Path Determines
On a steep track, one has to claim stooping.
On a muddy path, one has to walk balancing.
If it is a rope, one has to move writhing.
The ground is level, where one walks steadily.
One’s conducts depend on the path open.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wind
There are winds out there, they cause the windows and doors to move.
They have their own language.
This is not as easy as stealing from the blind.
As I walk through forests the trees seem to move behind me.
The splittered woood has not been made into books.
The muddy path pulses, a second birth.
This is not real, these are things inside of me,
ice on branches, sleet on frozen ground, words as rain.
They circle around me like cold, brown leaves.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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On That Path
I'm on that path,
So was my mother,
I'm on that path,
Just like my brother.
I'm on that path,
I didn't know my father,
I'm on that path,
And i am the master.
I'm on that path,
upon the good, straying from evil.
I'm on that path-
There is no cheating.
I'm on that path,
God knows i need him.
I'm on that path,
and i hope i'm never leaving ;)
the HEARTbraker
poem by Madina Morr
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Choosing To Walk On The Right Path
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Is going to have its obstacles.
Temptations will be there to tease,
With attempts to weaken.
And faces familiar...
Will appear to critique.
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Isn't an easy decision one makes.
It takes one to break away,
From barriers attached...
That are difficult to unlatch.
Yet...
Can be done to escape those traps.
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Is going to have its obstacles.
And some days will seem impossible.
But that path chosen,
By the one who knows it is correct...
Will never bring to one regret.
If a faith kept is strong.
And an accepting felt within belongs.
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Will prove there to be nothing to fear.
Doubts disappear!
And those things wrong that prick like thorns,
From this right path...
Eventually,
Will be gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Lonely Path
One one lonely Lonely lonely one Lonely lonely Londoner I am very very lonely Loneliness is killing me in a lonely path I am frustrated Lonely at heart At the lonely path of London street, i walk on a lonely path The path that is wide is noisy very busy The lonely path is the narrow path very peaceful We all want peace
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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A Coloured Print by Shokei
It winds along the face of a cliff
This path which I long to explore,
And over it dashes a waterfall,
And the air is full of the roar
And the thunderous voice of waters which sweep
In a silver torrent over some steep.
It clears the path with a mighty bound
And tumbles below and away,
And the trees and the bushes which grow in the rocks
Are wet with its jewelled spray;
The air is misty and heavy with sound,
And small, wet wildflowers star the ground.
Oh! The dampness is very good to smell,
And the path is soft to tread,
And beyond the fall it winds up and on,
While little streamlets thread
Their own meandering way down the hill
Each singing its own little song, until
I forget that 't is only a pictured path,
And I hear the water and wind,
And look through the mist, and strain my eyes
To see what there is behind;
For it must lead to a happy land,
This little path by a waterfall spanned.
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Cobble Stone Path
Our memories are the cobble stone path
to our past that we walk along,
and if we trip or stumble,
they repeat themselves again.
We move forward every day,
then we stop along the way
and the cobble stone path appears
and we find ourselves walking along it again.
The years melt away before us
and we are back into yesterday
and those memories we made
that always seem so far away.
As we walk along the path,
each stone hold a memory.
Some are cherished as we step on them,
and others we would just like to skip across.
20 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Snakepit
Well we're a mile under the ground
And i'm thinking that it's christmas
And i'm kissing you hard
Like i've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
Well i'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And i've forgotten how to speak
And i just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snakepit, The
Well we're a mile under the ground
And I'm thinking that it's Christmas
And I'm kissing you hard
Like I've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
Well I'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And I've forgotten how to speak
And I just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faith I Don't Question
How can I 'see' some things and you don't?
That's a good question.
One I can not explain.
When I see a clear path,
I walk on it.
There may be some obstacles.
I face them and move on.
You,
I hear rustling through the brush,
Cussing at the leaves falling from trees.
And criticizing the insects,
And other animals in their natural habitat.
I hear you struggling over aches and pains.
You inflicted them.
On that route you insist you must maintain.
When I see a clear path,
I walk on it.
There may be some obstacles.
I face them and move on.
How can I 'see' some things and you don't?
That's a good question.
One I can not explain.
I make sure the path I'm on,
Has some direction.
And I stay on it with faith,
I don't question.
I just 'do' and let God be my guide!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lifes path
There are so many paths in life
I guess I could say
I ve walked them all
The right path
The wrong path
The path of pain
The path of good
The path of bad
Which path do I now take
At this present time of life
The path I take is the path of pain.
The path of hurt
So many paths I have walked
But im lost in the path
The path of pain
Amy Kerswell
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Forest Of Souls
The path was dark and shadowed,
They walked as their children followed.
Through the forest to the feild,
For time they shall not yeild.
Lost souls on their paths to fate,
As the reach eternals gate.
The path was dark and shadowed
They walked on as their children followed
The darkness is overcoming
As if to bow before what they are becoming.
They walk with their eyes ahead,
with nowhere to go but where they are lead.
They walk with family, with lovers,
As the mist lightly huvers
The path was dark and shadowed,
As they walk on with more coming to follow.
Their souls are lost, their hearts are gone,
As they walk through the woods as they walk on.
They carry the memories with them,
They leave all their feelings behind them.
Now they walk as one,
Until all but an empy shell is gone.
The path becomes dark and shadowed,
As more people come to follow.
The souls of men, of people,
As they all come, all the people.
They walk through the forest, through the wood,
Down the path of fate, past where they once stood.
The path is dark and shadowed,
As more and more people follow.
They walk past trees,
And plants and bushes, past all of these.
They walk, an empty shell, their emotions and their being...gone.
The souls walk on.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Young Lover Of A Thousand Lovers
Curiously he walks up this steep path,
His life brought to an end he design
Embracing his true nature in error
And on the thread mill of life he spins continuously
Thinking profoundly of his greatest agony
Now he is forced to take a walk
With his pen in his hand like the mad man he insulted
Shattered like the glass out of the hand of a maiden
The young lover of a thousand lovers
Having to contend with the struggling oceans
He brought disaster upon himself
While he walks up that steep path
With his forehead embedded with the holy mark of confusing
Every stranger turns to gaze upon him and wish to know what he thinks
Such a sorrowful young lover,
The architect of his own pitiful fate
The tyranny of loves tenderness envelopes his soul
Such sweat sour emotions lies in his heart,
The management of a thousand lovers
Look at him, a young lover destroying himself of a thousand lovers
May the birds of nature despise him as he takes a walk
And let him find peace in his decision
Indeed his lovers destroys him only if he knows
Hanging his soul upside down like the washed cloth on Saturday hangers
Not one, not two, not three, not four and certainly not five.
Would they live in his heart, if he does not find a way to dispose them?
Causing such a tragedy to his future, the architect of his fate
Should he leave one, two, three, four and certainly not five.
He counts as his steps he takes
Should he entangle himself in loves sweetest abode?
And gain the experience in the art of love
Or should he be the designer of his own fate.
poem by Samuel Donkor
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Worker Ants
Worker Ants
Parallel along the path I followed an ant track.
I joined the ants, there were many all carrying
bits of straw so I picked up a piece of dry straw,
and man was it heavy. The other ants laughed
said will get the hang of it in time, soon you’ll
be able to carry two. Maybe four too, I rashly
said. No, that will break your back.
I kept falling behind as I timidly scanned the air
for predatory sparrows and wondered if rabbits
eat ants. Where their track ends by a hole, their
home, I threw my burden to the ground and
jumped back on to my own path. Hard work kills
the soul, and all you get at the end of it is cheap
pocket watch.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A path is only a path, and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you. Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself alone, one question. Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, it is of no use.
Carlos Castaneda in The Teachings of Don Juan (1968)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The path is fear ridden
My path: how long; how far; how good; who knows?
The path seems clear yet there seems fear.
Vultures circle while chicks are on pecking;
Tigers prowl while cows are on grazing.
Fish, big and small, swim in the same lake.
Food is sought but dangers interfere;
Rest is sought but hunger demands a break.
Love is sought but bindings do throw a fright.
My path: how up; how straight; how wide; who knows?
The moon and stars dispel dark, so fear
But in my birth chart, they rule to my fear.
The God will save you, , the god men promise.
They did not take me to Ethiopia
Nor did they show me El Dorado.
I could find a place a pool or ditch
Only when I reach there, guidelines failing.
My path: how safe; how smooth; how live; who knows?
I fear animals and walk with men
In rows or as a part of caravan
And find animals better than men.
Phobia struck, I still wander with men,
Who I hope can be my companions,
Losing them as out of sight or dropp outs
In the course of my walk, fear undying..
My path: how rich; how cool; how free; who knows?
Set in a journey, I move as I’ve to.
The journey was born without my knowledge
And it would end with out any notice.
I move to prey and not to be a pray,
Hoping that I could succeed in my stay.
Each foot I set with hope along with fear.
Cheers or tears, I move as I’ve to.
dt.0505’07
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wintermoon
Under stars,
under sky,
I will walk,
my path and fate.
Wathing the moon,
the ghostly light,
enchanted by its beauty.
I will walk forever on,
knowing that past is past,
and future is future.
Life is only lived in the present.
I will walk,
in winter, spring, summer and autumm,
watching the moon,
enchanted by its beauty.
I walk down the path of spring,
knowing my fate awaits,
I'm walking the path of life.
I walk the path of summer,
looking at the sun,
warmed by the sun,
I'm alive and growing,
nature is part of me.
I walk the path of autumm,
seeing the prey of death,
beautiful coulours of the fiery soul,
striving to live once again.
Once future, now the base of knowledge,
THE future.
I walk down the path of winter,
looking at the wintersky,
bewitched by the wintermoon,
so clean,
so beautiful,
and yet so cold.
I will live in the present,
walking towards the future,
while this life of mine is build upon the past.
The past is me,
I'm the past, the present and the future.
The Soul's Pathway
we each must search through the
darkness to find our own way.
Steer our vessel to a safe harbor.
Once a soul has found it's true
path and completed the work it
has been sent here to do, it
will then evolve to a higher
level
Energy never dies, it just keeps
changing forms.
When we are asleep, our minds are
open allowing information to enter.
Whenever we go out it is part of
the souls path. Death is not the
end, just a stepping stone to a
higher plane.
For in the end immortality awaits.
poem by Heather Burns
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On Life's Road
am a wreck on life's road
a train crash in a subway
permently stuck in my own
downfall destruction of a new era
a solo era in which my heart is
as cold as ice frozen off from
emotion and the effects of tears
damn i loss track of the road
i see clearly but yet am blind
creeple but yet i walk as i move on
day but day i walk along this path
lost as a child with out the parents
no one to save me as i sit in solitude
looking at the stranger in the mirror
as life goes on without me
poem by Robert Roberts
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Fate
Stranded in a minefield
of thoughts
Standing where the road forks
Which road do I follow
Which path do I take
Do I let fate
take my hand
or do I throw fate
to the ground
and build a new road
and a new path to walk
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Open road open path
Open road open path
Sky is there
Fancy dress no meaning
Air water no meaning
Go on sportsman spirit.
Open road open path
handless legless
Come and see here I am
Ready to fight with time.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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