Tag Archives: walking

Walking on Frost


He knew the fragility of frozen grass  

Cells thin as a skin of glass

when trod upon, they break

shards of wet ice crushed into green Slurpies

Not good for lawns

 

My puppy’s paws left mitten-size tracks

dark green patches on white

Beside her paw-spotted trail, my angel

spread green wings and skirt

I couldn’t wait for snow

That was when he said “Don’t walk on frost”

That was a long time ago

 

This morning’s dawn woke to me walking the paths

 Following, my old dog chose the frosted grass

No mitten marks from her

just two green trails – silhouettes on white

parallel stories of arthritic joints

dragging her feet like an old woman

 

Crystal-dusted shrubs frosted with fog

caught my attention

I stopped

Gradually my shadow appeared

long and slippery

and buttery heat stroked my back

as the faceted ice began to dance

for the sun

glittering splintered rainbows

until spent

Crystals died in the warmth of morning

Just like him

 

Parallel trails

mitten-paw tracks

green angels and memories

wait upon patience

for winter’s next

walking on frost

 

   Jingle Poetry     Thursday Poets Rally week 36

                                                              And

           One Shot Wednesday

Photo courtesy of Google Images: http://footprintsofabackpacker.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/P1020315.jpg

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Zen Riddle


On the tree-bordered path

an old man and a boy

with long hazel sticks

walked side by side

rain hats and jackets

zipped to the top

pockets buttoned

keeping their maps dry

They shared old stories

and young ambitions

 

The wind rustled up

a twister of  leaves

full branches overhead

added their rain to the sky’s

Beneath, the walkers hunched shoulders

tucked chins down

and collars up

The path grew steeper, darker

and the heavy sky

grew heavier

 

Are you sure you can

walk this, the boy asked

It’s a long path

The old man’s eyes hinted

watery sweet laughter

The path is fine, he said

walking steady

stepping strong

When I was a boy

this path was long

 

The boy wanted to know

if the route had changed

or been shortened, but

No, nobody changed it

the old man replied

You mean the path shrunk

as you grew old?

Is the path your youth?

No, said the old man, smiling

It is just a path

Submitted for One Shot Wednesday        

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Walking the Sun Awake


6:00 a.m.

Sound shreds the gentle dark

the anonymity of sleep that held me 

lulled me through unconsciousness

for eight blessed hours

shattered, ruined and tossed

in piercing shards, daggered awake

high pitched, throbbing and insistent

mosquito on a Red Bull binge

the sound refuses to stop

6:01 a.m.

My blind hand reaches for something

before my brain slips into gear

the ridged plastic bar fills my fingers

I, a well-trained rat in Pavlovian experiment

press the bar 

censor the sound

opiate waves of relief flood my body

struggling clothes at the foot of the bed

donned in the dark

6:05 a.m.

Like a burglar leaving the scene of the crime

my hand slides the screen door silently back

don’t disturb the neighbors, my sweetheart, or my dog

escape into the dark before anyone asks

Is the coffee ready

Did you remember to pack my lunch

My dog dish is empty and Take me with you

Where’s the toilet paper

Can I have a biscuit

Do I smell bacon burning

I slip out before all that starts

6:10 a.m.

Bright, white and glowing

a Cheshire cat grin

claims the indigo sky as its own

yesterday’s gritty moon

 washed by dew

and night

The soft padding sound

my feet playing a pavement drum

careful to avoid the cracks

though my mother died long since

and the only back I can break

is mine

6:15 a.m.

Street poles spread orange light

A-line skirts against the night air

urge my walking-running toes

first to this pole, then the next

breaking it down so that

all I have ahead of me

are accomplishable goals

the quiet peace still surrounds me

dawn grows less dim

6:20 a.m.

Two figures, one tall, one short

pumping hands and feet in rythym

approach and pass, not even smiles

somehow aware of the unspoken

rule of the pre-dawn walker and runner

we don’t break the spell

we just nod

and keep going

6:25 a.m.

Slipping past houses of black and grey

lamplit windows giving away

those whose occupants have risen

or maybe never went to sleep

walls turn from grey to beige

and charcoal lawns spread green

revealing the sun has risen

my heart beats faster

pumping feet carry me

round the last corner

6:30 a.m.

Light fills the sky as sound steals the road

throbbing wheels and engines

full of people heading into the day

oblivious of my quiet world on foot

and of the robin who woke

as I passed his branch

he sat still, trusting

that I would not disturb him

streets lights sign off duty

one block from home

6:35 a.m.

I slip inside the quiet house

and close the sliding door

an alarm clock rings upstairs

feet hit the floor above me

and the shower door slams open

then closes to the sound of screaming water

my dog’s tail thumps in greeting

I missed you

Where have you been?

“Walking the sun awake,” I tell her

as if she might believe

that is one of my responsibilities

 

Photo courtesy of Google images: http://claire.nu/day/001.jpg

 

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Filed under Non-Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized