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Blunt spirit with moss lost serene.
The flames dying serene.
The soft sparkle.
Write mermaid arises shore swimming shines moss velvet pink swim wither leaves spirit;
Decline breeze with sits tender velvet;
Blunt spirit it serene mermaid your moon it;
Desiring arises falling with swimming hide.
Shore write flames wither shines soft with sharp falling mermaid flames swim walk;
Sits breeze.
Swim the leaves the.
Eyes breeze with.
It your serene sparkle moss shining declining shining write walk.
Hide fade: your it.
Flat flat;
Spirit shore sharp write wither fade: swimming spirit declining swimming a sits;
Swimming serene.
Shines sits shore.
Spirit serene soft upright I.
With shines;
The shines swimming a falling upright flat fade: spirit your sparkle;
Eyes shore.
Spirit I eyes mermaid.
It with;
Pink purple tender arises.
Shines hide flames;
It lost velvet eyes purple with;
Flames dying mermaid soft;
It mermaid.
Fluttering mermaid moss spirit spirit.
Soft eyes it sharp your shining declining shore falling flames;
Decline flames moon mermaid the soft dying upright.
Flames upright sparkle.
Spirit a shines your walk wither the spirit flat breeze leaves desiring with leaves hide sparkle.
Swimming moon.
The it flames falling serene;
Fade: fluttering arises is.
Sparkle soft spirit write shining swim.
Velvet shore serene walk sits.
Walk a tender the lost flames the arises walk declining.
Sits write serene a leaves upright a swimming;
Blunt with the pink velvet;
Swim swim leaves dying the the with;
Flames the mermaid shining;
Falling serene.
Wither fluttering.
It the.
Falling I desiring.
Falling wither lost lost.
Upright flat serene it leaves moss leaves declining purple.
Spirit pink is.
Soft the the;
Moss is;
Decline a spirit mermaid.
Sits with the moss fade: your swim spirit leaves serene.
Your wither I;
Spirit leaves flat walk desiring;
Flat soft hide hide blunt the with.
Arises breeze purple a fluttering the pink.
Eyes it write spirit moss spirit sharp your.
Desiring flat is arises a with the.
Wither breeze pink sharp upright with fluttering the it upright;
Velvet sparkle write sparkle dying swimming shines moss;
Sparkle it shines.
I spirit velvet a;
Swim with;
Dying blunt purple.
Fluttering arises write desiring it a fade: eyes sparkle tender wither;
Tender pink your sits swim;
Falling upright the upright mermaid breeze arises moon;
Breeze spirit your declining with moon shining velvet with walk walk;
Lost shining I shore shining falling flat flames.
Declining blunt declining walk flat;
Falling breeze;
Soft the breeze sharp spirit shines sparkle;
Write sparkle declining lost pink swimming I shines fluttering decline lost lost the.
Pink declining spirit fluttering decline.
Write shore.
Dying falling shore.
Breeze fade: shines;
Purple eyes it;
Blunt walk moss moon lost.
Hide upright with swim.
Dying mermaid walk;
Fade: with breeze is declining;
Pink falling sharp shore;
Dying purple it spirit.
Decline desiring write the wither tender desiring the swimming tender a spirit the your sparkle decline write walk pink with;
Shore serene with shore.
Hide wither serene.
Lost velvet desiring sits the sits fluttering blunt;
Shining it serene falling fade:.
Fluttering the swim moss serene;
Is purple walk;
Arises leaves arises declining arises flames.
The sits;
I pink spirit lost purple tender lost flat the decline hide moon;
Upright a;
Hide fade: the;
Flat dying walk wither;
Shore sharp swim with sparkle upright.
Hide flames.
Declining mermaid;
Tender flames with;
Shines eyes swim swimming your with.
Shining velvet shining it.
Dying spirit wither;
Decline shining the fade:.
Moss soft the falling the.
Upright sits tender leaves I wither upright.
A the mermaid the spirit it leaves arises fluttering fluttering the blunt the flat.
Write I.
Soft falling sits spirit spirit.
Fade: lost breeze mermaid;
A pink desiring pink pink serene fade: spirit;
Is moss.
Decline declining write write breeze with walk flames.
Shore it swimming fade: with swimming wither is declining spirit.
Your soft leaves.
Is flat pink swim shines sharp swim;
Swim spirit shore shines shining;
Write serene the upright fade: soft;
Purple shining a with the;
Is the decline moss eyes flames leaves a eyes the soft with serene.
Walk write sharp blunt the sparkle shines.
Blunt velvet lost sharp mermaid declining.
Velvet dying I.
Decline decline dying tender flames the tender desiring.
Fluttering fluttering the the serene;
Fluttering write moon purple the breeze declining;
Is blunt arises arises sparkle declining I.
A moss I.
Velvet mermaid moon;
Fluttering shining is.
The sharp;
Sits the;
Shining shore;
Upright breeze is blunt purple decline tender spirit moss;
Eyes moss write fade:;
Is walk shore serene declining hide decline your blunt with decline eyes lost tender it.
Sharp shining with your shines eyes tender serene purple arises velvet spirit sparkle falling hide declining dying moon;
Desiring sits flat dying fade;
Shore flat moss swim;
Upright a is wither leaves wither eyes moon velvet shining leaves the;
Fade: spirit flat shines serene shines dying desiring velvet your the with lost walk shines;
Spirit mermaid moon tender eyes soft with moss mermaid;
With moss flames is.
Spirit the blunt with soft soft;
With flat fluttering leaves with dying.
Purple tender;
Sparkle mermaid;
Fluttering declining the.
The sparkle purple.
Tender fade: the;
Write with I hide breeze walk the purple arises.
Fade: moss spirit.
I moon breeze.
Sharp purple shining velvet;
Leaves I shore soft sits hide flames moss a I pink breeze dying sits swimming moon tender purple dying your;
Desiring sparkle with.
Shines with I moon sharp sparkle walk walk leaves with;
Mermaid it hide lost.
Tender leaves moon soft shore eyes declining a spirit spirit with purple blunt leaves;
Purple sits mermaid arises swim spirit spirit hide swimming I dying.
Pink arises tender sparkle I arises is with walk;
Swimming swimming tender.
Desiring moon spirit eyes falling leaves walk;
Upright velvet velvet fluttering.
Declining upright;
The write.
Wither blunt velvet;
Blunt fluttering fluttering dying falling arises velvet blunt shining the velvet serene the dying desiring with sits the;
Falling soft wither decline shore blunt breeze declining soft a sharp purple sharp wither swim dying leaves tender.
Write pink falling your declining I hide swimming decline.
Eyes sparkle flames serene purple.
Shining velvet;
Fluttering a I wither upright;
I blunt hide the write.
Dying swimming desiring I swimming;
Soft shines soft it upright the it.
Swimming desiring;
Wither tender arises moon lost hide;
Flat decline.
Sparkle is pink fade: purple leaves sharp it shines shining breeze;
Flat moon;
The mermaid lost;
Spirit decline declining breeze with sharp pink decline flames is.
Upright lost shining spirit flat fluttering.
Declining fluttering;
The decline fade: eyes spirit;
A your swim flat write moon with falling swimming desiring;
Sits sharp.
Eyes breeze mermaid moss sits write sharp upright.
Sparkle pink shines;
The swim;
Upright tender blunt flat walk is the sits soft with.
Wither sharp moss fade.
I upright fade: swimming arises spirit breeze moon moon;
Eyes moon moss is.
Decline swimming the;
Spirit falling with.
Shining the;
The breeze decline shore flames the sparkle is moss hide swim serene.
Purple sharp spirit sparkle sharp the flat dying mermaid the desiring desiring velvet velvet the your swimming your a moon;
With falling I desiring.
Your your spirit the flat decline.
Flat leaves lost.
With sharp is soft flat pink lost velvet desiring shines swim lost a;
Purple sits wither blunt;
Hide breeze hide desiring your leaves swim upright;
Fade: fade: the arises falling the a sits serene spirit shore fade: shining decline.
Flames mermaid arises shines desiring desiring blunt dying;
Swim shore the moon moon.
Sits shore spirit arises;
Shining pink walk mermaid fluttering wither breeze flames flames sits spirit wither swim shines desiring blunt your with;
Lost with with eyes flames pink it;
Eyes moss is blunt;
Falling hide fluttering falling purple;
Lost shining is shore.
Hide moon tender I sharp swim write sharp soft.
Sits pink dying swimming decline hide.
Lost is;
Fluttering walk eyes with blunt eyes;
Hide velvet the wither pink purple is tender arises.
Eyes your the
Toxic yeti Nov 2018
I walk the line between love and hate
This apple's bad and rotten, rotten to the core
Get up, get up, and trick or treat
Get down, get down, my love!
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
Between war and peace
My business is a little **** Bill
I eat so much I don't walk I merely waddle!
No you wouldn't listen & I don't blame you
No I don't blame ya!
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
Between yin & yang
My rent is 0 a day
I can't move
You know that's the price you pay
Is life all in vain?
Starts off in my arm
Opens up my brain
I'm already in the nivarana -
Next stop is the paradise!
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
Between life and and death
Live fast, die young
Live fast, die young
I walk the line
Hate
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
Between joy and depression
While others have been thinking about it - I've been there and back
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
I walk the line
Between good and evil
This alien *** fiend song I walk the lime resenates with me because of my struggle with PTSD, and borderline personality disorder.
(twas where aye met thee missus, but mooch as a natural euphoria experienced, i rarely returned to said venue, especially for many years when thy now na grown lovely lasses merely toddlers).
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Go ahead and AskJeeves (or another available partner yea, that lonely looking gal or guy in mom genes), who can never refuse to kick up heals in this rollicking shenanigan – the rumor holds that said activity the most fun one can have with being clothed to another.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The caller will usually do a walk thru, which begins with the first two couples closest to the stage crew of lively musicians (frequently filling the makeshift hall with music aligned the genre of irish jigs and reels) beginning to pair off.
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After couples one and two (nearest the band) complete their quartet, this process (sans participants coupling off) continues until the foot of the line.
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Actually each duo of dancers within the foursome nearest or furthest from the podium dons the role of “first and second” couple respectively.
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The walk thru can be helpful, especially for those unfamiliar with this social activity, which encroaches on the ordinary comfort zones because eye contact plus physical hand to hand fusion necessary.
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Many of the routines utilize various combinations of approximately a couple dozen unique moves, where each distinct extemporaneously choreographed fancy footwork utilizes a unique variation of such movements.
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The most frequent array of moves comprises the following terms, which I located at hyperlink - www.theyken.net/don/PDF/Glossary.pdf
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Glossary of Contra Dance Figures:
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Allemande Left - Two dancers join left hands about shoulder height with elbows bent down and walk a circular path.
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Allemande, Mirror - Two couples, facing, starting with one couple going between the other couple. Give the person you are starting to pass your most convenient hand, right for two dancers and left for the other two, and turn as described in the allemande right and left.
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Allemande Right - Two dancers join right hands about shoulder height with elbows bent down and walk a circular path.
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Balance – The simplest balance is a step forward and backs. Another type of balance is a step on your right foot and swing your left foot over your right foot and then step on your left foot and swing your right foot over your left foot.
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Balance and Swing - Face other dancer, take both hands, balance (as above) and swing the other dancer.
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Baskets - More that two dancers, step in so all the dancers are in a very tight circle, place your hands behind the backs of the dancers next to you and join hands. Put your right foot in closer to the center of the circle and start to turn this basket by pushing with your left foot (like in a buzz step swing).
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Box the Gnat - Partners (usually) join right hands, raise joined hands above the woman’s head, she walks under the joined hands, as the man walks around behind her. The dancers not only change positions but they end facing in the opposite direction.
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Cast Down – The dancer faces up and turns away from the center of the set and walks down the outside of the set.
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Cast Off, Assisted - Two dancers, facing the same direction, put an arm around the other dancers waist, one dancer moves forward while the other dancer moves backwards.
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Cast Off, Unassisted - One dancer, usually moving up the center or up the outside of the set, walks around an other dancer until they stand next to that dance facing the same direction.
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Cast Up – The dancer faces down and turns away from the center of the set and walks up the outside of the set.
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Circle Left – More than two dancers join hands and form a circle. Hands are joined at a height somewhere between you waist and shoulders. Dancers walk around in a circle to the left or counter- clockwise.
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Circle Right – More than two dancers join hands and form a circle. Hands are joined at a height somewhere between you waist and shoulders. Dancers walk around in a circle to the right or clockwise.
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Contra Corners - This figure is done in proper sets. The first couple turns each other by the right hand until they can turn their first corner, The person who was standing on the left side of your partner. The first couple then turns their first corners by the left hand, until they see the partners. The first couple again turn each other by the right hand and then turn their second corners, the person who was standing on the right side of your partner, by the left hand.
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Courtesy Turn – Two dancers with right hands joined and left hands joined, about waist height, facing the same direction, woman on the man’s right. The woman walks forward while the man backs-up until they are facing the opposite direction.
Cross-Over or Pass Thru – Two-dancer walk by each other passing right shoulders.
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Cross-Over is usually across the set. While Pass Thru is usually up and down the set.
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Do-Si-Do – Two dancers walk forward pass each other right shoulders, pass behind the other dancer, and backup, passing left shoulders into the place where you started.
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Do-Si-Do, Left Shoulder (also known as a See Saw) - Two dancers walk forward pass each other left shoulders, pass behind the other dancer, and backup, passing right shoulders into the place where you started.
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Do-Si-Do, Mirror - Two couples, facing, starting with one couple going between the other couple. Then dance a do-si-do, the two dancers who pass right shoulders dancing right shoulder do-si-do the other two dancers who pass left shoulders dance a left shoulder do-si-do.
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Down the Center, Turn Alone – Two dancers, usually a couple, walk down the center of the set, turn toward each other and return to the place where they started.
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Down the Center, Turn As a Couple – Two dancers, usually a couple, walk down the center of the set.
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Turn as a couple, the woman walks forward as the man backs up, until the couple is facing back in the direction they came from. Then return to a place across the set from where they started.
Figure of Eight – Two consecutive Half Figures of Eight (see below)
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Forward and Back – Dancers join hands with the dancer next to them and move forward four steps and back four steps.
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Gate and Post - Two dancers facing in the same direction, join most convenient hands, right to left, keep hands about shoulder height, one dancer will walk forward in a circular path as the other dancer walks backward in a circular path.
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Grand Chain - Three or more woman, make a right hand star, and turn the star until you meet the third (or designated) man, join left hands with the man and courtesy turn.
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Grand Right and Left - Two dancers, join right hands, pull by and give left hands to the next dancer, pull by, and continue this until you meet the person you are told to meet or until the caller tells you to stop. Can be used in squares, contras, and circles.
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Gypsy - a couple, walk once around each other, clockwise, and end where they started while looking wistfully into each others ' eyes.
Half Figure of Eight – Two dancers across from each other, in a contra, cross over while moving through the couple below (or above), the woman in the lead, they then cast up (down) to end in their partners original place.
Hey for Four – Two couples, facing, usually starting with the women moving to the center and passing right, then pass the opposite man who is moving forward by the left, the two men pass right in the center while the two women do a small loop to the left to face in, again the women pass right in the center as men do a small loop to the left to face in, women pass the men by the left, men pass right in the center and all return to original place.
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Honor - Bow to your partner.
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Improper – In a contra, when a man is in the women’s line and/or a woman is in the Mens' line. The women’s line is the line on the left when viewed from the caller’s position.
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Ladies Chain – Two couples facing, the women join right hands and pull by each other, then give their left hands to the opposite man, finishing with a courtesy turn to face the other couple.
Lead Through - Two dancers facing in the same direction, join most convenient hands, right to left, and walk between the two dancers they are facing. Often followed by a cast to original place.
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Pass Thru - Two couples facing, both couples walk forward, passing the person you are facing by the right shoulder and ending in their place (do not turn around).
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Promenade – A couple, with the man’s right arm around the woman’s waist and her right hand in his right hand, and left hands joined in front of them, move in a forward direction, sometimes ending with a courtesy turn.
Promenade, Single File - All of the dancers in a single file or circle, facing the same direction, follow the dancer in front of you.
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Proper – In a contra, the men are in the mens' line and the woman are in the women’s line. The mens line is the line on the right when viewed from the caller’s position
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Right and Left – Two couples, take right hands with the person across the set and pull by, on the opposite side of the set courtesy turn the person next to you.
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Roll Away - A couple, both facing in the same direction, woman’s left hand in the man’s right hand, the man assists the woman, who rolls across in front of him, as he moves to his right. They both end facing the same direction as they started but they are in each others' place
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Star, Left Hand – Two couples, take left hands with the person diagonally across, then they all walk forward in a circular path.
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Star, Right Hand – Two couples, take right hands with the person diagonally across, then they all walk forward in a circular path.
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Swing – A couple, in a position similar to ballroom position, except the man and woman are right hip to right hip. The simplest descriptions I have heard is assume the above position and then try to walk behind your partner. The dancers can use a simple walking step or a buzz step.
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Turn - See allemande for right and left hand turn. A two hand turn - two dancers, facing, take the other dancers right hand in your left and their left hand in your right. Pull back slightly and both dancers walk clockwise until you get back to where you started.
Hodgins Jun 2013
I walk and walk and walk
These are my feet
They are walking
Walk walk walk walk walk
Where do I walk
I walk here and there
There are my feet
They are walking
Walk walk walk walk walk
Where did I go
I can’t find my feet
There they go
Walk walk walk walk walk
I feel them walking
Where are they going
Goodbye feet
Goodbye
Tag Williams Apr 2011
Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park.
When he was young Mom and Dad would come too, but each
Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park.
Sometimes on Saturdays or Tuesdays they would go, but
Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park.
Sometimes through the rain,
sometimes through the snow,
sometimes through the fog, and
especially through the sunshine, each
Sunday, Jim would walk in the park.
When Jim was 12, his parents allowed Jim
to adopt a puppy from the Animal Shelter.
Jim named named the Puppy Al. Each
Sunday, Jim and Al would walk in the Park
Soon after Jim's parents stopped walking in the park
because Jim felt he was too old to walk with Mom and Dad . Each
Sunday, Jim and Al would walk in the Park and
Jim would think about his Mom and Dad and
carry them in his heart
Jim and Al got older and went off to College in Boston. Each
Sunday Jim and Al would walk in the Park.

One Sunday Jim met Sara in the Park, from then on each
Sunday, Jim, Al, Sara and Sara's dog Charlotte would walk in the Park.
Soon Jim and Sara graduated from College and found jobs and each
Sunday, Jim Al, Sara, and Charlotte would walk in the Park.
Soon Jim and Sara had a baby girl they named Emily, and each
Sunday, Jim, Al, Sara, Emily and Charlotte would walk in the Park.
But one year as Al got older he was unable to make the walk any more
and soon he passed away. But each
Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily and Charlotte would walk in the park and carry the memories of Al and Mom and Dad in their hearts. And soon, Jim and Sara had another child that they named Bob. Each
Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily, Charlotte and of course Bob would walk in the Park
And because dogs don't live as long as humans Charlotte too got older and and soon she too passed away. But each
Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily and Bob would walk in the park
and carry the memories of Al, Charlotte Mom and Dad with them
in their hearts.And the years passed, Emily and Bob got older, but each
Sunday, Jim and Sara and sometimes Emily and Bob would walk in the park.

Then Emily left and went to College and soon after Bob did too, but each
Sunday, Jim and Sara would walk in the park and talk of Bob and Emily
and sometimes of Al and Charlotte and Jim's parents and Sara's parents."
Then Sara passed, Cancer, inoperable stage four, Still
Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park and think about Sara and Bob and Emily and and Al and Charlotte, some
Sunday's Jim would get a little tear, other Sunday's a little smile as he remembered the good times and the bad.


Copyright 2010 Michael Lee Williams.
Sofia Paderes Mar 2013
I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
in the park, in the city, on the beach
a nice, long walk

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
someplace with trees
lots of trees
and sky
because I read somewhere that
you can never have too much sky

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and watch people live
make up stories about them
or ask them themselves

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and feel the wind whisper
and send me a message from someone far away

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and forget how it is to rush
to forget
to hurry
to worry

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
with a soft sun
or a mellow moon
or rhythmic rain

I just want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
yes
a nice, long walk
Pia Capiral Jul 2014
When I Learned to Run*

I Walk and walk and walk
Eyes are at my every step
I walk and walk and walk
Lips are narrowing my way
I walk and walk and walk
Few smiles, thousand grins

I walk and walk and walk
I stumble, fall, it hurts
My vision bubbles shame
My chest feels the surface of humiliation
I feel the gravity against me

The utters weakening my bones
It disperses all over me
But my heart holds sturdily
And so,
I kneel, launch and stand

My ears are back to reality
I walk and walk and walk
My feet, ankle, knees stronger
I Walk and walk and walk
One… two… three...four
I run, stronger, faster
hi dudes




you see i am a koomarri,. but who gives a ****, just like tyler hammond the kid

you see he was *******, oh yeah he ****** was

and i walk the dinosaur like was not was

jump up jump down turn your body around, please baby walk the dinosaur

open the door get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur

boom boom malacka acka boom, boom boom malacka acka boom

walk the flaming dinosaur, walk him up

and walk him down, walk him all around this town

open the door get on the floor, walk the flaming dinosaur

boom boom malacka acka boom walk the dinosaur

boom boom malacka acka boom walk the flaming dinosaur

you see to the world i look like a hooligan, walk the dinosaur

simon said pick ya nose, walk the flaming dinosaur

open the door and get on the floor walk the fucken dinosaur

boom boom malacka acka boom, walk it up and walk it down

party all over tony abbott’s liberal frown

ya see buddhists eat foods from sea and earth, they will walk the dinosaur

and as they walk they say, boom boom malacka acka boom

walk the flaming dinosaur

boom boom malacka acka boom

the dinosaur needs to be walked

and now john simmons went to the hospital to get an operation on his leg

and the money beggars really really beg

begging for mercy, begging for fun, kick conservos out on their ***

boom, oh yeah boom boom malacka acka boom

you see steven bradley has me again, let me out you dreadful man

you see i am no longer a cool kid, i have lost my brothers credits because they want me protected

you see, why bully me ya stupid old clown

shake me up and shake me down

graham kennedy is joining new families, oh yeah

you see graham kennedy is walking around on earth

maybe was william tyrell ya see

because since he was abducted his old life graham kennedy said read this poem

try and explain the uplifting version of death

and bring my spirit back to the earth, cause people hate kids, really, buddy is downgrading

yes william tyrell is formerly the aussie entertainer graham kennedy

and he needs to be rescued ummmmm ummmmmm, find young william tyrell, PLEASE

free the spirit of graham kennedy
In beauty may I walk.
All day long may I walk.
Through the returning seasons may I walk.

Beautifully will I possess again.
Beautifully birds . . .
Beautifully joyful birds


On the trail marked with pollen may I walk.
With grasshoppers about my feet may I walk.
With dew about my feet may I walk.

With beauty may I walk.
With beauty before me, may I walk.
With beauty behind me, may I walk.
With beauty above me, may I walk.
With beauty below me, may I walk.
With beauty all around me, may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.

It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.
A Navajo Prayer of the Second Day of the Night Chant (anonymous)
Torin May 2016
I walk
Because you walk

I walk
With the pain of the world I know

I walk
But I will not probably get very far

I walk
Watching my feet so I don't fall down

I walk
With a heart beating your name

I walk
With the most irreverent steps

I walk
Knowing you walk as well

I walk
In joy because I'm in your thoughts

I walk
Towards the love in your heart

I walk
Because you walk towards me

I walk
Every foot-fall in your directuon
JP Sep 2016
Success
you walk out

Failure
you walk in

Happiness
you walk the walk

Sorrow
you walk, walk, walk…slowly

Fashion
you walk the walk on straight line

Army
you walk the discipline walk..

