Archives for posts with tag: walking
Cherry Hill Nature Preserve walking path

By Dwight Burdette (Own work) [CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0) or CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Along a back road

He set off from the village
when the blossoms dropped
their petal tears
and the green buds bid
to escape from the branches.

While walking along a
back road,
he was stopped

First by an old woman
who bent over a stick.
The stick gave way on the path.
The old woman fell
and struck her knee on a stone.
She said there was no need to worry anyone.

He could not pause too long
and, as she had said, there was not much he could do.
Along the back road
he continued walking
under trees now shadowing
with their leaves
and he was stopped

By a young man with hard arms
who implored and
would not let go.
This circling did not hurt
until the man dropped his embrace
and dissolved into the darkened roadside.

The journeying man
could not pause too long. There
was not much he could do
along the back road.
He continued walking.

He continued walking
and after some time
in the summer sunshine
he took off his shoes
and drank at a waterspout.
He was stopped

by a sweet-talking salesman
in a clean shirt, buttoned down
with a solution.
This opportunity would surpass the roaming.
Here, if the journeying man would
step off the back road.

He put on his shoes, washed his face
at the waterspout. He should not pause
too long. There was not much he could do
on the back road if he should keep walking.

The trees were dropping their leaves
and mushrooms clustered at their roots.


Given the contemporary climate of gender pronoun fluidity, it occurs to me that this may be in an antiquated voice. I had in mind those old fairy tales (such as “The Tinderbox”) and in particular those where the traveller – often a soldier or humble village man – is confronted by three companions on the trail.

For interest, you could try changing the ‘he’ for ‘she’, or your choice of gender neutral pronoun.

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This image, courtesy of HelloSprout, is a handmade card and available for purchase from etsy.com. See http://etsy.me/r1D7Vd

This image, courtesy of HelloSprout, is a handmade card and available for purchase from etsy.com. See http://etsy.me/r1D7Vd

To feel
waves
must crash
if they thirst for the shore;
they must trip stones smooth,
burst jagged hands,
pierce the stretch strain
of speckled beanskins
learning the ground.

The walker must trip.

2003,
after Las Vegas, Death Valley and Flagstaff, USA

“Knowledge” appears in Shining in Brightness (2013), my first book of poetry.

It is one of the self-identified process poems that were included as snapshots of my period of adolescent whimsy. They are the very sort of poems a creative writing seminar tutor or professor would probably rip to shreds and ban one from showing to the world. In defiance, I have posted “Knowledge” for you here. I have also posted it because it came to mind while I was preparing Thursday’s post. This is a fresh poem that mentions a trip of a different sort, but also touches on the themes of time and process.

Please do return and read “Time tripped”, the new poem which is scheduled for Thursday.

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Books

Image with thanks to the Old Design Shop, a vintage image treasury.

Trump such sultry sunshine
with a screen? That will not stem creation.
The words set out for basting in the warmth; 
crossed the bridge at Embankment station. 

The Thames and sequins on its skirt, 
scintilled in summer brio. 
The words, now on the move, 
snacked on radishes a frio.


Thursday, 3rd July was such a balmy day in London that it seemed a pity to spend it spent at a screen attempting to rearrange words. Plus I had a number of engagements to follow up: from N2 to WC2 to N1 to SE16. The words certainly ended up traversing London town. These lines above are an account of their wanderings.

A little linguistic poetic license is requested for the ending. A chilled radish in Spanish should rather be “los rábanos refrigerados” (if my basic abilities in the language and a bit of Googling are close). However, a poem’s needs call for adjusted forms. Kindly indulge.

(Oh yes, and I sort of invented that word scintilled. Such word creation is considered a no-no in some creative writing circles, but I’ve gone and done it anyway.)

(Ah yes, and that isn’t an error: it’s meant to be ‘basting’.)


Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012

Ten days ago
I didn’t know you.
Didn’t know you 
walked the streets 
of anywhere
walked the streets
of London
Didn’t know
you 
Didn’t know you 
had walked 
the dusty sights of that anywhere 
near where I had
breathed the streets of 
there 
and then in London.
I didn’t know the sight of 
each “1 new message” 
could stop my lungs 
for 58 hours
stop those bellows in my chest 
which

for fifty-

eight 

hours 

half-inflate.

If I text,
will I have blown it?


Said plainly in acknowledgement of Valentine’s Day.

Both of my recently published books include poems on love and relationships. Preview by clicking on the titles below:

Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys

Shining in Brightness

Follow me on Twitter as @BeadedQuill or pop over to the BeadedQuill Facebook page.

 

What do you believe?
I believe	
	to see truth lived quietly and consistently 
	is powerful. My father died like that.
In trees we find tall truths
	deeper rooted than human folly.
I believe in stakes
	that make us choose a path
right, or left or denial.
	Denial comes back to 
	haunt us in choice, again.
I believe in money and class
and opportunity because we pretend
these things don’t matter.
	I must be Marxist. In part they do.
At sunrise, I believe in God.
Under stars, I breathe an awesome Universe.
In front of a computer’s glare, as I click the news,
	I believe there is no benevolence, no God.
What you sow, you reap. I like this as a concept.
Also Qi.
In the end, I believe I’m just little me.

9/12/12


A friend posed the question – and of course, I couldn’t resist fiddling some thoughts into poem.

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness