JULY COVID-19 P.A.D. – DAY 20 A WALK TO REMEMBER AGAIN

Hi! It’s me, your impersonal trainer and spotter. Today we’ll have you working on the treadmill. We’ll have you walking until you can’t stand it. In the meantime, complete this title and write the associated poem.

 

A WALK _______(BLANK)______________________

 

Take the walk. The fresh air will do you good. Don’t forget to be aware of social distance and those around you. Be safe.

28 thoughts on “JULY COVID-19 P.A.D. – DAY 20 A WALK TO REMEMBER AGAIN

  1. A WALK ON A SATURDAY NIGHT

    I slowly trod the winding street
    where you and I were wont to meet
    and whisper words so soft and sweet,
    most any Friday night.

    The stars then gleamed with glitter-glow;
    the neon stripes were bright also,
    and we cared not where we might go
    throughout the joyous night.

    The street was full of people then
    and children who would giggle when
    we paused to kiss, then kissed again,
    and ambled through the night.

    But something that I did or said
    has filled your heart and soul with dread;
    you have departed from our bed
    and vanished in the night,

    and now the stars are cold and mean;
    the neon has a tattered sheen;
    no children laugh; no lovers preen.
    The street is still tonight.

  2. A WALK ON EGGSHELLS, by Walter J Wojtanik

    Stepping with trepidation.
    “Stepidation!”
    Slow and steady, ready for anything.
    Sure and cautious, nauseous to
    see how nervous one can be without
    spewing lunch. You have a hunch that
    something lurks behind every corner.
    Something scary. Something is surely
    stalking you. You hear every
    sound around you as you
    sneak about in the shadows. But, fragile egg-
    shells were meant to be trod upon,
    stepping with trepidation!

  3. A WALK WITH WALTER, by Walter J Wojtanik

    How many more times can my rhymes
    find a new direction? Upon further dissection
    there are many ways to say the things
    that start in my heart. It’s my choice to use
    the words I choose. That’s the way I stroll!

    There’s no communication breakdown,
    I’ve found myself dazed and confused, but these words
    are hardly misused. The song remains the same,
    but a new refrain keeps things fresh.
    A whole lotta love can be conveyed that way.

    Every day’s a celebration day. Whether I
    bring it on home or I take you over the hills
    and far away, today’s the day to do it.
    D’yer maker, Heart-breaker? Or do you remain
    a fool in the rain? The choice is yours again.

    Friends, your time is gonna come.
    For, your life matters. It flatters me.
    In the light or in the evening, leaving me
    feeling all my love is rightly given.
    Livin’, lovin’, made me a shade better man.

    So I think I’m doing Walter’s walk,
    going to California, or Ohio,
    or Texas or the gallows pole. A saunter,
    or stroll, it’s all Rock and Roll.
    Oh, but how I do ramble on!

    I was born the rover. Trampled, under foot,
    covered with soot and the dirt of ageless
    civilizations. I have this revelation:
    the stairway to heaven will not lead
    to the houses of the holy.

    And in my time of dying, I’d be lying
    if I said I’d roll over like a black dog
    and play dead. I’m gonna crawl and
    all the wearing and tearing on my knees
    will gladly be nobody’s fault but mine.

    **A found poem with the help of Led Zeppelin

  4. W
    A
    L
    K

    Walk of Joy

    Every day
    I have the chance
    to be happy,
    to enjoy this life I chose.
    I am doing my best
    to say beautiful things,
    to inspire, to help, be kind.
    When I do not hear
    Spirit’s voice, it’s not because
    the talking has stopped.
    We are all
    just passing through.
    Might as well do so
    with joy and laughter,
    rejoicing in the day,
    walking more slowly,
    maybe even feeling
    a little groovy.

    • Slight correction to your brilliant piece, Daniel. Happy is not a chance. It is a choice. And I love that you choose to convey that in your poems. A man who is blessed, and knows he is blessed has much to say. This is the day the Lord has made.

  5. I Walk Uptrail Again

    through brown skeletons
    their bones trembling
    in memory of orange flames
    that seared green flesh
    leaving only desiccated sticks
    that clack and click in the wind
    prayer beads told in haste

    I scan the fields for just one
    spray of bergamot’s purple jewels
    clustered everywhere but here
    even black eyed Susans fading
    Queen Anne’s lace gone gray
    the whole of it gone August
    and drawing down pulling
    against shimmering hot sky

    cracks open either side
    of the path so wide the voles
    have only to hop inside
    no effort needed to reach
    their subterranean havens
    I watch for the diamond dapple
    on the back of sunning snakes
    heads poking out from the
    weedy edge my boots high
    leather hot and creaking

    Imagine another trail through
    river woods beyond the dike
    where an imaginary coolness
    lurks in oak and maple shade
    swat mosquitoes risen from
    puddled sand bars and finger
    pooling sap from beaver cuts
    marching ahead their pointed
    candle stumps all that remains

    behind me the cabin with its
    hidden wall of boxelder bugs
    woodstove cold and pump
    dripping into the bucket
    my father down on the last
    step whittling a sea turtle
    fragrant shavings falling
    into Saturday silence.

  6. .
    .
    .
    A Walk With Jesus

    One of these days I will walk with Him
    The One Who died on the cross for us
    The One Who offered us all a better Way
    The One Who spoke to us of the Truth
    The One Who promised us eternal Life

    One of these days He will walk with me
    The one who sinned beyond any forgiveness
    The one who shamed Him in so many ways
    The one who hid Him from so many to see
    The one who treated Him like a complete stranger

    One of these days we’ll walk together
    The Perfect One and the forgiven sinner

  7. A Walk Around Market Square
    (The town center of Houlton, Maine)

    In the 60s and 70s it was the place to be
    Especially at Christmas Time
    I remember walking from store to store
    Window shopping for the most part
    Back then store windows were a source of pride
    Adorned with the best of the inventory
    To entice passersby to come in a drop some coin

    Throughout the year the windows would change
    Every season had a reason to be on display
    I remember the patriotic exhibits in July
    In the fall harvest displays sprung up
    But there was no better time all year long
    to peruse the windows like Christmas Time
    Stores on Market Square would go all out

    I remember pressing my nose against windows
    to see the wonders each store had to offer
    New and better toys, clothes, and bicycles
    Christmas decorations we couldn’t afford
    Oh, and that one store with the Christmas scene
    Skaters that moved, horses that pulled carriages,
    Trees that lit and blinked with shining toppers
    Snow filled windows with motorized everything
    Nothing to do with the store’s inventory
    Simply displays for the eyes to behold
    And my eyes beheld them every year

    But that was in the 60s and 70s
    Way back when I was growing up
    Way back when I grew up and left
    Not sure what it’s like now, but
    I do know those stores are long gone
    But the memories live on
    In my mind
    Forever

  8. A Walk Across The Brooklyn Bridge

    Sunny Spring breezes
    are pleasing company
    as we begin our walk
    from Brooklyn
    to Manhattan, snapping
    photos all the way.
    We pass others walking
    in opposite direction.
    Everyone smiles, children
    enthralled to be on top
    of bridge. We reach
    Manhattan, stop for
    lunch in Chinatown–
    fuel for our slower
    paced walk
    back to Brooklyn.

  9. A Walk A Day

    A walk a day or maybe two
    I may encounter something new
    May chance to meet potential friends
    Or dream a while, it all depends

    As I walk down a road of dust
    Off on the shoulder, car of rust
    And all is quiet so I try
    To whistle a tune ‘neath gray sky

    Out peeks a cat with silky fur
    He rubs my leg, begins to purr
    Go away kitty you’re not mine
    But I might change my tune in time

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