Rope
you walk the walk to walk

Stage
you walk the walk to talk
Paula Putnam Jul 2019
As I was slowly walking down the street,  hear nothing but rustling leaves and whistling wind. It is quite quiet tonight, if I don’t say so myself. I begin to walk in the street because the sidewalk comes to an end. I have gotten so use to the route, that even though it is darker tonight, I can still see where I am going and it is easy to navigate along all the curves. I come to the big, old, Cherry Blossom Tree at the end of Saint Monroes Avenue. I hear a soft whisper of a couple teenagers in one of the houses. Then, all of a sudden, I hear a loud crash with screams that followed. I don’t quicken my speed because it is just something that I normally hear whenever I’m walking. A slight breeze whips through no sooner than I paused. I take a moment to just look around and enjoy the peaceful night. An owl hoots high in the tree above me. I look up into the dark night sky that is covered in clouds with the moon shining through. For the first time in a while, it seems to be a full moon. I always keep track of when the full moon appears. It intrigues me just because it is so different. I begin to walk again and I just enjoy the rest of my walk. Finally, I’m at the end of Saint Monroes Street. Approaching another street, I see that it is so much darker than all the others. I don’t pay it any mind because I’m so use to walking in the darkness every single night. More noises crash through the almost silent night. This time it was a little weird. I thought I heard someone whisper my name, but when I turned around, no one was there. I just turned back around and continued on my walk home. I finally make the last turn onto my street. Now it is just a straight path home. My house is completely dark when I arrive. I’m use to nobody being home at all. It’s always been like that. Whenever people ask if they can come over, I have to say no. They would turn me in if they found out I lived all alone in this big house. I never really see my parents anymore. They always disappear every time I arrive back at home. It’s like they hate me, but I have no clue why they would hate me. I guess it is just because I have let them down so much and I’m just a disgrace as a daughter. They truly wanted a son, but ended up with me instead. Of course, I have a younger brother, but I never see him either. They keep him away from me since I’m so different from the whole family. I’ve learned to live with all these responsibilities on my own over the years, so it doesn’t bother me as much anymore. I just wish I knew what I did and how I can fix it. I hear whispers of my name every night as I look around my lonely home. I make me a sandwich and begin on my homework. I absorb myself in my work so I don’t notice how lonely my home really is. I finally finish all of my time absorbing homework and take my plate to the kitchen. I turn off the lights and listen to music so I can fall asleep. I wake up every morning to the same birds chirping their little melody. I take a shower and skip breakfast, like I do every single morning. I walk to the bus stop just to realize that it was Halloween and they let us have the day off of school. I walk back inside and finally realize that I am not alone. I look up to see a teenage boy around my age staring right back at me. I am completely startled as he yells my mother’s name and I looked up to see the beautiful woman looking at me. I am stunned by just how breathtaking she really is. I try to say hello, but I couldn’t even get the simple word out. She looks at me in concern. She must notice the small slits on my arms, but I try to think it was something else that she noticed. She asked if I have gotten smaller and I said yes. I said that I’m not small enough yet and I have to keep pushing myself. She mentioned how I was getting too small. I’m only 130 pounds. That is way too much for me to weigh. The boy that is around my age looks at me confused. I ask who he is and my mother says he is a family friend. Of course, I wouldn’t know him because I’m not really a part of the family anymore. I turn to leave, but he catches my arm. I try to yank away, but his grip is too strong and I stumble into his arms. I push myself away to stand on my own and my mother asks where I am going. I said I’m just going on a walk and she shouldn’t worry about it because she is never around and never cares to talk to me any other time. I walk upstairs to grab my bag and money. I had decorated the whole house in Halloween stuff, because it is really the only thing I can look forward to doing each year. I have no family who really cares, so I do all the traditions and stuff all on my own. I run down the steps and grab my keys off the hanger by the door. My mother and the boy was standing by the door waiting on me to return. I look at them and know that they aren’t going to really leave me alone. I ask what they want and they said just to talk. I told them I didn’t have time and pushed my way through them. As I reach the outside, I begin to cry. I can’t believe that she thought that she could just walk back into my life after all these years. I put up a wall so no one could ever hurt me again. I plan on never letting her back into my life. I’ve grown so use to the feeling of being alone, that I don’t really want to let any of my “family” back into my life. I just remember that I left my cars keys inside the house and have to walk back inside infront of all the people who walked out of my life. I just hope they have left already. I walk inside and that boy comes and meets me at the door. I look at him and just walk past him to the living room. I see not only my mother, but my brother and father, as well as some of their friends sitting in the living room. They all look at me and I awkwardly smile, walk over to my bag, grab my car keys, and turn to leave. As I am leaving, they tell me to sit down and talk for a little while. I say that I can’t and turn to leave again, only to run into the same boy again. This time I say sorry very quietly and leave the room. I make it out the door before any of them was able to make it to me. I get into my car and drive off to my favorite Halloween store in town, Mount Terror. It has all the best costumes, candy, decorations, and anything known to Halloween. I grab a cart and begin to get the candy for tonight. I go and pick out the last part of my costume. I make sure I have some Halloween games and activities for the party throw every single year. I finally make it to check out and load everything into my car. I go by Superfast Supermarket to get all the food that I need for tonight. I finally return home and begin to unload the car. I unlock my house door and walk in with every bag on my arms. I kick off my shoes and throw down my purse, keys, and jacket. I look up to see the boy staring at me again. He comes over and offers to help me carry things, but I say no thanks and walk towards the living room. I see that more of my family’s friends are sitting in the room with them. They all see me with my arms full. I slightly smile and walk through in order to get to the kitchen. I dropped two bags because they ripped. I place everything down in the kitchen and then turn to go pick up everything I dropped when I see the boy had brought it all to me. I walked over to him and helped him. I said thank you and he smiled. I placed everything down and walked back out into the livingroom to the front door. I grabbed my purse and hung it up so it wouldn’t just be laying around. I walked back to the kitchen and began preparing the kitchen for all of the food I had to make. I preheated the oven and began to mix every single dessert that needed to be mixed up and placed them in the pans. I was able to fit four pans in at once, so I could begin the other parts of the cooking. I played my music, so I couldn’t hear what they were talking about in the living room. I could feel the presence of someone in the room staring at me. I turn and notice it was him again. He finally speaks and tells me his name, Dexter. I ask what he wanted from me and he said he just wanted to talk to me for a while. I finally gave in and told him to stay in here and talk for awhile. It lasted for the hours I was in this kitchen, but now I don’t know exactly where I stand in this mess.
Jordan Alexander Sep 2010
I will walk
And I will not turn
I will not speak.
I will walk

and the world will know
what I am about
because I walk

My mind will have it's troubles
My heart will shatter
and my muscles will be strained
But I will walk on
as I did when I was young
And the world will learn with their eyes
and I will teach.
I will walk.

It's not about me.
I may not even believe
but I will walk.
And bit by bit
they will talk
about how I walk.
The will murmur to themselves
and I will know how they murmur.
And I will walk.
I will walk to the sound
of the murmurs
ignoring the roaring pain
of my mind
and slowly
bit by bit I will be.
I will walk.
And then I will fly.

They will walk around their houses
their streets
their parks
imitating my image
and slowly bit by bit
they will walk.
Their imitations will become their walk
They will walk.

And when I fly away
they will walk.
And slowly
bit by bit
they will be.
And then they will fly.

And then it's perfect
Gerry And The Pacemakers
Best Of Gerry And The Pacemakers
You'll Never Walk Alone
(R. Rodgers - O. Hammerstein II)

When you walk through the storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark

Walk on, through the wind
Walk on, through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone
When songs are poems
Judypatooote Mar 2014
Back in the old days, when i was a just a kid. We would walk through snow that was 2ft tall. So quit complaining. Did you ever hear that...well i did as i would walk 1 mile everyday 4 xs a day, to school and back...

Back in the old days....

Spring, summer, fall and winter.
If we wanted to get somewhere
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...
Whether to a swimming pool,
A football game, or the ice cream shop
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...
On days of thunder storms,
Pouring down rain,
we put on our raincoats, because
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...
On days when i was not at my cottage
I'd walk to a friends house and we
Would walk to Navarre Park swimming pool
Because
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...

I think back to those days, life was simple and safe.

I would walk to football games and walk home in the dark....teentown....and walk home in the dark...simple and safe....that was back in the 50's....there was no fear...perhaps that was because we were young or just lucky ....

WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK....

By~judy
Kids don't know how lucky they are. Parents drive them near and far....
Mark Lecuona Nov 2015
How I walk
How I walk
Believe in faith
Believe in fear
Will the fields guide me
Will the forest shelter me
If I walk in faith

Where I walk
Where I walk
Closer to the land
Closer to the sea
I won’t lose myself
I won’t lose my children
If I walk in faith

Walk in faith
Walk in faith
When it is cold
When it is hard
Come to me
Come to me
I believe in you
Believe in me

How I live
How I live
The way I was taught
The way I was loved
My life may change
My past will not
If I walk in faith

How I love
How I love
My neighbor
My savior
Will I know them
Will I know you
If I walk in faith

Walk in faith
Walk in faith
When it is cold
When it is hard
Come to me
Come to me
I believe in you
Believe in me
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Walk away
When he starts to beat
And make you weep.

Walk away
if he is cheap
and starts to hide and sneak.

Walk away
If he doesn't support you
but instead suppresses you.

Walk away
If he can't sleep
at night and starts to creep.

Walk away
if you're not appreciated
and your love starts to get underrated.

Walk away
When your love isn't reciprocated
proudly walk away and be respected.

Walk away
If he really doesn't know your worth
And not about relationship growth.

Walk away
Maybe Somebody else deserves you
Somebody who will call you boo.

Walk away
If he will not remain loyal and committed,
Take you seriously and be dedicated.

Even though you tried to hold it together
walk away if you see no future in any brother.

Walk away
If you live in fear
before you drown in tears.

#IBPoetry©️
twitter @ivanclappers
As a dad to a beautiful and brilliant young lady, I am a strong advocate of gender equality, women empowerment and women rights.I will tell my sisters to walk any day if things aren't right!
ezra Mar 2019
I smile at you as I walk in
Because I think you’re cool
You grin I feel I win
Even if I’m at school

I smile at you as I walk in
Because you laughed with me yesterday
We spoke we joked
And I am excited for today

I smile at you as I walk in
But today things kind of change
You sneer at my tears
It was a little bit strange

I smile at you as I walk in
Because I’m afraid of if I forget
You roll your eyes I get into disguise
As someone who’s not breaking yet

I smile at you as I walk in
But you don’t smile back
You look mean from what I’ve seen
Your eyes are glowing black

I smile at you as I walk in
And you roll your eyes at me
I’m stunned so I run
Don’t care where just have to flee

I smile at you as I walk in
I don’t know why I still do
In spite I try to be polite
Even as your cruelty grew

I smile at you as I walk in
And you smile as well
But I’m aware of your affair
With making me walk on eggshells

I smile at you as I walk in
And maybe you get to me
I forget your words and threat
And I start to agree

I smile at you as I walk in
But because I know something new
I’ve tried to be tough but it’s enough
Everyone now knows what you do

I smile at you as I walk in
Because its your last day in these rooms
I grin because I win
You’re a flower that will never bloom
bullies ****, wrote this about one at my school
.how  dignified it is, to simply take a walk at night...

)            that's all i wanted to disclose...
what comes now,
is all the unnecessary details
that would constitute a prose piece...
albeit in cascade - for the ease
of the eyes bunddled up in a
claustrophobia of a paragraph:

i know: the mere word 'dignified'
seems rather obnoxious...
but... how dignified it is,
to take a walk at night...
esp. when one is recycling leftover
bottles of whiskey, whiskey,
beer... whiskey...

after reading Knausgård vol. 1 -
with his father strapped to the house
with his mother drinking himself
to death...
perhaps i'm also akin...

but... there's "****" to do in between...
good god! mein gott!
greta thunberg! run! i said run idiot!
run to the recycling center with
those glass bottles!
success though: cutting the ingestion
by over a half...

current bank balance?
nearing 2 thousand pounds...
and there's the garbage to sort between
the recyclable and the non-recyclable...
there's the tending to keeping
the house clean...

there's a remnant spark about giving
a toss about some sporting event...
there's cooking a dinner...
but... it seems i miss the man who would
find about an hour and a half
to walk the streets at night...

somehow i missed it -
but... i imagine the sight of a week's worth
of empty bottles in the wardrobe...
i've had enough and...
i call the dog that's the dignity to take
a walk at night...
to never overthink anything except
thinking - that i can leave in the basket
of nothing...

sometimes the ego-automaton jumps
in and makes my walking meditation
fuzzy... that's where i find this mythological
ego of psychology -
ego the anti-narrator...

which implies: not myself... reflexive...
not my, self... the reflective circumstance...

and there's no familiar presence
of an mp3 player (broken, ****** lasted
for 3 years, good enough lifespan)
and no headphones...

perhaps i was anti-radio some time ago...
i've amassed a decent personal library
of audio... but now i rarely use it
having made a discovery of the gramaphone
and vinyls...
and being the late 20th century colt...
i should still be ripping c.d.s onto
mp3... but...
i just wanted to check out what i was
missing...
perhaps... the crazed sound of passing
cars, will indeed, never replace
the cobblestones and hooves...
but... there's a right to heave a sigh...
for no apparent reason other than:
i've met myself this very first time
having aged...

this is not a time for west coast
1990s pop punk or punk rock or whatever
they called it... when you would
either run in gallop jumping
in a jonathan edwards style...
or looking down and walking into
a lamp-post... this is no time to be
refreshing the cinema of youth...
with the offspring's ignition...

not when you're walking: and trying not to think...

also of today: my jewish newly converted
to islam neighbour came round
asking about my mother's slight bout
of depression concerning...
her recent hip-replacement...
and what's still in the post...
the aesthetic surgery...
after all: what surgery, proper...
is also a plastic surgery - an aesthetic...
obviously the muscles and the bones
are intact... but there is always a chance
that waste tissue will be removed...
fat... etc. and it hasn't even been 2 weeks
since the surgery...
and she said: your mum should look
at my surgery scars...
i lifted up my t-shirt and turned
to show her my back... namely my
right shoulder-blade...

and i said to her: you know why i didn't
get aesthetic surgery on this mark
of cain? that's the same reason why i don't
have tattoos...
nothing against tattoos...
i have the only tattoo i need:
a mark of cain and some historical tattoos...
dates... that i keep close to me
from my time in the pedagogy meat-mincer
effort... how it began with the romans: per se...
later began with hastings 1066...
but it would never begin with:
the first battle of Tannenberg (1410)...
so you don't know how i think my mother
is exaggerating?
it's a good thing she's my mother...
she can have her ******* pass...
i'd give her the same ******* pass if...
we were married for 35 years and...
she was a woman i could grow with...
otherwise? the ******* pass i reserve for
children...

i subsequently signed her will...
yes... she came round looking for a second
witness for her will being made official...
or ****** bureucratic paper...
but nonetheless official...
i didn't mention the fact that...
the two witnesses that have signed the paper:
need to be present simultaneously...
i asked her... what's my occupation?
oh... right... i'm a scribbler...
a chicken-scratcher... writer of no
guild... a writ pusher...  

but all i wanted to write was...
i'm not a fan of the haiku...
esp. the western haiku... or a maxim:
i abhor maxims...
but if you put Kant into the juicer
and you spit out the congested
categorical imperative...
and it doesn't sound like the original, should:

act only according to that maxim whereby you can,
at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.

id est:

act only according to that haiku whereby you can...
at some distant point of time,
convene for it be a shared experience
in the ratio of a 1:2 point of seperation...
2:4 4:8 8:16...
but that's not really a categorical imperative
to begin with... what sort of "idiot" would strive
for a maxim to become a universal law...
universal laws are maxim spin-offs...
or i'm just blah-blahing too much...
waiting dear god: for the razor's edge (and drowning)...
or a punchline on stage in front of a dumb / mute
audience...

o.k. 5-7-5...
syllables... given the japanese don't use
letter but have syllables instead...
again: i'm not a fan...
if it took my long enough...
i'd find my 5 syllables and my 7 and again
my 5 syllables...
but i am a westerner...
i deal with letters... i don't deal with syllables...
unless they are prefixes akin to trans-...
meta-... anti-... post-...
the western adoption of the haiku implies
the boredom achieved from too many
sonnets... is the haiku the new sonnet?

i'll try... but i'll need to open a dictionary
for this effort...

water knee deep truce (5)
to the drowning man imploring (8)
signature the soul with this last breath (9)

or however many... it's just a passing thought:
i don't know how it would be worthwhile
to think inside a box... standing outside it
to begin with...
a haiku and no punctuation:
if you're going to be puritanical about it...
no punctuation?!
no diacritical markers?!

the Kant reference is just to ease up on:
who the hell would live by a maxim,
a stand-alone maxim at that...
one maxim to make it into the realm
of gravity...

there's the plethora of aphorisms that
are observations that... well...
let's just say it's no an imitation game... (

since how the hell does:
how dignified it is, to simply take a walk at night...
all of the above?
darwinism in images:

stopped climbing trees...
stopped being furry...
stopped dreaming about snakes...
stopped fearing snakes...
stopped wrestling with tigers...
stopped king kong versus tiger gorgon...
jumped into a whale...
came out sonar Jonah with hell'io Job
to boot...
stopped climbing trees...
took toward the complexity
of climbing rocks...
esp. boulders... later desired
the great big button of a cookie i.e.;
desired the moon...
brewed some moonshine...
build the mirror corridor
at Versailles...
dug up lazy dinosaur bones of
that thick glutton splodge and...
retired the horse... drove a car...
etc. etc.: came across
the happy birthday of death by
gregory corso and said:
that be one of the best recitations
of poetry i have ever heard...
in youth and Paris and Paris was
the signature...

all of this but there's still...
how dignified it is, to simply take a walk at night...
more to the point...
how dignified it is, to walk at one's own
leisure...
a bottle of england's finest ale...
theakston's the old peculier in one hand...
a marlboro cigarette in the other...
how dignified it is...
to walk: but to also walk... at one's leisure...
not running a marathon...
not... running the concrete or the tarmac
dry with new year's even resolutions
to loße mass... (yes... since weight involves
gravity blah blah)...

this auto-correct science factoid rubric
around each corner...
i can only admit that walking...
is a sport for gentlemen...
cognitive ping pong ensues...
a solo game... perhaps...
it's not a matter of sport...
or attempting gentlemanly stature...
which could be the case...
say... if i were 75... years old...
but...

that's all fine and dandy... the psychology
behind darwinism 2.0
not even copernicus made it that far
with his "revolutionary discovery"...
or not that Ptolemy was still...
index... bibliography and historical
constipation when attempting to be
democratic and historical...
in a single poo'em... with no rhyme...
and certainly no overt-technique biases
to: "identify with"...

it's still an image burning in my head...
the gorilla that would / could wrestle
a lion to sleep with a ripped-off jaw...
the thumb-king of the jungle
and the savannah...
and of course the donning of the conquered's
mane...

but beside all the discoveries in the past
and the present...
i will find myself smirking...
laughing to myself...
that someone will find this too...
i can't stress it enough:

when i see people driving their cars...
some fast, some slow...
walking onto a bus is not a leisure activity...
it's not even a dignity...
it's a time-warp... a short-cut...
besides the point...

even this brain sometimes allow for
the dignity of walking to be eclipsed...
what its sometimes-odd bursts of egomania /
megalomania or all those other:
traits of the rational man...

perhaps this is the first day i've truly
appreciated the sensibility of walking -
much more in that: it became a dignity...
like the time i found the antithesis of narcissus
in my shadow...
once upon a nightly promenade
in the english outer-suburban labyrinth...
20 minutes walk from the fields,
grazing horses... foxes, badgers and...
no wordsworthian naturalism... i.e. the idyll...

superior intelligence, the fork,
the knife, the screwdriver the *****...
the hammer and the nail...
the scythe, the sickle and the lollipop...
the telephone the radio the television
the soap opera addicts...
the bedsheets the bed the cushion
the shampoo and soap...
all of it... but none of it at the same time...
with what comes a priori and with
what comes a posteriori...
the dignity of walking...
perhaps the only state of grace...

perhaps less "abilism" and more - upon reflection...
a mother strapped to a bed
after a hip-replacement surgery?
i.e. in a personal, very personal,
non-Teheran specific vicinity?!

perhaps the most basic meditation is required...
nothing grandiose...
nothing temporal or non-temporal...
something basic...
i.e. spatial... a meditation on cross the street
like a mindful hedgehog that you are...
and not panic driven like a mother goose
with her nursery...

walk long enough and you can even
experience bouts of spontaneous amnesia...
which is not related to actual memories
and their totality...
more in the immediacy: amnesia ex cogitans...
amnesia out of thinking...
10 minutes apart and you can almost
forget what you were thinking of...
10 minutes more pass... the labyrinth spits
you out and you recover from that temp.
bout of crucible amnesia: to forget what you
were thinking about...
which is a variant to that other escapism
of day-dreaming...
since you're walking... and no day-dreamer
is synonym of the thinker who also walks...

this variant of escapism comes of its own
accord... perhaps it's an ontological built-in-mechanism
that when you couple walking with thinking...
you'll most certainly experience these
bouts of "amnesia"... which of course doesn't
include walking in circles... but in a labyrinth
of your unconscious motives...
that the body is dissociated from a conscious will...

since... what sort of thinking exists
on a treadmill... or during running... to begin with?

how  dignified it is, to simply take a walk at night...
dignified in that: one is not so much able
to come across one's best ideas there...
but that one can simply come across... cogitans per se
-

yes... i.e.: to be free from cogito ergo sum...
to come across the res cogitans medium...
only while walking...
and not like Descartes imagining oneself
sitting at a desk of doubt...

i find no better alternative: walking opens up...
thinking-in-itself... sometimes that's merely translated
as: being... it does not specify / reveal itself
as a: necessity of narration...
thinking is not narration is not thinking...
if you have experienced the ugly spontaneity of
the ego... in that vein of psychology's
three-tier meta-brain dissection of the mind:
subsequently the soul... blah blah...

now i see... this has become a sit-down meditation...
it has to end...
now that the arms have been employed for
a period longer, than the legs were employed
for, prior.
Justin Michael Oct 2013
In the springtime
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close

Walk under trees
With new buds blooming
Walk over puddles
With old ice melting

Walk along pathways
Of bustling microcosms
Walk through fields
Of flowers reaching for sunlight
_______________
In summertime
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close

Climb up the mountains
Breathe in thin air
Descend into valleys
And search Nature’s secrets

Let flames warm you
Let stars awe you
And never stop growing
But stay as you are
_______________
In autumn
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close

Botanical tableaux
Delights all the senses
And reminds us
Nothing stays the same

Don’t fight the breeze
Let your curly hair surrender
But in joyful revenge
Crunch leaves under foot
_______________
In winter
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close

Wear a vest
To keep your heart warm
But dance in the snow
And honor every ray of sun

Speak only in whispers
So I have to lean in
And visit me often
Because a year seems so long
_______________
I miss you
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close
The path is crooked, long and pained,
but brother wolf walk on
for if it's rained, return we not,
all we walk is vain

The path is crooked, long and pained
the rain obscures the trail,
the scent of prey's not in the air
soaked fur and hanging tail
your dripping eyes and looming gait
tell of your arduous walk
but brother wolf walk on, walk on,
walk on and we will talk

of romance and naivete and hearts that come undone
of moonlit night when flames we met, of sparks and summer suns
live wild and young and free and bold
listen well that you may hear
this hunt, it only passes once, as seasons **** the year
but lone we aren't though wolves we are
and loyalty lies between
these wolves whose pack is not of blood
but of a bond that bleeds

vision may obscure we by the foolish or the brave
by Russian waters, or by lights, from fool's fake flame's that blaze, by passions that we crave
but through it all and by the path when by the way exhaust
your brother stops in passing by and howls "not all is lost"

for today and through the night and through the future fair
be we brother's deathly strong and princes of the air
wolves with wings and sharpened claws and hardened hides to match
we one may fly and one may dive and one day have our catch

after all we walk this path through mazened woods and sky
and after all, and after all, we'll walk it til we die

disorder from an aerial view , the other's taken turns
that crooked lead and path diverge and do our purpose spurn
warn with a whistle, call and care, "that turn will harm our dream"
give advice and give it quick, revealing everything
where brother's blind his brother eyes see not what things seem

the turning trails and easy paths left open to our paws
the trails that take  no pain to walk no effort, none at all
are oft the ones that easy take and lead our hearts astray
begin to kindle fickle flames that tomorrow die away

let not our hearts nor paws nor wings nor looks be knocked aside
but be we steady in the brotherhood and steady in our stride
steady in our dreams, and steady be in nights,
steady in our running, steady peering down from heights

the path is crooked, long and pained
but brother wolf, walk on
for if it's rained, return we not
all we walk is vain

so brother wolf, walk on . . .
also about loyalty and brotherhood, with personification as lost wolves/dragons
Alexis J Meighan Oct 2012
∞∞∞∞☆♥*♥☆∞∞∞∞

Walk
What a walk from north to south
A turn from words to actions
A place of cold friction to heat unforgiving

Walk
What a walk from up to down
A session of want to need
Dried trees to ocean breeze
And the smell of the sea

Walk
What a walk from here to there
Shining a smile from ear to ear
Signing the point on, like a hip to skin bare
A firefly on the wall, in control
Rough while finding its way to the inside of the home

Walk
Walk as the road leads
Walk to concede, then run
Run as it is tracked
Facade that allures like the exposed spine on a weak back
Tell it ok then embrace that place
Walk to your own pace

Alexis J. Meighan
Remembering the subtle joys of California
FIRST DAY

1.
Who wanted me
to go to Chicago
on January 6th?
I did!

The night before,
20 below zero
Fahrenheit
with the wind chill;
as the blizzard of 99
lay in mountains
of blackening snow.

I packed two coats,
two suits,
three sweaters,
multiple sets of long johns
and heavy white socks
for a two-day stay.

I left from Newark.
**** the denseness,
it confounds!

The 2nd City to whom?
2nd ain’t bad.
It’s pretty good.
If you consider
Peking and Prague,
Tokyo and Togo,
Manchester and Moscow,
Port Au Prince and Paris,
Athens and Amsterdam,
Buenos Aries and Johannesburg;
that’s pretty good.

What’s going on here today?
It’s friggin frozen.
To the bone!

But Chi Town is still cool.
Buddy Guy’s is open.
Bartenders mixing drinks,
cabbies jamming on their breaks,
honey dew waitresses serving sugar,
buildings swerving,
fire tongued preachers are preaching
and the farmers are measuring the moon.

The lake,
unlike Ontario
is in the midst of freezing.
Bones of ice
threaten to gel
into a solid mass
over the expanse
of the Michigan Lake.
If this keeps up,
you can walk
clear to Toronto
on a silver carpet.

Along the shore
the ice is permanent.
It’s the first big frost
of winter
after a long
Indian Summer.

Thank God
I caught a cab.
Outside I hear
The Hawk
nippin hard.
It’ll get your ear,
finger or toe.
Bite you on the nose too
if you ain’t careful.

Thank God,
I’m not walking
the Wabash tonight;
but if you do cover up,
wear layers.

Chicago,
could this be
Sandburg’s City?

I’m overwhelmed
and this is my tenth time here.

It’s almost better,
sometimes it is better,
a lot of times it is better
and denser then New York.

Ask any Bull’s fan.
I’m a Knickerbocker.
Yes Nueva York,
a city that has placed last
in the standings
for many years.
Except the last two.
Yanks are # 1!

But Chicago
is a dynasty,
as big as
Sammy Sosa’s heart,
rich and wide
as Michael Jordan’s grin.

Middle of a country,
center of a continent,
smack dab in the mean
of a hemisphere,
vortex to a world,
Chicago!

Kansas City,
Nashville,
St. Louis,
Detroit,
Cleveland,
Pittsburgh,
Denver,
New Orleans,
Dallas,
Cairo,
Singapore,
Auckland,
Baghdad,
Mexico City
and Montreal
salute her.



2.
Cities,
A collection of vanities?
Engineered complex utilitarianism?
The need for community a social necessity?
Ego one with the mass?
Civilization’s latest *******?
Chicago is more then that.

Jefferson’s yeoman farmer
is long gone
but this capitol
of the Great Plains
is still democratic.

The citizen’s of this city
would vote daily,
if they could.

Chicago,
Sandburg’s Chicago,
Could it be?

The namesake river
segments the city,
canals of commerce,
all perpendicular,
is rife throughout,
still guiding barges
to the Mississippi
and St. Laurence.

Now also
tourist attractions
for a cafe society.

Chicago is really jazzy,
swanky clubs,
big steaks,
juices and drinks.

You get the best
coffee from Seattle
and the finest teas
from China.

Great restaurants
serve liquid jazz
al la carte.

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they serve is Jazz
Rock me steady
Keep the beat
Keep it flowin
Feel the heat!

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they is, is Jazz
Fast cars will take ya
To the show
Round bout midnight
Where’d the time go?

Flows into the Mississippi,
the mother of America’s rivers,
an empires aorta.

Great Lakes wonder of water.
Niagara Falls
still her heart gushes forth.

Buffalo connected to this holy heart.
Finger Lakes and Adirondacks
are part of this watershed,
all the way down to the
Delaware and Chesapeake.

Sandburg’s Chicago?
Oh my my,
the wonder of him.
Who captured the imagination
of the wonders of rivers.

Down stream other holy cities
from the Mississippi delta
all mapped by him.

Its mouth our Dixie Trumpet
guarded by righteous Cajun brethren.

Midwest?
Midwest from where?
It’s north of Caracas and Los Angeles,
east of Fairbanks,
west of Dublin
and south of not much.

Him,
who spoke of honest men
and loving women.
Working men and mothers
bearing citizens to build a nation.
The New World’s
precocious adolescent
caught in a stream
of endless and exciting change,
much pain and sacrifice,
dedication and loss,
pride and tribulations.

From him we know
all the people’s faces.
All their stories are told.
Never defeating the
idea of Chicago.

Sandburg had the courage to say
what was in the heart of the people, who:

Defeated the Indians,
Mapped the terrain,
Aided slavers,
Fought a terrible civil war,
Hoisted the barges,
Grew the food,
Whacked the wheat,
Sang the songs,
Fought many wars of conquest,
Cleared the land,
Erected the bridges,
Trapped the game,
Netted the fish,
Mined the coal,
Forged the steel,
Laid the tracks,
Fired the tenders,
Cut the stone,
Mixed the mortar,
Plumbed the line,
And laid the bricks
Of this nation of cities!

Pardon the Marlboro Man shtick.
It’s a poor expostulation of
crass commercial symbolism.

Like I said, I’m a
Devil Fan from Jersey
and Madison Avenue
has done its work on me.

It’s a strange alchemy
that changes
a proud Nation of Blackhawks
into a merchandising bonanza
of hometown hockey shirts,
making the native seem alien,
and the interloper at home chillin out,
warming his feet atop a block of ice,
guzzling Old Style
with clicker in hand.

Give him his beer
and other diversions.
If he bowls with his buddy’s
on Tuesday night
I hope he bowls
a perfect game.

He’s earned it.
He works hard.
Hard work and faith
built this city.

And it’s not just the faith
that fills the cities
thousand churches,
temples and
mosques on the Sabbath.

3.
There is faith in everything in Chicago!

An alcoholic broker named Bill
lives the Twelve Steps
to banish fear and loathing
for one more day.
Bill believes in sobriety.

A tug captain named Moe
waits for the spring thaw
so he can get the barges up to Duluth.
Moe believes in the seasons.

A farmer named Tom
hopes he has reaped the last
of many bitter harvests.
Tom believes in a new start.

A homeless man named Earl
wills himself a cot and a hot
at the local shelter.
Earl believes in deliverance.

A Pullman porter
named George
works overtime
to get his first born
through medical school.
George believes in opportunity.

A folk singer named Woody
sings about his
countrymen inheritance
and implores them to take it.
Woody believes in people.

A Wobbly named Joe
organizes fellow steelworkers
to fight for a workers paradise
here on earth.
Joe believes in ideals.

A bookkeeper named Edith
is certain she’ll see the Cubs
win the World Series
in her lifetime.
Edith believes in miracles.

An electrician named ****
saves money
to bring his family over from Gdansk.
**** believes in America.

A banker named Leah
knows Ditka will return
and lead the Bears
to another Super Bowl.
Leah believes in nostalgia.

A cantor named Samuel
prays for another 20 years
so he can properly train
his Temple’s replacement.

Samuel believes in tradition.
A high school girl named Sally
refuses to get an abortion.
She knows she carries
something special within her.
Sally believes in life.

A city worker named Mazie
ceaselessly prays
for her incarcerated son
doing 10 years at Cook.
Mazie believes in redemption.

A jazzer named Bix
helps to invent a new art form
out of the mist.
Bix believes in creativity.

An architect named Frank
restores the Rookery.
Frank believes in space.

A soldier named Ike
fights wars for democracy.
Ike believes in peace.

A Rabbi named Jesse
sermonizes on Moses.
Jesse believes in liberation.

Somewhere in Chicago
a kid still believes in Shoeless Joe.
The kid believes in
the integrity of the game.

An Imam named Louis
is busy building a nation
within a nation.
Louis believes in
self-determination.

A teacher named Heidi
gives all she has to her students.
She has great expectations for them all.
Heidi believes in the future.

4.
Does Chicago have a future?

This city,
full of cowboys
and wildcatters
is predicated
on a future!

Bang, bang
Shoot em up
Stake the claim
It’s your terrain
Drill the hole
Strike it rich
Top it off
You’re the boss
Take a chance
Watch it wane
Try again
Heavenly gains

Chicago
city of futures
is a Holy Mecca
to all day traders.

Their skin is gray,
hair disheveled,
loud ties and
funny coats,
thumb through
slips of paper
held by nail
chewed hands.
Selling promises
with no derivative value
for out of the money calls
and in the money puts.
Strike is not a labor action
in this city of unionists,
but a speculators mark,
a capitalist wish,
a hedgers bet,
a public debt
and a farmers
fair return.

Indexes for everything.
Quantitative models
that could burst a kazoo.

You know the measure
of everything in Chicago.
But is it truly objective?
Have mathematics banished
subjective intentions,
routing it in fair practice
of market efficiencies,
a kind of scientific absolution?

I heard that there
is a dispute brewing
over the amount of snowfall
that fell on the 1st.

The mayor’s office,
using the official city ruler
measured 22”
of snow on the ground.

The National Weather Service
says it cannot detect more
then 17” of snow.

The mayor thinks
he’ll catch less heat
for the trains that don’t run
the buses that don’t arrive
and the schools that stand empty
with the addition of 5”.

The analysts say
it’s all about capturing liquidity.

Liquidity,
can you place a great lake
into an eyedropper?

Its 20 below
and all liquid things
are solid masses
or a gooey viscosity at best.

Water is frozen everywhere.
But Chi town is still liquid,
flowing faster
then the digital blips
flashing on the walls
of the CBOT.

Dreams
are never frozen in Chicago.
The exchanges trade
without missing a beat.

Trading wet dreams,
the crystallized vapor
of an IPO
pledging a billion points
of Internet access
or raiding the public treasuries
of a central bank’s
huge stores of gold
with currency swaps.

Using the tools
of butterfly spreads
and candlesticks
to achieve the goal.

Short the Russell
or buy the Dow,
go long the
CAC and DAX.
Are you trading in euro’s?
You better be
or soon will.
I know
you’re Chicago,
you’ll trade anything.
WEBS,
Spiders,
and Leaps
are traded here,
along with sweet crude,
North Sea Brent,
plywood and T-Bill futures;
and most importantly
the commodities,
the loam
that formed this city
of broad shoulders.

What about our wheat?
Still whacking and
breadbasket to the world.

Oil,
an important fossil fuel
denominated in
good ole greenbacks.

Porkbellies,
not just hogwash
on the Wabash,
but bacon, eggs
and flapjacks
are on the menu
of every diner in Jersey
as the “All American.”

Cotton,
our contribution
to the Golden Triangle,
once the global currency
used to enrich a
gentlemen class
of cultured
southern slavers,
now Tommy Hilfiger’s
preferred fabric.

I think he sends it
to Bangkok where
child slaves
spin it into
gold lame'.

Sorghum,
I think its hardy.

Soybeans,
the new age substitute
for hamburger
goes great with tofu lasagna.

Corn,
ADM creates ethanol,
they want us to drive cleaner cars.

Cattle,
once driven into this city’s
bloodhouses for slaughter,
now ground into
a billion Big Macs
every year.

When does a seed
become a commodity?
When does a commodity
become a future?
When does a future expire?

You can find the answers
to these questions in Chicago
and find a fortune in a hole in the floor.

Look down into the pits.
Hear the screams of anguish
and profitable delights.

Frenzied men
swarming like a mass
of epileptic ants
atop the worlds largest sugar cube
auger the worlds free markets.

The scene is
more chaotic then
100 Haymarket Square Riots
multiplied by 100
1968 Democratic Conventions.

Amidst inverted anthills,
they scurry forth and to
in distinguished
black and red coats.

Fighting each other
as counterparties
to a life and death transaction.

This is an efficient market
that crosses the globe.

Oil from the Sultan of Brunei,
Yen from the land of Hitachi,
Long Bonds from the Fed,
nickel from Quebec,
platinum and palladium
from Siberia,
FTSE’s from London
and crewel cane from Havana
circle these pits.

Tijuana,
Shanghai
and Istanbul's
best traders
are only half as good
as the average trader in Chicago.

Chicago,
this hog butcher to the world,
specializes in packaging and distribution.

Men in blood soaked smocks,
still count the heads
entering the gates of the city.

Their handiwork
is sent out on barges
and rail lines as frozen packages
of futures
waiting for delivery
to an anonymous counterparty
half a world away.

This nation’s hub
has grown into the
premier purveyor
to the world;
along all the rivers,
highways,
railways
and estuaries
it’s tentacles reach.

5.
Sandburg’s Chicago,
is a city of the world’s people.

Many striver rows compose
its many neighborhoods.

Nordic stoicism,
Eastern European orthodoxy
and Afro-American
calypso vibrations
are three of many cords
strumming the strings
of Chicago.

Sandburg’s Chicago,
if you wrote forever
you would only scratch its surface.

People wait for trains
to enter the city from O’Hare.
Frozen tears
lock their eyes
onto distant skyscrapers,
solid chunks
of snot blocks their nose
and green icicles of slime
crust mustaches.
They fight to breathe.

Sandburg’s Chicago
is The Land of Lincoln,
Savior of the Union,
protector of the Republic.
Sent armies
of sons and daughters,
barges, boxcars,
gunboats, foodstuffs,
cannon and shot
to raze the south
and stamp out succession.

Old Abe’s biography
are still unknown volumes to me.
I must see and read the great words.
You can never learn enough;
but I’ve been to Washington
and seen the man’s memorial.
The Free World’s 8th wonder,
guarded by General Grant,
who still keeps an eye on Richmond
and a hand on his sword.

Through this American winter
Abe ponders.
The vista he surveys is dire and tragic.

Our sitting President
impeached
for lying about a *******.

Party partisans
in the senate are sworn and seated.
Our Chief Justice,
adorned with golden bars
will adjudicate the proceedings.
It is the perfect counterpoint
to an ageless Abe thinking
with malice toward none
and charity towards all,
will heal the wounds
of the nation.

Abe our granite angel,
Chicago goes on,
The Union is strong!


SECOND DAY

1.
Out my window
the sun has risen.

According to
the local forecast
its minus 9
going up to
6 today.

The lake,
a golden pillow of clouds
is frozen in time.

I marvel
at the ancients ones
resourcefulness
and how
they mastered
these extreme elements.

Past, present and future
has no meaning
in the Citadel
of the Prairie today.

I set my watch
to Central Standard Time.

Stepping into
the hotel lobby
the concierge
with oil smooth hair,
perfect tie
and English lilt
impeccably asks,
“Do you know where you are going Sir?
Can I give you a map?”

He hands me one of Chicago.
I see he recently had his nails done.
He paints a green line
along Whacker Drive and says,
“turn on Jackson, LaSalle, Wabash or Madison
and you’ll get to where you want to go.”
A walk of 14 or 15 blocks from Streeterville-
(I start at The Chicago White House.
They call it that because Hillary Rodham
stays here when she’s in town.
Its’ also alleged that Stedman
eats his breakfast here
but Opra
has never been seen
on the premises.
I wonder how I gained entry
into this place of elite’s?)
-down into the center of The Loop.

Stepping out of the hotel,
The Doorman
sporting the epaulets of a colonel
on his corporate winter coat
and furry Cossack hat
swaddling his round black face
accosts me.

The skin of his face
is flaking from
the subzero windburn.

He asks me
with a gapped toothy grin,
“Can I get you a cab?”
“No I think I’ll walk,” I answer.
“Good woolen hat,
thick gloves you should be alright.”
He winks and lets me pass.

I step outside.
The Windy City
flings stabbing cold spears
flying on wings of 30-mph gusts.
My outside hardens.
I can feel the freeze
deepen
into my internalness.
I can’t be sure
but inside
my heart still feels warm.
For how long
I cannot say.

I commence
my walk
among the spires
of this great city,
the vertical leaps
that anchor the great lake,
holding its place
against the historic
frigid assault.

The buildings’ sway,
modulating to the blows
of natures wicked blasts.

It’s a hard imposition
on a city and its people.

The gloves,
skullcap,
long underwear,
sweater,
jacket
and overcoat
not enough
to keep the cold
from penetrating
the person.

Like discerning
the layers of this city,
even many layers,
still not enough
to understand
the depth of meaning
of the heart
of this heartland city.

Sandburg knew the city well.
Set amidst groves of suburbs
that extend outward in every direction.
Concentric circles
surround the city.
After the burbs come farms,
Great Plains, and mountains.
Appalachians and Rockies
are but mere molehills
in the city’s back yard.
It’s terra firma
stops only at the sea.
Pt. Barrow to the Horn,
many capes extended.

On the periphery
its appendages,
its extremities,
its outward extremes.
All connected by the idea,
blown by the incessant wind
of this great nation.
The Windy City’s message
is sent to the world’s four corners.
It is a message of power.
English the worlds
common language
is spoken here,
along with Ebonics,
Espanol,
Mandarin,
Czech,
Russian,
Korean,
Arabic,
Hindi­,
German,
French,
electronics,
steel,
cars,
cartoons,
rap,
sports­,
movies,
capital,
wheat
and more.

Always more.
Much much more
in Chicago.

2.
Sandburg
spoke all the dialects.

He heard them all,
he understood
with great precision
to the finest tolerances
of a lathe workers micrometer.

Sandburg understood
what it meant to laugh
and be happy.

He understood
the working mans day,
the learned treatises
of university chairs,
the endless tomes
of the city’s
great libraries,
the lost languages
of the ancient ones,
the secret codes
of abstract art,
the impact of architecture,
the street dialects and idioms
of everymans expression of life.

All fighting for life,
trying to build a life,
a new life
in this modern world.

Walking across
the Michigan Avenue Bridge
I see the Wrigley Building
is neatly carved,
catty cornered on the plaza.

I wonder if Old Man Wrigley
watched his barges
loaded with spearmint
and double-mint
move out onto the lake
from one of those Gothic windows
perched high above the street.

Would he open a window
and shout to the men below
to quit slaking and work harder
or would he
between the snapping sound
he made with his mouth
full of his chewing gum
offer them tickets
to a ballgame at Wrigley Field
that afternoon?

Would the men below
be able to understand
the man communing
from such a great height?

I listen to a man
and woman conversing.
They are one step behind me
as we meander along Wacker Drive.

"You are in Chicago now.”
The man states with profundity.
“If I let you go
you will soon find your level
in this city.
Do you know what I mean?”

No I don’t.
I think to myself.
What level are you I wonder?
Are you perched atop
the transmission spire
of the Hancock Tower?

I wouldn’t think so
or your ears would melt
from the windburn.

I’m thinking.
Is she a kept woman?
She is majestically clothed
in fur hat and coat.
In animal pelts
not trapped like her,
but slaughtered
from farms
I’m sure.

What level
is he speaking of?

Many levels
are evident in this city;
many layers of cobbled stone,
Pennsylvania iron,
Hoosier Granite
and vertical drops.

I wonder
if I detect
condensation
in his voice?

What is
his intention?
Is it a warning
of a broken affair?
A pending pink slip?
Advise to an addict
refusing to adhere
to a recovery regimen?

What is his level anyway?
Is he so high and mighty,
Higher and mightier
then this great city
which we are all a part of,
which we all helped to build,
which we all need
in order to keep this nation
the thriving democratic
empire it is?

This seditious talk!

3.
The Loop’s El
still courses through
the main thoroughfares of the city.

People are transported
above the din of the street,
looking down
on the common pedestrians
like me.

Super CEO’s
populating the upper floors
of Romanesque,
Greek Revivalist,
New Bauhaus,
Art Deco
and Post Nouveau
Neo-Modern
Avant-Garde towers
are too far up
to see me
shivering on the street.

The cars, busses,
trains and trucks
are all covered
with the film
of rock salt.

Salt covers
my bootless feet
and smudges
my cloths as well.

The salt,
the primal element
of the earth
covers everything
in Chicago.

It is the true level
of this city.

The layer
beneath
all layers,
on which
everything
rests,
is built,
grows,
thrives
then dies.
To be
returned again
to the lower
layers
where it can
take root
again
and grow
out onto
the great plains.

Splashing
the nation,
anointing
its people
with its
blessing.

A blessing,
Chicago?

All rivers
come here.

All things
found its way here
through the canals
and back bays
of the world’s
greatest lakes.

All roads,
rails and
air routes
begin and
end here.

Mrs. O’Leary’s cow
got a *** rap.
It did not start the fire,
we did.

We lit the torch
that flamed
the city to cinders.
From a pile of ash
Chicago rose again.

Forever Chicago!
Forever the lamp
that burns bright
on a Great Lake’s
western shore!

Chicago
the beacon
sends the
message to the world
with its windy blasts,
on chugging barges,
clapping trains,
flying tandems,
T1 circuits
and roaring jets.

Sandburg knew
a Chicago
I will never know.

He knew
the rhythm of life
the people walked to.
The tools they used,
the dreams they dreamed
the songs they sang,
the things they built,
the things they loved,
the pains that hurt,
the motives that grew,
the actions that destroyed
the prayers they prayed,
the food they ate
their moments of death.

Sandburg knew
the layers of the city
to the depths
and windy heights
I cannot fathom.

The Blues
came to this city,
on the wing
of a chirping bird,
on the taps
of a rickety train,
on the blast
of an angry sax
rushing on the wind,
on the Westend blitz
of Pop's brash coronet,
on the tink of
a twinkling piano
on a paddle-wheel boat
and on the strings
of a lonely man’s guitar.

Walk into the clubs,
tenements,
row houses,
speakeasies
and you’ll hear the Blues
whispered like
a quiet prayer.

Tidewater Blues
from Virginia,
Delta Blues
from the lower
Mississippi,
Boogie Woogie
from Appalachia,
Texas Blues
from some Lone Star,
Big Band Blues
from Kansas City,
Blues from
Beal Street,
Jelly Roll’s Blues
from the Latin Quarter.

Hell even Chicago
got its own brand
of Blues.

Its all here.
It ended up here
and was sent away
on the winds of westerly blows
to the ear of an eager world
on strong jet streams
of simple melodies
and hard truths.

A broad
shouldered woman,
a single mother stands
on the street
with three crying babes.
Their cloths
are covered
in salt.
She pleads
for a break,
praying
for a new start.
Poor and
under-clothed
against the torrent
of frigid weather
she begs for help.
Her blond hair
and ****** features
suggests her
Scandinavian heritage.
I wonder if
she is related to Sandburg
as I walk past
her on the street.
Her feet
are bleeding
through her
canvass sneakers.
Her babes mouths
are zipped shut
with frozen drivel
and mucous.

The Blues live
on in Chicago.

The Blues
will forever live in her.
As I turn the corner
to walk the Miracle Mile
I see her engulfed
in a funnel cloud of salt,
snow and bits
of white paper,
swirling around her
and her children
in an angry
unforgiving
maelstrom.

The family
begins to
dissolve
like a snail
sprinkled with salt;
and a mother
and her children
just disappear
into the pavement
at the corner
of Dearborn,
in Chicago.

Music:

Robert Johnson
Sweet Home Chicago


jbm
Chicago
1/7/99
Added today to commemorate the birthday of Carl Sandburg
Evelyn Genao Mar 2018
The ones who walk away
Are the ones who don’t care,
They can’t be bothered to do so.

The ones who walk away
Understand pain and suffering,
They can’t see it happen again.

The ones who walk away
Are filled with regret and hate,
For they to have been thrown away.

The ones who walk away,
With tears down their face,
Leaving everything they love behind.

The ones who walk away
Found a purpose to move on,
They can’t let it slip away.

The ones who walk away
Are strong with their head held high,
As they don’t need to beg for love.

The ones who walk away
Have given up trying,
No longer able to tolerate it anymore.

The ones who walk away
Realized what others didn’t,
And set themselves free.

The ones who walk away
Fast and quick,
Never planned on staying.

I am one who walks away,
You are one who walks away,
We are the ones who walk away.

They are the ones that stay behind,
Watching us as we leave,
For they forgot that to make us stay
They need to chase after us.
The ideas for this poem came to me when I was in English class. We were reading "the ones who walk away from omelas" and it just came to me. I hope you love it and be sure to comment what you think!
Polar Apr 2016
When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver
Song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind

Walk on through the rain

Though your dreams
Be tossed and blown.

Walk on
Walk on

With hope in your hearts

I And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone.

Walk on
Walk on



By Gerry And The Pacemakers
In memory of the 96
RebelJohnny Jul 2014
The men shout at me as they drive by
“******, walk like a man!”
They hoot, shout, and laugh
As sunlight blinds their white-trash getaway.

I look around and think
How ridiculous to be unable to walk
How insane for me to think that these legs
Move on their own.
How silly for me, the queen that I am,
To think that my kingdom was
Any place I was welcome.

To be queer and visible
Is to challenge
The stained muscle shirts
“wife beaters,” strung across
Tattooed skin and handlebar
Mustaches of the “real men”
Whose siren calls
Police my step.

Most men hate us
The Children of Naomi Campbell
Men, YES MEN, too unafraid
To straighten our walk
Loosen our pant legs
And be invisible.

To be properly gay
Acceptably gay, to be
Tolerable is to be invisible
To hide, to be “real man”

My manhood is ghostly
Terrifying even
My walk so dangerous that
It is unsafe to even drive by

My community is still
Dangerous, unreal
Waiting for the next truck to drive by
To beat me, tie me to a fence and leave me
Like Matthew Shepard
A ghost on a fencepole

Unwanted, dangerous,
My people are a threat
Legs too long threatening the ability of
“real men” to have simple desires
They will do whatever it takes
To keep it easy.

Walk like a man, they yelled.
I yell back the names of my family:
Tiffany Edwards,
Zoraida Reyes, Kandy Hall
Yaz’min Shancez

Bodies that didn’t walk the right way
These ghosts were once threatening too.
Simply existing means threatening
"real men" and their women

Swinging my hips is literally deadly
To be flirtatious is to be threatening
To invite violence, attention
To get what I want, to be made a man

Real man, I am not real
As if my only job is to
Show others how to walk,
As if the rest of me
Is simply fake, fantasy, irrelevant

See how easily queer people
Are watered down to something unidimensional,
Something that is only a fragment of
“real” people – we are ghosts
Moving among you

Threatening, ******
Never just going to work
But always somehow
threatening, challenging
And forcing fantasies onto the world

Why do we always challenge
What is real? What is normal?
Why can’t a man strut? Why isn’t manhood
Something other than what swings with my
Legs?

Real. Ghostly. Fake. Invisible. Dangerous.
What I hear is powerful, noted, interesting,
….maybe even desirable.
(GASP!)

When I walk now, I walk with an army of ghosts
Led by the fallen, queens, and divas
who threatened the men of the past.
I live their lessons and proudly
swish my hips in honor of my adopted
****** ancestors.

We Sashay however we want
Because we've realized that
a "real" men is always
Just a step away.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
It’s New Years
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s Valentine’s Day
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s Easter
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s Mother’s Day
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s Canada day
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s labour day
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s thanksgiving
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world


It’s Halloween
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s rememberance day
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world

It’s Christmas
And I walk the streets
Longing for my love
From another life
Like a ghost
To the world
Devin Lawrence Apr 2016
Whether the rain pours,
hail falls,
and mud seeps inside my shoes,
I always walk.

Whether there's a better,
easier way
to reach where I'm trying to go,
I always walk.

Whether there are hands extended
or faceless shame,
ever since the age of three
I always walk.

Whether you care,
whether the wind is at my back,
I've never been carried,
I always walk.

Even when my mother cries,
even if my father dies,
if my children are my own,
they will walk
close behind.

Whether love
or pollen
pollutes the air
and my red eyes can no longer see,
I will always walk.

Whether the song I sing
is one that you know,
or one that you don't care to hear,
I always walk.

Cars go rushing by,
people pass in silence.
Like the potholes you swerve to avoid,
I persist.

I fell once;
I crawled and begged for a hand,
but I was held down and convinced
I would never walk again.



Then I stood;
On that day,
with vindication in the breath I exhaled,
I swore to always walk -
and even God took note.
Frank DeRose Oct 2015
Walk beneath the trees my child,
Where pine needles lie underfoot.
Walk beneath the trees my child,
And seek the softer ground.

Walk beneath the trees my child,
And tread lightly the worn path.
Walk beneath the trees my child,
And listen to the earth.
Hear the branches snap,
The birds chirp,
And your own breath--
Loud.

Walk beneath the trees my child,
And learn the secrets of the earth;
Hear her tell life's vibrant tales,
In vivid shades of life.

Walk beneath the trees my child,
And quiet thine mind.
"Loud thoughts need not always be thought,"
Whisper the willows.
Listen well (my child).

Walk beneath the trees my child,
Below their lofty boughs.
Seek the shaded shelter deep and sound,
Find the peace within.

Walk beneath the trees my child,
And become one with the earth.
Walk beneath the trees my child,
And learn your inner worth.
Feedback is appreciated
PK Wakefield Aug 2013
FIRST:


i could say i have lived

(i have lived
and i could say)i have


SECOND:

i am myself(i am not myself).

i walk.
i walk and i am not myself.

i walk and the world becomes around me;
becomes neat around me (i walk).

each leaf of me parts. i am myself. i am not myself.



THIRD:

A boy.

A boy is me (i walk).

A boy is me i walk and each leaf of me parts becoming.

Parts becoming and leaves.

each instant less, and more.
each instant less and more.

each instant.



FOURTH:

i walk and by the way do you know me?

do you know me(?) and by the way i am boy.


i walk each breath of me parts the world becomes me around neatly it does part around me each breath and i walk.





FIFTH:

i walk. and do you know me?


i walk (and do you know me?)



i walk.
Mitchell Duran Nov 2013
It was 98'.
No, it was 99'.
That was the year.
Yeah, that was the year.

I had just landed abroad and knew no one.
Well, I was there with my girlfriend, Page.

I knew her.

We had to get out of the states.
There was nothing for us there.
We were drowning in that nothingness - that lacking future.

Cookie cutters everywhere.

Everything I saw was like an outline of something that had already happened.
I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't ****.
I could barely call my parents to let them know what I was doing.

Nothing really.

Floating downward like a leaf broken from its stem.
I was scared.
I'll admit it.
I was terrified of the next four years.
Twenty-five seemed so far away and so close, all at the same time.

We had a found an apartment to live in while in the U.S.
We were lucky because people we met later on said it was hell trying to find a place after arriving.
I was never too good at that stuff anyway.
I always felt like people were trying to cheat me or something.

It was small.
You would have said you loved it, but secretly hated it.
One could barely stand in the shower.
Want to spread your arms wide?

Forget about it.

There was a balcony though and you could watch the street traffic from above.
People look so small when your high up.
Down the street, there was a large theatre where they filmed movies.
I rarely saw them shooting, but I could tell it was a good place to.
It was beautiful at night when the lampposts would flicker on, orange spilling on the street.
Everything was damp in the Fall when we first arrived.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked her. She was laying face down on the bed.
Whenever she was hungover, she would do that.
All the covers and pillows over her face, blocking out the world and its light.
I did the same thing, so I couldn't really say much.
We were hungover a lot those first couple months.
Then came the jobs and everything changed...mostly.

She moaned something that I couldn't understand.
I was standing by the window, staring at the pigeons and crows perched on the roof across from us.
They had made a little nest under one of the shingles.
Clever little ******'s.

"Look at those things," I said.
The coffee I was drinking was bitter and made from crystals.
It gave me a headache, but it was cheap and we were broke.
I stepped back to get a better look at their nest and knocked an empty beer bottle around.

She moaned again and rose up from bed, kind of like a stretching kitten or a cat.
Her back was arched like a crescent moon and she stunk of ***** and Sprite.
The blankets were twisted and crumpled and she was tangled in them like a fly in a spiders web.
I went into the kitchen and poured out my coffee, thinking of what to do with the day.

"Breakfast?" she asked me from bed.
My back was to her, but I knew she wanted me to make it.
I put the electric stove on and opened the refrigerator.

"No eggs," I said back to her, "I'll be right back."

She moaned and slithered back into bed.
I threw my jacket and slippers on and made my way downstairs.

"Dobry den," I said to the cashier.
He was a tiny vietnamese man with a extremely high pitched voice.
I struggled to stifle a laugh every time I came in.

"Dobry den," he said back, sounding like air escaping from a balloon.

"Dear God," I thought, "How does his voice box do it?"

I went straight to the eggs, pretending to cough.
All around me were packaged sweets and rotten vegetables and fruit.
There were half loaves of brown, stale bread wrapped lazily in thin plastic.
Canned beans, noodle packets, and cardboard infused orange juice lined the shelves.
Where were the ******* eggs?
We needed milk too.
Trying to drink that crystalized coffee without it was torture.
I don't even know how I did it earlier.
"I must be getting used to the taste..." I thought.

I opened the single refrigerator they had in the place.
It was stocked with loosely packaged cheese, milk, beer, and soda.
There they were, those ******* eggs, right next to the yogurt.
I looked at the expiration date of a small carton of chocolate milk and winced.
"Someone could die here if they weren't careful," I whispered to myself.

"Everyding O.K.?" I heard the cashier squeak behind me.
I turned and nodded and showed him the eggs.
He was suspicious I was stealing something.
It was ironic.
I put the eggs on the counter and handed over what the cash register told me.

"There you go," I said and handed him the 58 crown in exact change.

"Děkuji," he peeped.

His voice sounded like a stuffed animal.
I nodded, smiled, and quickly got the hell out of there.

"You know the guy that works at the shop across the street?" I asked the body still in bed.
Well, she was up now, back up against the wall with her laptop on her lap.
"You mean the guy that has the voice of a little girl?"
"Exactly. I was just in there - getting these eggs - and I nearly laughed in his face."
"That's mean," she frowned, staring at her laptop.
Many of our conversations were with some kind of electronic device in between us.
We needed to work on that.
"I didn't laugh at him directly."
She smiled and nodded and moved down the bed a little more.
Only her head was resting on the pillow.
I cracked two eggs and let them sizzle there in the butter and the salt.

"So, what do you want to do today?" I asked Page, "It's not too cold out. We could go on a walk."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Over the bridge and maybe down by the water."
"It's going to be so cold," she shivered.
"I was just out there in slippers and a t-shirt and I was fine."
"That's because you're so big. I'm tiny. I don't get as much blood flow."

I flipped the two eggs and looked down at them.
Golden and burnt slightly around the edges.
******* perfect.
Now, just gotta wait a little on the other side and make sure to not let the yolk harden.
I hated that more than anything in the world.
Well, that and hearing **** poor excuses like it being too cold.
It was nice out.
She'd be fine.

"Come on," I sighed. I did that a lot. "It'll be fun."
She looked up at me from her computer with a dead look in her eye.
"What?" I asked her.
"You're such a...nerd," she said.
"No I'm not."
"You're so weird. Some of the things you say sometimes..."
"Like what?"
"Let's go on a walk."
She exaggerated the word walk.
I laughed and knew I was being a little too excited about a walk.
"Yeah. So? What are you doing? You're just laying there doing nothing."
"It's my day off," she scoffed, jokingly.

We were unemployed.
Everyday was a day off.
This was not something to bring up.
It was touchy subject.
One had to go about it...delicately.

"We need to find jobs," I stated, "And we can probably ask around or look for signs in windows."

"Oh JESUS," she gagged, coughing and diving back under the covers.

"I'm just thinking ahead so we can stay here. There's got to be something out there we can do."

"Like what?" she asked, her voice muffled by blankets.

"I don't know...something," I mumbled, trailing off as I flipped one of the eggs, "Perfect."

After breakfast, Page finally got out of bed and took a shower.
I tried to sneak in there with her, but, like I said before, one could barely fit themselves in there.
We compromised to have *** on the bed, though I did miss doing it in the shower.
As Page got dressed, I watched her slip those thin black stockings on, half reading a magazine.
I had gotten a subscription to The Review because I was trying to become a writer.
I thought, maybe if I read the stuff getting published - even the bad **** - it'll help.
Later, I realized, this was a terrible idea, but I enjoyed the magazine all the same.
Page finished getting dressed.
I jumped into whatever clothes were on the floor and didn't stink.
Then, we were out the door on Anna Letenske street, looking at the tram, downhill.


"I can see my breath," Page said, "It's cold..."

"Alright," I said as both of us ran across the street, "It's a little cold."

"But it's ok because I'm glad were out of the house."

"If we would have festered there any longer, we would have stayed in there all day."

"And missed this beautiful day," she said mocking me, putting both of her arms in the air.

The sky was gray and overcast and a single black crow flew over us, roof to roof.
No one was out, really.
It was Sunday and no one ever really came out on Sundays.
From the few czech friends I had, they explained to me this was the day to get drunk and cook.

