Are you a leader?
Do you follow?
Do you walk with the masses
or in the silence of your own thoughts?
Only you can know where your direction leads.
Give us a glimpse of your journey, 
knowing we’ll be with you every step of the way.


Elements of Design
a sonnet

Her longings go beyond where he has led.
His nightmares see her leaving him behind.
She takes his hand, in hopes that he will tread
Uncertain pathways – pages yet unlined.

His ruler and his compass firmly gripped,
He pointedly denotes their journey’s source.
Just staring blankly, feeling ill-equipped –
No dots to link; no way to chart their course.

She tenderly removes the tools in hand,
Endows him with a palette of rich hues,
Presents him with a canvassed-life unplanned;
Excitedly, they watch the tints diffuse.

Her watercolor fantasies achieved;
His fear of spontaneity relieved.



The journey is long in this life.
We share our joys; suffer through strife
learning to give and love and grow,
teaching to others what we know;
this experiment in true-life.

In this life, we find it is rife
with heartaches that cut like a knife,
but we carry on even though
the journey is long.

From here until the afterlife,
I will walk all paths in this life.
The world has so much more to show.
So much to see before I go,
and here I’m stuck in this mid-life?
The journey is long.

229 thoughts on “THE WALK OF LIFE – PROMPT #57

  1. Dehydrated

    I watched the water
    trickle down the hillside
    slipping around blades of grass
    the way boys slunk past me
    their eyes fixed to the svelte curves
    of the beauty across the room
    as if in their thirst
    they couldn’t reach
    her fast enough.

    I would crane my neck
    around the dancers
    trying to catch a glimpse
    or hear her floating laughter
    to learn the subtle
    flutter of her lashes
    that allow the boys
    to drink her in
    while she maintained
    a strangle hold on them.

    I would lose the youthful
    moisture of my skin
    before I would understand
    I, too, had the ability to absorb
    the confidence I needed
    and hold my own
    in a crowded room.

    And I didn’t need
    a drink to do it.

  2. Way to go – you are on the top – I am sure you have an ever increasing measure of confidence. Great poem

  3. My journey forward
    weaves reflections from my past
    into tapestries –
    thousands of bits and pieces
    gleaned from home, school, God, friends.

    The Master’s blueprint,
    designed by the Master’s hand,
    wife, mom, sister, friend
    and a dozen other hats,
    leader, teacher, singer, sales.

    Artist, designer –
    tools provided, eyes to see,
    hands to mold, draw, paint,
    mind to analyze, gather
    the dreams seen and those unseen.

    Surprised by writing,
    a new part of the blueprint
    not of my planning
    a humbling directive
    from the architect of life.

    One novel complete,
    second novel rough draft done,
    third waiting in wings.
    English, Lit and Grammar Prof’s
    would rightfully be surprised.

    Illustrating books,
    delightful way to express
    events of novel
    giving readers visual joy
    while following players.

    Along the journey
    challenges, joys, sorrows, ups,
    maybe down to pits,
    forward sometimes baby steps,
    knowing more plans will unfold.

    • Beautiful, especially: “…weaves reflections from my past into tapestries…”

    • Such a hopeful promise in your ending and I love the surprise of writing, so lucky for us that it led you here! This is such a beautiful glimpse at your blueprint, Marjory, thank you!! 🙂

      • “…so lucky for us that it led you here! ”

        Absolutely! So thankful and blessed, Marjory. 🙂


      • i fully regard the talents I have as gifts from God, some I have used more in His honor than others and better so at some phases of my life. Such visual gifts can also be a challenge.
        — To me giftedness, and talents are present in all people. Some of the best gifts are not an outward display but are everday living. Where would the great speaker or entertainer be were it not for the light and sound folk and the cleaning crew? ….and the person who wrote the part they get the ovation for?
        — I don’t knit or sew or do quiliting but admire those who do. Typing is a challege using only a few fingures, spelling we won’t go into. Cooking is just a nesessary thing. Housework…
        — Teaching is a wonderful gift – a classroom of kids (any age) would drive me up a wall within a week. Me do Home teaching -no way.
        — Me a secretary or bookkeeeper – forget it.
        —Hoops – I am on a soap box again. Sorry – It is just that so many do not believe in themselves and what they can do….

        • Marjorie, I understand your embrace and appreciation of talents that you may not possess. For singers like me, we cannot practice our craft without an attentive, sensitive audience. I am quite in awe of my big sister’s quilting, yet I cannot even hem my jeans without drawing blood. But God is given so much credit in my life for the things I can do well, including admiring the handiwork of others. Every breath, every song, every poem… I’m a vessel taking dictation from the Holy Spirit! Peace, Amy

    • I am slow in getting back – but truely – Thank You each for your nice comments. they are very encouraging to me.

  4. Marie – really enjoyed your poem it is so expressive and real. what a wonderful resolution of blending.

    Walt – Yes, the journey is long (better than short) there is so much yet to see and do. So many people to meet. Good poem

    • The tender leading in your poem, Marie, is so inspiring! The love held in the unfolding of this masterpiece is so joyful!

      SO much to see, Walt, such a song of triumph in your words. thank you for the reminder in the excitement of where paths will meander!

      Warm Sunday smiles to you two and the rest of all ya’ll poetical peeps!!

  5. “Her longings go beyond where he has lead.”
    Nice sonnet! However, the old English teacher in me longs to correct your first line. Your word should be past tense of verb, “lead” or “led” ,

    • Oh my, yes! Thank you, Jacqueline! It’s corrected.

      Red-faced Marie Elena 😉

  6. Way to lead in, Patricia! A WOW, for sure!

    Marjory: yours is excellent as well, and I enjoyed getting to know more about you through it. A creative bio of sorts. Wonderful!

    Marie Elena

  7. Fata Morgana

    The trail ended
    the day you said goodbye.
    Endless days so splendid,
    some kind of no reply.

    The day you said goodbye
    your shadows were up there
    some kind of no reply
    voices vanished in the air.

    Your shadows were up there,
    your backpack gone,
    voices vanished in the air,
    a taxi’s honking for me to get on.

    Your backpack gone,
    the trail ended,
    a taxi’s honking for me to get on.
    Endless days so splendid.


    Adventurin’ along, express by shoe leather
    Drooping from sky another blood red sun
    Ambled through life unbothered by weather
    Always tomorrow until there are none

    Daydreams stacked into years like cordwood
    Old-fashioned barrel-aged 160 proof fire
    A sundial sentinel keeps time on the hood
    Maybe when I’m sober I’ll fix that flat tire

    White ghost fog blurs the roadside
    Thick as a sold-out ghost convention
    For all the time I’ve spent curbside
    Thought I’d deserve some honorable mention

    So much time in high gear, year after year
    It’s a wonder I’m still here at all
    Now I’m old & broke down, need help around town
    Dirty jokes and crusty tales for last curtain call

  9. Pingback: THE WALK OF LIFE – PROMPT #57 « cloudfactor5


    make my own kind of music,
    sing my own special song…..
    make my own kind of music,
    even if nobody else
    along. 😀

    Thank you, Jesus, and the Mamas and Papas.

  11. Are you a leader?
    Do you follow?
    Do you walk with the masses
    or in the silence of your own thoughts?
    Only you can know where your direction leads.
    Give us a glimpse of your journey,
    knowing we’ll be with you every step of the way.

    “ Beyond Mediocrity”
    Neither leader nor a follower be
    may hide you well in the midst, but darkly.
    Non-committal walks now with the masses
    and with the *Biblical sounding brasses.

    Love and Art require a temperature
    above the place of a lukewarm capture;
    hesitating heart and words hanging paused
    without true heat or memorable cause.

    Above the world of mediocrity,
    mind grasps the cliff of spontaneity
    but hangs there; shy in his comforting tone,
    forbids himself leave of his safety zone.

    Separation from fear and letting go
    would be to allow Art and Love to flow.

    *lst Corinthians, 13:1

  12. I wrote something which should probably be a novel/autobiography, but we will leave it as a poem for now. It’s on my Blog link above. I enjoyed reading this blog and especially much of the dialog in the comments.

    • All: If you have not yet clicked on Susan’s name to check out her poem and site, you are truly missing out.

      Welcome, Susan! As I commented at your site, we hope you will consider posting your poems here as well. It is not a requirement, but is easier for enjoying each of the offerings, and is also easier for at least one regular among us who has trouble with links.

      Again, welcome! We hope to hear more from your talented voice!

      Marie Elena


    I have spent a ;lifetime
    trying to find that talent or skill
    that would make me a leader–
    That would make me respected.

    I am not strong or coordinated
    I can’t sing, play sports, or model.
    I am not beautiful or rich or powerful.
    I am smart, but not a genius.

    I have none of the attributes
    that makes one great, makes one a leader.
    So I followed those with the talents.
    I tried to be like them, and failed.

    Thereafter, I just raised my children,
    did my job, and was a good friend.
    I entertained myself by writing,
    joking, and creating beautiful things.

    Then one day a group referred to me
    as the person who could do everything.
    All the small skills that seemed insignificant to me
    were perceived by others as a big talent!

    Life is not always measured
    by the big successes
    but is often seen as a collection
    of the very small ones.

  14. Shine Your Light

    There is a great light up above.
    It flies in like a pure white dove
    A warming glow is seen inside your heart.
    This brilliant beam from up above,
    It shines on you with purest love.
    and drives you to forever do your part.

    Shine your light for all the world.
    Raise your voice in song. Be heard.
    Lead the way from wrong into the right.
    With true compassion, show you care.
    There is no heavy cross to bear.
    Do your best and always shine your light.

    By Michael Grove


    Left turns, right turns
    and U-turns

    Roundabouts, turnarounds
    and fly-overs

    On-ramps, exits
    and merge lanes

    smooth roads, bumpy roads
    and roads under construction

    mapped-out trips, spontaneous joy riding
    and detours

    all part of my path to today,
    the journey of a lifetime

    P. Wanken

  16. Pingback: Journey Of A Lifetime « echoes from the silence


    I’ve too many careless counted steps spent,
    carried heavy, a color and odor, the scent of regret.
    There’re days that gathered me far from my song,
    longing heart led astray, farther away and flung;
    losing a slipping grip on the most real of reality.
    Paths patterned in plumes of love and lupine,
    streets strewn with scented lace of lavender,
    and these roads were reserved for me,
    rich in the poignant pose of the reddest of roses.
    The beaches burned for the taste of my feet alone,
    I was a sea stone craving the creative touch;
    hungering to be honed by the ancient edges of ragged time.
    Mountain’s depth mirrored my desire to draw nigh
    crunch and grind of pebble neath feet dispelling doubt.
    Streams sung the song that’s silvery and soothes,
    rivers raged of the mystery that meets my senses
    and ocean’s undercurrent surged of the secrets of me;
    each wave calling notice to itself gracefully,
    leading and following itself properly, endlessly.
    A Milky Way star shone resonating with a solo vibration,
    holding a frequency that attuned to my soul only.
    Today it whispers a word that wiles my eyes ever upward
    and I advance in the dance led by the One,
    the ever enchanting Hand of nature;
    I lean on love and the leading plan of the Creator.

    ©Hannah Gosselin 5/27/12

  18. My Journey

    At times a mountain
    A vertical climb
    Obstacles along the way
    Enduring harsh temperatures

    At times a showboat
    Enjoying the ride
    Watching live entertainment
    Leaving driving to others
    No control

    At times a schoolroom
    Listening, learning
    Preparing for influence
    Making friends, growing, training

    At times a garden
    Hard work, diligence
    Tilling the earth, planting seeds
    Sunshine, fresh air, pulling weeds

    At times a wedding
    Eyes of tenderness
    Pledging love and commitment
    Promising joys through sorrow

    At times a poem
    Small expressing big
    Capturing, declaring essence
    Finding God in the details

  19. Darn it. I posted last night from my phone, but don’t see it .

    Just finished watching “The Way,” so this prompt couldn’t have had better timing.


    Sometimes we walk
    down paths chosen for us
    by well-meaning folks

    Sometimes we choose
    the well-worn paths for ourselves

    Sometimes we chance

    down paths with well-meaning folks
    who choose to

    share their journey
    while searching for a path
    of their own

    • Kimiko, from my experience with the Camino (and I am a Santiago pilgrim) you might set out for a path of your own and maybe some people really do find their own path – but hopefully, and most likely you’ll find out that your path is shared with everybody else.
      Best wishes!

      • It sounds like a fantastic trip — spiritually and otherwise. My boyfriend and I are sold on the idea … pending a way of taking a month of somehow at some point!

        • Kimiko, it is and I hope that you’ll go there some day. I like the link you present below, only I wouldn’t recommend that book/guide if you’re actually going over there some day. Both the “American guide” and the “German guide” are great because they show all the parallel routes, whatever tiny trail, and they are both light to carry (you’ll only need one).

    • And I’m so sorry that Paulo Coelho and also so many other writers gave the impression that the Camino is a trail for manhood or the father and his son – even his dead son.
      Kimiko, the reality is that women are all over the Camino. The few men with sons: The men take the bus and the son has a good time of his own (for instance with us).

      • West coast gal here – I have seen “Camino” several times over my tripping through the garden ….. What and where is it?
        Just courious.

  20. Pingback: Road Work | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  21. I have no read any comments yet, except for Marie and Walt. Both are thought-provoking as usual, but I must say, Marie, that sonnet is incredible. It flows like a beautiful piece of music.

    • Sara, I wrote smth. for you on your blog – but it doesn’t show. Please look in your spam filter. And congratulations! What a sad poem you had there and I was surprised because I don’t see you that way at all. Only of course life has its ups and downs and maybe I’m just a person who never stretched the limits that far. I’m a fan of yours and I need to tell you that my Mom always needed to touch the meat before she bought it – and being a teenager, she really embarrassed me with her housewife demonstrations never acknowledging the queue behind her. Sara, thanks for your great poetry.

  22. Characterization

    I am a word, a phrase…grapheme*.
    I’m my own special creation.
    No matter how it all must seem
    I am a word, a phrase…grapheme.
    My face? It mirrors self-esteem
    without rationalization.
    I am a word, a phrase…grapheme.
    I’m my own special creation.

    (*a written symbol that is used to represent speech)


  23. Follow the Leader

    Raised to pitch my expectations low,
    a good self-deprecating Southern girl,
    to embrace shyness as a chance to read,
    to listen and follow and encourage,

    to hum my song lest the tune disturb others,
    to care about opinions, to fit in, to blend in,
    I have gotten above my raising as I was
    supposed to do. We all exceed our origins.

    I don’t know where she came from, this me:
    this spine I’ve grown, this voice, this heart,
    this brain, all conspiring to make me use myself,
    to be about something life-affirming and true.

    Quiet women with steel spines taught me
    to suffer much and laugh often, to pray
    and endure and hope, women who pushed
    boundaries without drawing fire.

    Somehow I missed the lesson on avoidance,
    for sometimes, I don’t want to exert myself.
    I want to lie low, duck and cover, rely on
    wishful thinking and let others lift and bear.

    What I want and what I must hold hands
    shaping me as they will, creating a me
    I often do not wish to be, someone braver
    than I am, someone willing to stand up

    With a shuddering stomach and speak,
    confront wrongs, negotiate peace, act,
    risk everything, always afraid, but moved, led.
    Sometimes I need a rest, a shoulder to lean on.

    I don’t want to lead, for so often, glancing behind,
    I see those who pushed me forward, far
    in the distance, waiting, and I am alone,
    a most reluctant leader, following my heart.

    • Be true to thyself!
      How often others try to ‘form’ us to their ‘standards or thinking’ – but we are not they – It can be a hard lesson to learn – but so freeing once discovered. and with it comes the freedom to sometimes simple say ‘No’ – I am not from the south – but, I see so much of me in what you wrote.
      Thank you for your beautifully put words.

    • I sometimes wish I could suck it up and be this brave Jane and, from time to time, have pulled it off. But – the cost to someone who has learned some other, less noble truths, has been horrendous … I admire your courage tremendously. And your eloquent poem just sings …

  24. Something Worthwhile

    This battered heart
    growing up
    the hard way
    learning to take
    bruises and scrapes in stride
    using these tears
    to wash away the bad
    clear out for the good
    taking baby steps now
    down the long and winding road
    ran and fell enough
    to learn that lesson
    just want to finish the race
    don’t have to be first
    placing faith that
    grace’ll get me though
    and life will chisel
    something worthwhile
    out of me yet

    • I love the whole piece – it relates a lot
      …tears to wash…
      …baby steps….
      …run and falll enough…
      …faith that grace….
      …life will chisel…

    • LOVED: “…placing faith that grace’ll get me through and life will chisel something worthwhile out of me yet” !!!

    • So beautifully rendered this … “and life will chisel something worthwhile” – and possibly already has if you could just know it but it’s enough that you are pausing to take a breath and start again – eventually having faith and taking baby steps will help you know you are worthwhile … A good poem but I guess, the mother in me wants to tell you not to sell yourself short, you don’t have to wait to be chiselled out to be worthwhile … I’m not sure why I feel so strongly about this – it’s not like me. For all I know, your poem could be fictitious …

  25. Journey

    In the simple matter of two roads, diverging,
    we flip a coin then stick together, dropping
    bread crumbs, notching tree limbs,
    just in case.
    When I’m lost but you’re certain, I follow,
    my smaller feet in your large prints,
    and when I’m sure, I reach back, take
    your hand and lead.
    If no path lies before us, and if our journey
    takes us new directions, we’ll travel side-
    by-side, hand-in-hand, cautious but daring,
    never alone.

    N. Posey

  26. “We start and end with family.”
    Anthony Brandt

    “Outside IN”

    I am paste—
    on a plastic tab stuck to paper kangaroo

    I am band-aid—
    on ripped scalp and wounded knee.

    I am pink medicine and nebulizer tubing,

    I am dandelion milk and clover-gemmed
    forever I am—

    soil•stone• soap•shore
    •army men• pretend•hairspray•Amen.

    I am collector—
    of doubts and tears,
    recorder of wasted brilliance.

    I am stringer—
    of hero’s•of prey•of vultures•of owls•of fire

    I am outside-
    on a planet

    I am smile.

  27. Pingback: The Last Time I Danced (dverse) « Sharp Little Pencil

  28. This one is for insane fun on my pathway!!! Love, Amy

    The Last Time I Danced

    Grocery store run
    Jeans with a big raggy hole
    where my knee protrudes
    Tan sneaks with pink shoelaces
    (no big panama with a purple hat band…
    but then, that’s a long time ago)

    Chugging along with a cart full of
    healthy foods for our responsible diet
    and in consideration that we are both
    in our 50s now and then

    over the intercom

    “Dancin’ in the Street”

    Martha and the Vandellas,
    none of that Mick and whosis crap

    Another woman looks at me from
    the cereal section and then we both
    lay excited eyes on a dude in
    Harley jacket and old boots
    trolling the Gatorade

    Who’s on first?

    As if you have to ask

    I take the lead line, inciting the riot

    The three of us break into song
    and dance like the freaks we were
    like the freaks we still are
    with every ounce of hippie left in us

    She’s showin her tat of Marley on her
    left arm, he’s swappin a picture of Jesus
    on the back of his neck and me, I got no marks
    but smile lines chiseled on my cheeks

    We’re reeling in total abandon and
    oblivious to the folks at either end of the aisle
    Even the vegetable guy left his post
    And at the fadeout, we’re fading out too
    back to our carts as though nothing happened

    The other shoppers burst into applause
    and we all run back together in the
    middle of the aisle to take a bow and
    hug each other like there’s no tomorrow

    Haven’t seen them again
    Perhaps we were all each other’s angels
    if only for that moment
    Reminders that you can always let that
    freak flag fly high enough to glide
    as long as you keep enough freak inside

    © 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
    For dverse, who called for Carefree Hours, or the last time you did something out of pure delight. Also for Poetic Bloomings, “Walk of Life,” which is always bopping for me. And Sunday Scribblings, “Strange Bedfellows.” This is delight, rebellion, and a three-person unplanned flash mob all in one package! Peace, Amy

    • Smiles, tears, laughter….! I’m goin’ to YouTube to search for that song and I am gonna dance my morning workout to it! Thanks, so much for the fun start to my day!!! :D!

    • Ah Amy – I hear the music and see you guys just rockin’ out and gettin’ your freak on at the grocery store and how lucky were they, those other customers? I bet they dined out on that story for weeks, probably still talk about that time those freaks got it on at the store and how great was that … you rock lady, always have, always will … so glad I get to read your work and hear how your life is unfolding …

  29. Marie, your sonnet really touched my heart. This is an example of real love, shared by two who are meant to be together.
    Walt, your journey is honest and unabashedly truthful about pain, as well as delivery from it.
    Got us off to a good start, and thanks for the poems and the prompt! Amy

      •… “and she’ll have fun, fun, fun, til her Daddy takes the T-bird away…” The Beach Boys!!! :D!!!

  30. Pingback: Weary Traveler « Magical Mystical Teacher

  31. Pingback: Long and Winding Road « Magical Mystical Teacher

  32. Sunday

    bring me
    out of this
    prison. I have
    patiently endured
    scratching my calendar
    sniffing the air for the hint
    of honeysuckle and long grass.
    Take off this shackle and let me run
    great sweeping arcs of joy in the sunshine.

  33. Sometimes: A Muddled Journey

    Sometimes I wonder
    If I hear a different drummer
    Or if that’s just the sound
    Of the world’s trotting feet
    One big step ahead of me.

    Sometimes I wish
    I was a little deaf
    So I couldn’t hear
    Those footsteps and
    Their soulless beat.

    Sometimes I follow
    Knowing it’s the piper,
    And other times
    I’m hypnotized,
    Trailing innocently.

    Sometimes I stumble,
    And there by the wayside
    My muddled thoughts clear
    And eventually I realize
    I can’t follow anymore.

    Sometimes I turn back,
    Pushing against the flow,
    Knowing it’s for the best,
    But still not quite sure
    Where it is I’m trying to go.

  34. Cavorting Balloons

    Little cartoon balloons dance
    in my head. A red one yells,
    charge ahead! A blue one
    blocks my movements,
    submerged in water,
    where I cannot hear

    the green balloon, cheering
    me on to grow and thrive.
    Sometimes I survive. I do
    not shrink, but grow no taller.

    I followed paths of black
    and white, conflicted
    sights, not stopping to rest
    in the shade of soft gray
    mist, which might have made
    me a better balanced person.

    When I discovered the purple
    balloon, I moved forward
    into the lavender lights of life
    where I could see the effects
    my caring friendship had

    on others, know the importance
    and pleasure of that feeling.
    Oh, the treasure of peace,
    as I shed disappointment
    and acquired self-respect,
    realizing I am responsible
    only for my own actions.

  35. Discovering the She-Wolf

    In the year every feather found meant
    An angel was near or had just passed by
    And the colour of the sky each morning
    Held significant portent for the day ahead

    She was selected to attend a conference
    For leadership training and met with others
    Of the same ilk at a modern college with dorms
    And classrooms with tiered seating like movie houses

    In a haze of appreciativeness and goodwill
    She found she fit naturally into this atmosphere
    And took to being a leader easily, not something
    She had ever suspected in her whole life

    When the facilitators ran a test to group
    The various types of leaders together for exercises
    She was further astonished to find herself
    Labeled an alpha she-wolf, colour orange, take-charge

    At first she protested the categorization
    Unsure of the findings and herself
    Until she realized as things got underway
    Without quite knowing how or why she naturally

    Assessed options and group feelings
    As well as her own thoughts about choices
    And practiced a gentle type of persuasion
    She remembered using on her children
    When they were young – and on their teachers
    Come to that, and their parent-teacher boards

    It came to her as she steered the others
    Towards non-violent conflict resolutions
    And consensus building agreements
    That she had done this before – quite often

    Walking back to her dorm at dusk
    With the sky a promising shade of indigo
    It occurs to her that while she’s never thought
    Of herself as a leader, she’s never considered
    Herself a follower either – maybe that makes
    It easier to slip into this role, she really
    Doesn’t know, will take it as it comes


  36. Will try to get back here later for commenting but wanted to say how much I live (and relate) to Mare Elena’s beautiful sonnet and as always, marvel at Walt’s piece – yes, the journey is long; some days it feels too much so and others, not long enough …

  37. Love Realized

    I have walked the long and winding road,
    destination an afterthought,
    led others, followed a few,
    not aware of yearning
    or the life not lived,
    until I learned —
    all for naught

  38. Thanks so much for all the kind comments about my sonnet. It is my favorite form, yet I don’t often enough use it. I’ve said this so many times, but I create at a snail’s pace. I need to plan to really put in time to write a sonnet. For example, I have approximately two hours invested in “Elements of Design.” I wish I was able to think much faster.

    Anyway, thanks again. You all lift my spirits!

    Marie Elena

  39. Pingback: Outside IN « Writing On The Sun

  40. The Road Ahead

    My way leads farther than I care to go
    I am not prepared to travel fast nor far.
    We learn from what we find by moving slow

    The fiery dance of leaves has turned to embers, low
    Upon the ground, now all forgotten – bare
    My way leads farther than I care to go.

    Every naked tree is stripped to show
    It skeletal arrangement, planned with care
    I have tried to learn – the names are all I know

    Let the wind embrace me, softly blow
    Through the rising ashes, clean the air
    My way leads farther than I need to go.

    This season, diminishing sunlight, after glow
    Must we regret the passing of the year?
    What will I learn by moving onward, tired and slow?

    Things fall away, I watch them as they blow
    Where-ever the winds desire – through the air
    My way leads farther than I care to go
    I learn from what I find by moving slow.

  41. I wrote this poem last year, about some friends. I will try to post a new one soon. Great poems everyone. You are all amazing!!

    I designed them and you painstakingly formed them
    Into edifices, complete with turrets, flags, and moats.
    We even won the contest for the most authentic.
    Now the only castles we build are in our imaginations.
    You don’t even recognize your queen anymore, and I
    am sad at the ravages that Alzheimers has afflicted my king.
    Oh, to be young again, sit at sunset and watch the tide
    sweep away our castles, slowly and gently.
    Perhaps we can sit on the balcony tonight and hold hands.
    This may be the day you call me your queen again .

    • Ohh, so profoundly, sadly sweet… and true… I just Loved: “…Perhaps we can sit on the balcony tonight and hold hands…” When something like this happens to your Loved one, you begin to absolutely LOVE and appreciate those quiet, loving, unspoken connections that you will treasure for the rest of you life!!!

  42. Behind the Scenes

    I live my life in comfort
    creeping behind the scenes.
    I walk a quiet, joy filled life
    living behind my screens.

    I bird within a blind,
    I shoot behind a lens,
    I paint when I’m alone,
    I write whenever I can.

    But once or twice a year
    I step out of the zone,
    to face my one true fear
    I speak, when not alone.

    With microphone in hand
    I share a bit of me –
    of the things I do, write
    and the things I may see.

    And when that task is done,
    I slip behind the scenes.
    Looking to take my ease,
    wearing my old blue jeans.

  43. Just Passing Through

    It is me and me alone,
    the one who erects the blockades
    which impede the path to happiness,
    to contentment.
    I am my own guide,
    divine my personal maps,
    and place each step upon
    the routes I choose.
    They are my barriers and,
    if I choose,
    I am free to strike the match
    which will remove them.

    There was a me that went to war,
    all thrumming energy,
    rising above the cacophony,
    struggling beneath the fear,
    wishing mightily to be invisible,
    yet finding myself in front,
    the place called Point,
    from another view, Target.
    I put myself there,
    the trace elements of ego
    so visible in God’s microscope.

    There was the me who lived to serve,
    fulfilling plans long dreamed,
    work a pleasure,
    doubt an infrequent visitor,
    leadership a requirement
    if one would be the
    hope of the world.
    I mean, if you start out asking
    how you can help,
    you might as well dream big,
    small thoughts only
    blemishes on the experience.

    Now there’s a more contemplative me,
    striving still,
    hating war as only a warrior will,
    old from every viewpoint
    except my 92-year old neighbor’s,
    and I am yet unable to hide,
    work which is wanted and needed
    always seeming to find me,
    and even though the monks say
    it is all just chopping wood
    and carrying water,
    it feels bigger, somehow,
    more urgent.

    I think sometimes of a future me,
    dwell occasionally on an un-me.
    Once I saw that tunnel of light,
    the one spoken by the near-dead.
    I can’t recall if there’s a leader
    in that picture, or if it could be me.
    Some things simply remain a mystery.

    • Wow…! I have sometimes contemplated on an “un-me”; the mystery of it all is Fascinating!

    • This is such a touching and truthful stream of consciousness, Daniel.

      I really was struck with the it’s in our own hands feeling of this portion:

      “I am my own guide,
      divine my personal maps,
      and place each step upon
      the routes I choose.”

      Love how you stated this:

      “the trace elements of ego
      so visible in God’s microscope.”

      This is striking:

      “Now there’s a more contemplative me,
      striving still,
      hating war as only a warrior will,”

      And to end with the mysterious tunnel!! Daniel, an amazing journey. Thank you so much for sharing this. Smiles to you!

        • You make being generous a joyful thing, Daniel. It’s always nice to be appreciated! I’ve been a little lagging in time to delve into reading and commenting the way I like to. If I take after my Grammy I have a long life ahead of me…she’s 87 spirited and strong!! Thank you, Daniel!!

  44. Pingback: Prompted Wednesdays: Flecks, Specks and Feet « Through the Eyes of Meena Rose

  45. Bubble Girl
    By: Meena Rose

    Smoke and ash and burnt flesh;
    Relentless waves of agony as
    Broken glass shreds feet.

    Insanity, chaos and ruin
    Rain down on ears deafened,
    Howling shrieks of grief.

    Ignored amidst the din, she vowed
    She will not let anyone forget her again;
    She shut the world out.

    She walks alone neither alive nor dead;
    Watching, seeking, judging –
    Is it worthy of her return?

    A butterfly lands on her nose
    Passing on nature’s caress –
    Yes, indeed, it is time to return.

  46. Behind her is a winding trail
    circuitous route
    all but invisible beyond the last bend
    no end in sight
    (but that may change at any moment)
    only a few stones
    in her pocket, enough to get her to the next stop
    two steps forward,
    three left, one back, spin, pause, repeat
    she has no idea where she is going
    only imagines
    when she arrives, she’ll know it

  47. Walking the Way

    As a young man, I was angry
    that I was learning everything the hard way.
    I wanted some guidance, some warning
    about the sharp turns in the road ahead.

    I railed at everyone around me,
    frustrated that I had no road map,
    until I began to understand that I had the tools
    I needed to make my own way.

    I began to draw and write,
    crude at first, without a doubt,
    but it was my map, and it was enough,
    and more, it empowered me to be me.

    I’m still unfolding that map today,
    fleshing out details here, looking fondly
    on areas I no longer walk, as well as
    all the new spaces, ever expanding.

    Doubt drives me still, so I check
    the map often to be sure I’m on track.
    And I’ve let go of the anger at myself
    when I find myself off the path.

    Some days, the map folds up neatly,
    the creases aligning, beauty like origami.
    Other days, I fold it the wrong way,
    and struggle to make it pocket-size again.

    And on the occasional day, it’s a prop
    for a bit of sleight of hand.
    You may not know where it is,
    because I misdirected you, but I know.

    And now I wonder: will my sons want
    me to give them a road map?
    Or will they make their own metaphor?
    It’s this big blank space right here.

    I’ll give them more guidance than I got,
    but I won’t be upset when they ignore me.
    It will be their map that they’re writing
    and drawing on – and walking and dancing.

    I’ll give them a map and suggest some places
    to begin, but then I’ll cede control,
    and tell them it’s okay to be off the path,
    as long as you’re still on the map.


  48. Pingback: Freeday Freeforall « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

  49. Pingback: To A Different Cadence «        Say Aye to The Heart

    • To A Different Cadence

      We march to our own beat,
      the sweet syncopation that drives
      every step; adept at keeping your feet
      when others about you are losing their heads.
      The pipes blare and wail; a tale told in the hold
      of a Celtic clutch and in as much, deeply.
      The snap of snare is crisp and a wisp of generations
      lives within it. You didn’t begin it, but carry
      the torch of your clan and your kin.
      Your pace is halting but sure,
      and you’re raising your banner high,
      a sky full of past and an earth full of futures
      converge in the present to give the gift
      that life possesses. A different drum;
      a heart in living rhythm.

  50. Imago Dei
    The moon has not light of its own,
    Merely a reflection of the sun.
    We are crafted in much the same way;
    Creator made us like him they say.
    Any goodness and light you see in me,
    Is a beam passed from He who is eternity.
    Follow me as I follow Him is my motto.
    Shine in other’s lives like a light on grotto.

    (Imago Dei is Latin for image of God)

    • Wow!!! This piece reached in a grabbed a hold of my heart and soul. (And my warmest blankets are Blue 🙂 ! ) Thank you for posting this!

  51. What a delightful prompt and what wonderful poems! I don’t have time for anything new today, but this limerick from earlier this year is sort of related:
    Leading With Limericks
    By Madeleine Begun Kane

    A fellow was trying to lead,
    But his rumba was not up to speed.
    His steps got all tangled,
    His partner’s feet mangled.
    I’m guessing that’s why he was kneed.

    Leading With Limericks

    • Mad Kane! Hahahahaha … absolute perfection! Thanks for the grins, and SOOOOOOOOO great to see you blooming in our garden!!

      Marie Elena

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