Icing
ice settling in the fields—
after our walk
we eat cake
Poems on the topic: walk
Poems on the topic “walk” on Poets.by.
Mission creep
i watch from under
my umbrella
the complexly bladed ferns
dancing erratically in the rain
my feet and their forever
war on stasis
the ruts reasserting themselves
through fresh stone
i was only going
for a walk and now
i’m pondering the obligations of ferns
the prerogatives of feet
and the way a green tongue
snakes through everything
as if wisdom grew on trees
as if it were made of gray paper
* * *
I think I go into abstraction
when the form is plain
when the flower is to flower
and wood makes wood
I am joined to a walk
or aimlessly
tuned to the sting
of a saw's thrust
Message
you ask me how they keep walking
the Peace walkers
walking all the way from San Francisco eta
to Moscow
their message is too beautiful for me to encompass
in a poem
GOOD NEWS!
But as a metaphor let me point
to that long-legged woman over there
she's pregnant in shorts and sneakers
her bunched veins
like blue hyacinth petals or berry scratches
& she wears a nice cool peppermint striped blouse
well, now she's walking heavily from one side of
this small playground to the other
in the sun
* * *
it's those late night talks
those midday walks
that I miss the most
Dog
O LITTLE friend, your nose is ready ; you sniff,
Asking for that expected walk,
(Your nostrils full of the happy rabbit-whiff)
And almost talk.
And so the moment becomes a moving force ;
Coats glide down from their pegs in the humble dark ;
You scamper the stairs,
Your body informed with the scent and the track and the mark
Of stoats and weasels, moles and badgers and hares.
We are going Out. You know the pitch of the word,
Probing the tone of thought as it comes through fog
And reaches by devious means (half-smelt, half-heard)
The four-legged brain of a walk-ecstatic dog.
Out through the garden your head is already low.
You are going your walk, you know,
And your limbs will draw
Autumn Fields
He said his legs were stiff and sore
For he had gone some twenty-eight miles,
And he'd walked through by watergaps
And fences and gates and stiles.
He said he'd been by Logan's woods,
And up by Walton's branch and Simms,
And there were sticktights on his clothes
And little dusts of seeds and stems.
And then he sat down on the steps,
And he said the miles were on his feet.
For some of that land was tangled brush,
And some was plowed for wheat.
The rabbits were thick where he had been,
And he said he'd found some ripe papaws.
He'd rested under a white oak tree,
And for his dinner he ate red haws.
People Going By
Before they come I hear their talk
And hear their feet go on the walk.
Some go fast and some go slow,
And some of them I almost know.
In mornings they are going down
To see somebody in the town.
Or Mrs. Warner hurries past;
She has to go and come back fast.
She walks by quick and will not stop,
To go to the church with the cross on top.
I think she goes there every day
To take her rosary and pray.
And one of them is Mr. Jim--
And the big white dog that follows him.
And one is lame; that's Uncle Mells;
He takes off warts by mumbling words,
Velvet Shoes
Let us walk in the white snow
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.
I shall go shod in silk,
And you in wool,
White as a white cow's milk,
More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.
We shall walk through the still town
In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.
We shall walk in velvet shoes:
The Empty House I
We walked all morning over furze and grass,
And climbed steep tufted heights against the sun,
Went down the shaven tracks, where rabbits pass,
And unalarmed the scuttling pheasants run.
There were no men in sight, save at a farm,
Where, far below, we saw, about midday,
Two ploughmen lying lapped about with warm
Rank growings of the hedge. Green buds of may
Hung over them unopened, primroses
Were yellow round their bodies. On we went,
Up a long slope through tangled coppices,
Where half-fledged hazels on the pathway leant,
Till suddenly we saw through thinning boughs
The chimneys of an old long-lonely house.
An Autumn Walk with Deborah
Over the limp and sallow grasses,
Deborah, will you walk with me?
You may gather gentians in purple masses
And honeypods from the locust tree.
Brown leaves cover the partridge berry.
Holding it safe for your eager hand.
Barberry bright and cornelian cherry
Offering scarlet jewels stand.
I shall dress you up as an elf-queen, twining
Bittersweet wreaths for your golden head ;
Your leaf-brown cloak with its orange lining
I shall hang with garlands yellow and red.
Let us leave this place while the sunlight lingers
Lest the elves should covet your beauty bright.
The gentians fall from your tired fingers
As I carry you home through the fading light.
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