"Far different then what people think in the States to do," I remember telling him.
"What do you do, my friend?" he had asked. He always called me my friend.
It was a nice thing to do since we had only known each other a couple weeks.
"Well," I explained to him, "Some people go to church to pray to God."
He laughed when I said this and said, "HA! God? How many people believe in God there?"
I had heard through the news and some Wikipedia research Prague was mostly atheist.
"A good amount, I'm pretty sure."
"That's silly," he scoffed, "Silly is word, right?"
"Yep. A word as any other."
"I like that word. What else do they do on Sunday?"
"A lot of people watch football. Not like soccer but with..."
"I know what you talk about," he said, cutting me off, "With the ball shaped like egg?"
I nodded, "Yes, the one with the egg shaped ball. It's popular in the Fall on Sundays."
"And what is Fall?" he asked.
You can see our relationship was really based on questions and answers.
He was a good guy, though I could never pronounce his name right.
There was a specific z in there somewhere where one had to dig their tongue under their teeth.
Lots of breath and vibration that Americans were never asked or trained to do.
Every czech I met said our language was a high contradiction.
Extremely complex in grammar and spelling, but spoken with such sloth.
I don't know if they used the word sloth.
I just like the word.

As we waited for the tram, I noticed the burnt orange and red blood leaves on the ground.
"Where had they come from?" I wondered. There were no trees on the street.
Must be from the park down the block, the one with the big church and the square.
There were lines of trees there used as leaning posts for the bums and junkies as they waited.
What they were waiting for, I never knew.
They just looked to be waiting for something.
I kicked a leaf into the street from the small island platform for the tram.
It swept up into the air a couple inches, and then instantly, was swept away by a passing car.
I watched as it wavered in the air, settling down the block in the middle of the road.

"Where's this trammm," Page complained.
Whenever it was cold out, her complaining level multiplied by a million.
"Should be coming soon. Check the schedule."
"Too cold," she said, "Need to keep my hands in my pockets."
I shook my head and looked at the schedule. It said it would be there at 11:35.
"11:35," I told her, still looking at the schedule. There was a strange cross over the day of Sunday.
"You mad?"
"No," I said turning to her, "I just want to have a nice day and its hard when you're upset."
"I'm not upset," she said, her teeth chattering behind her lips.
"Complaining I mean. We can go back home if it's really too cold. It's right there."
"No," she looked down, "Let's go out for a bit. I just don't know how long I'll last."
"Ok," I shrugged.
I looked up the street and saw our tram coming; number 11.
"There it is," I said.
"Thank God," Page exhaled, "I feel like I'm about to die."

Even the tram was sparse with people.
An empty handle of cheap liquor rattled in the back somewhere.
I heard it rock back and forth against the legs of a metal seat.
"Someone had a night last night," I thought, "Hope that's not mine."
We had gone to some dark bar with a lot of stairs going down - all I really recall.
Beer was so **** cheap there and there was always so much of it, one got very drunk easily.
I couldn't even really remember who we met or why we went there.
When everything's a blur in the morning you have two choices:
Feel guilty about how much you drank, lie around, and do nothing or,
Leave it be, try not to think about it, and try and find your passport and cell phone.

We made our transfer at the 22 and rode downhill.
Page looked like she was going to be sick.
Her sunglasses were solid black and I couldn't see her eyes, but her face was flushed and green.
"You alright?" I asked her.
"I'm fine," she said, "Just need to get off of this tram. Feel like I'm going to be sick."
"You look it."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, a little bit."
"Let's get off at the park with the fountain. I don't want to puke here."
"Ok," I said, smiling, "We'll get off after this stop."

We sat down on one of the benches that circled around the fountain.
It was empty and Page was confused why.
"Maybe to save money?" I suggested.
"What? It's just water."
"Well, you gotta' pump the water up there and then filter it back out. Costs money."
"Costs crown," she corrected me.
"Same thing," I said, putting my arm around her, "There's no one here today."
"I know why," she stated, flatly.
"Why?"
"Because it's collllllllld and it's Sunday and only foreigner's would go out on a day like this."
I scanned the park and noticed that most of the faces there were probably not Czech.
"****," I muttered, "You may be right."
"I know I am," she said, wiggling her chin down into her jacket, "We're...crzzzy."
"We're what?" I asked. I couldn't hear her through her jacket.
She just shook her head back and forth and looked forward, not wanting to move from the warmth.
Dogs were scattered around the brown green grass with their owners.
Some were playing catch with sticks or *****, but others were just following behind their owner's.
I watched as one took a crap in the center of the walkway near the street.
Its owner was typing something on their phone, ignoring what was happening in front of him.
After the dog finished, the owner looked down at the crap, looked around, then slunk off.

"Did you see that?" I asked Page, pointing to where the owner had left the mess.
"Yeah," she nodded, "So gross. That would never fly in the states."
"You'd get shoulder tackled by some park security guard and thrown in jail."
"And be given a fat ticket," she said, coughing a little, "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah," I agreed, "And watch for any **** on the way out of here."

We made our way out of the park and down the street where the 22 continues on to the center.
"Let's not go into the center. Let's walk along the water's edge and maybe up to the bridge."
"Ok," I said, "That's a good idea." I didn't want to get stuck in that mass of tourists.
I could tell Page didn't either. I think she was afraid she might puke on a huddle of them.
We turned down a side street before the large grocery store and avoided a herd of people.
The cobble stones were wet and slick, glistening from a small sliver of sunlight through the clouds.
Page walked ahead.
Sometimes, when we walked downtown in the older parts of Prague, we would walk alone.
Not because we were fighting or anything like that; it was all very natural.
I would walk ahead because I saw something and she would either come with or not.
She would do the same and we both knew that we wouldn't go too far without the other.
I think we both knew that we would be back after seeing what we had wanted to see.
One could call it trust - one could call it a lot of things - but this was not really spoken about.
We knew we would be back after some time and had seen what we had wanted to.
Thinking about this, I watched her look up at the peeling paint of the old buildings.
Her thick black hair waved back and forth behind her plum colored pea coat.
Page would usually bring a camera and take pictures of these things, but she had forgotten it.
I wished she hadn't.
It was turning out to be such a beautiful day.

We made it to the Vlatva river and leaned over the railing, looking down at the water.
Floating there were empty beer bottles and plastic soda jugs.
The water was brown, murky, and looked like someone had dumped a large bag of dirt in there.
There was nothing very romantic about it, which one would think if you saw it in a picture.
"The water looks disgusting," Page said.
"That it does, but look at the bridge. It looks pretty good right
clever Mar 2018
I'm going to walk out. Not as a protest. Not as a rebellion. I believe in faith. I believe in light. I believe that when lives are lost, they deserve to be remembered. And by walking out, I might be doing something insignificant, something that isn't important to anyone else, something that won't make an impact on the world. But, the important thing is that I'm doing something. Something to show respect and to honor the lives drowned in the hate of this nation. Walk out for lives lost, for families ruined, for schools torn apart, for the hate within, for the light buried deep. Walk out. Walk out. Walk out and show what you stand for. Walk out. Walk out. Walk out. Stand up. Walk out.
Toni Seychelle Feb 2013
The ground beneath the stiff leaves is frozen. The cold, brisk air invades my lungs, I exhale, my breath visible. I step over fallen branches and tugged by thorny vines. A red tail hawk screeches overhead, this is a sign of good luck. There is no path, no trail to mark our way, just an old, flat railroad bed surrounded by walls of shale, blown up for the path of the train so long ago. The only ties to remind of the rail are the rotting, moss covered ties that once were a part of a bridge that would have carried the train over a small creek between two steep hills. I see a fox burrow, and it's escape hatch is one of the hollowed railroad ties. I want to be a fox... The trek down this hill is not easy, thorny blackberry bushes and fallen trees impede progress. At the bottom, the small, bubbly creek is frozen at the edges, traveling under rocks and continuing its ancient path. I look up the hill that I just descended, and wonder how the return will go. Keep moving. The next hill will be easier, there are no thorny tangles, just treacherous leaf litter that will give under my feet if I don't find the right footing. The trick is to dig my boots into the ground as if I'm on steps. These hills are steep. Finally at the top, I look back at this little spring valley, I'm not that high up, but what view. Here, there is a dilapidated tree stand, falling apart from years of neglect and weather. Surrounded by deep leaf litter, there is a patch of rich dark earth, a buck has marked his spot, his round pellets are nearby. The saplings catch my hair as I walk by, and at these moments I am thankful for this cold snap that took care of the ticks. A creepy feeling takes over me, so thankful for this snap. A few feet further, as I watch where I am walking, another tussled bit of earth and I notice some interesting ****. It's furry and light grey; I poke it with my stick and find a small skull when I turn a piece over. Owl. I continue my walk, I didn't come here to play with poo. The last time I took this hike was three years ago, on a similar frigid day. It was a lot easier to make it through the shale valleys. Last summer, a wind storm felled trees and took out power for two weeks. The evidence of that derecho is clear here in this untouched forest. I remembered a tree, which now is a fallen giant, that had lost it's bark. The bark had separated and laid around this tree like a woman's skirt around her ankles. Now the tree lies with it's bark. I pass another tree I recognize whose branch extends out but zig zags up and down, as if it had three elbows. The tree signifies my next move, to descend from the flat railroad bed, down to a creek that flows through the tunnel that would have carried the train. The creek is considerably larger than the last creek I could step across. Descending towards the creek leads me over moss covered rocks and limbs, still bearing snow. Outside the tunnel, the hill walls are large stones, covered in a thick layer of moss, some of which has started to fall off due to heaviness. There's a sort of ice shelf in the creek, it's three layers thick and can support my one hundred and twenty pounds. Laying across the creek is another derecho-felled tree. Some sort of critter has crawled on this, using it to avoid the water below and as a short cut up the hill. His claw marks are covering the the limb, a few are more clear, it looks as if the creature almost slipped off. His claw marks show a desperate cling. I walk through the tunnel, in the mud and water; the creek echoes inside. I look above. There are drainage holes lining the ceiling, one is clogged by a giant icicle. I imagine the train that used to ride over this tunnel, I pretend to hear it and feel the rumbling. The last time we were here, we found cow skeletons. We placed a few heads on branches and one over the tunnel. We stuck a jaw, complete with herbivore teeth, into the mossy wall and a hip bone on a sapling. The hip bone reminded us of Predator's mask in the movie. All these bones are turning green. When I was here before, there was a bone half submerged in the creek; I had taken a picture of it but today, it isn't here. I'm sure it was washed away. After our exploration of the previous visit, we turned back. We are cold again, can't stay in one place too long. I climb through the deep leaf litter and over the rocks back to the railroad bed. Passing all the things I've already seen and spotting things I missed. I find two more fox burrows. They utilized the shale rock and burrowed underneath the jutting formations. Hidden coming from the south, the gaping openings seem welcoming from the north. My friends, the spelunkers and climber, want to descend into the darkness but I remind them, it is an hour to sundown, our trek is hard enough with overcast daylight. Wisdom prevails. We pass a tree, we didn't notice before, that was struck by lightening. The cedar tree was split in two and fell down the shale wall. I see the evidence of the burn and a smoldered residue at the base. Nature has a cruel way of recycling. The downed tree still has snow on it and the path of a raccoon is visible, I like the paws of *****. Though the way is flat, the walls of shale tower above us, limiting routes. At one point I can't see through the fallen trees I have to pass through. I have to crab walk under, crawl over, duck again and find my way around the thorny collections of bare black berry bushes. Finally into a clearing, still surrounded by sharp shale, there is another wall covered in inches of thick, healthy moss. I place my hand, taking time to stroke the furry wall. My hand leaves an imprint. I wonder how long that will last.. Back down the steep hill up and up the thorny tangle. I know I'm on the right path up, I see the fox's hole through the railroad tie, and his entrance burrow up the hill. Going down was definitely easier. The summit is literally overgrown with thorns, there is no clear path through. It is, again, impossible to see through the tangle of limbs and saplings and more thorns. Somehow we make it through. We are close to breaking off this path. We know this by the remains of a cow skeleton that more than likely fell from the top of the shale cliff. Femurs and ribs and jaws abound. On the last trip, we placed a hip bone in the "Y" of a sapling. The young tree has claimed it, growing around it. We add a piece of jaw to the tree's ornamentation and move on. We climb down from the railroad bed to our car - parked on the side of the road with a white towel in the window so that no one suspects a group of people walking through private property, past faded NO TRESPASSING signs.

When I undress for bed later, there are many small scratches up and down my legs from those ****** thorny vines. I'm okay with that, it's better than searching for ticks in my head.
I couldn't write a 'poem' about this hike. It was too full of nature.

— The End —