Skip to main content

I Walk Along The Road

I love nature bare|

Bare as the bears searching the rivers for salmon|

Bare as the deer roaming the woods|

Crossing the street until that fatal accident comes in the form of the bright light it sees just before the light shatters into pieces and darkness takes hold of the scene|

I walk the rocky road bare|

To feel those rough edges caress my feet|

I sleep with no tent|

The leaves from the trees are all the shelter I need|

No backpack hunching my back|

I search and gather my meals to fill the nourishment of my needs|

The stars lead my way|

So I hunt for the night|

Without a compass and follow the glitters in the sky|

I don't boast about my accomplishment|

Because I have yet to accomplish anything|

The shared journey between my feet and I as I bare my soles into mud|

And cuddle without awakening my desires|

Allowing them more sleep before they awake me from my dreams|

Love every inch of land like this were your holy land|

Black Elk speaks from cracks that lie upon the soil|

From inside flourishes a rose that was laid to sleep alongside a road of mislead walkers and misused hamlets|

A Copper Mine steals the mind|

The road worker erodes the road's work|

The land owner isn't the owner but rather is owned by this land|

A billboard is not in the middle of the road|

A billboard is the end of the road|

The cliff hangs unbalanced until more nourishment is given back to the giver and the balance can once again be restored|

Don't abuse this land|

Let the land abuse you and spoil you with its wonders that lay hidden in this clouded fog they call an industrialized and progressive landscape|

Comments

  1. A very rich piece with stunning imagery. I started my poetry blog 'Enclosed in Wings' at the tail end of last year. Feel free to pay me a visit!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you. And ill be sure to check your blog out. I'm always looking for new blogs to follow

    ReplyDelete
  3. A powerful exhortation to take care of our world and how industrialisation can spoil the natural beauty.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Laughing clown

When the nonsense goes is when the conscience grows| Obscure in the emptiness of nothing| A dark hole with no hope| Dwindling with the closing door| A crack in the middle| Sprout a light of hope| The light grew| Isolating the dark with scenes of grey| Absent from the remote land| A screaming voice Utters| The noise to block the sound from the sun| The voices uniting into one loud screech| Misplaced was the microphone| Unplugged to dismiss the surrounding sounds| The pounds the weight carried to bury the noise| Today sees the time| Tomorrow shows the minutes| Next week tells the days| A Rusted crown on the head of a clown laughing| From the outside of the hole| That dark void| Singing with a menacing tone| His throat clogged in a patterned noise| -This poem was originally longer, but I had to break it down. Because i didn't want you all to be lost. My brain works in strange ways, and i get all these ideas that pop into my head all at ...

Excavating Thoughts

Excavating thoughts purge the deep swell in an abundant forest filled with catacombs| Think not of what to say| Rather| Think of formations and placement for your words| The expression expedite hidden phrases| A realm in multitude of scenic shades| Which fill stains and covers from edge to edge| Put in motion a rehearsed visual| Captured for later interpretation and judgement| A glory outdrew| A painting foreseen inside that thought| Once emerged from a projector working its way from picture to sound| From sound to dialects| From dialects to expression| From expression to memorized interpretations or unsightly inked writings| Exclusive to emotional reincarnations| Contemplation and relegation amount heavy loads| To collapse the foundation in which laid heavy groundwork| Obscure water waves regulate the sounds of prejudgments| Before seen in the obscurity of the themes| Awake from the thankfulness of your mind| And enter into the depths of the b...

Unfinished (Ode to Jean-Michel Basquiat)

Colorless within one color| Dismissed from the sound garden| One shake from three takes| No surprise of the reprise to the disguise with four eyes| Abstract conformed to retry| No more matter to gray| Bumps scratch red lines| More hair to disguise the image painted in paste| The paste re-entered by the toothache| The pain shackles bones| Splatters clones| Duplicating letters| Rearranging later| Endless colors starting at the line of the white matter| Enter the memory of a portrait splashed|