitching into skin,
darkness looming forth.
I took it all in,
a canvass of chance,
forfeited through time.
Let me live,
let me free.
no more pain,
no more pain,
tears re-tracked,
mirth re-planned,
let me live,
let me free.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
Four days were spent in that forsaken forest.
Free will handed over to the whims of malignant melodies.
We tromped through copses of camping tents
searching, I think, for something left behind
amid the hanging haze of dragon's breath and firewater.
We waded through the crowd of **** grinning hipsters;
smuggled ourselves to a safe zone and set down the sleeping mat
where we did anything but.
The days burned quick and hot like the cigarettes we smoked.
We slept through the thunderstorms that rolled across the mountaintops,
drowning us in our dreams.
Somewhere down the path, we realized we were connected,
two strands of the same length of rope, braided to make one;
we would save lives, or hang, together.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
I don't want to do this any more
Just leave me lying on the floor
I am nothing but the goo
That's been wiped of the shoes
Of all that have tromped
Of all that have stomped
They have whittled me down
Till there is no ME to be found
Shavings lying scattered
When the northern wind battles
I'm a broken window that rattles
Into dust I've been turned
Into dust I've been burned
It's true....what humans couldn't do
Well...the universe finished through
Leaving me dangling from the noose
Refusing to ever turn me loose
It makes sure I'm in it's twist
It makes sure I'm in it's fist
Please walk away
You don't want to see the sway
For I know what tomorrow will bring
So I'll just hang here and swing
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC