David C Probst

David C Probst Poems

Step by step I climb the steep ascent,
Panting, sweating, longing for some rest.
Feet that hurt and eyes that scrutinize
Every inch of stone I tread across.

I've heard your call, I'm coming down
This winding, smooth and silky slope,
Down to the cabin in the woods
Where I shall stay and rest a while.


I woke up late this morning
skipped breakfast and rushed to work
my empty stomach competing
with the roaring engine of my car.


It's cold outside, the night is deep
Some lonely lights shine from afar
All sparkling like the Evening star
To mark where people lie asleep

A stormy night it was that shook the trees
Their lofty heads dishevelled by the wind
Like humans waking from their restless sleep
Deprived of vigour, diffusèd in their minds.


I've come here to find and pick up the flowers
Of beauty and strength so divine
But all I can do is walk 'round for hours
Looking for you all the time.

A breeze
Whirling through the streets,
Engulfing me with its cold breath—
A flash

Waves washing rocks of sore memories in futile replication
Rendering them more slippery with each lapping.
Church bells proclaiming the festive season
Irrespective of wordly misery and woe.

Each day he does his walk along the shore,
Each step more agonizing than the last,
He lags his weathered frame so he can cast
A pensive look out to the sea once more.

Tenderly, cautiously, I dip my thirsty toes,
Then the ball, the sole and heel of one foot.
My furry calf is next to plunge into the scented fluid —
My nostrils dilate under the warm spell

It's that time of year again
When trees flare up, then strip their gown
And cloak the grass with withered leaves
Like memories to be dismissed.


On top of the rock he stands, stiff and stern,
Watching the glistening surface of the sea
And supertankers sluggishly return
To far-off lands that he will never see.

My petals, torn and rusty,
They squeak in agony
When nudged by careless birds,
My only visitors.

The Best Poem Of David C Probst

Via Podiensis

Step by step I climb the steep ascent,
Panting, sweating, longing for some rest.
Feet that hurt and eyes that scrutinize
Every inch of stone I tread across.

Pilgrims' traces grace the worn-out path:
Crumbling cairns rebuilt continuously,
Names and crosses carved in dateless beams -
Hopeful messages addressed to God.

Who am I to walk so carelessly,
Gracelessly along this sacred path?
Where's my faith, my awe, my humbleness?
What has made me so insensible?

Crucifixes are religious art,
Shells but lovely souvenirs to me.
Pious scribblings are but bad graffiti -
Artless signs of passage done in haste.

Mother Mary is no use to me -
Virgin blood runs through my daughters' veins.
Life can be a burden in itself -
What can Eve or Adam add to this?

Grateful am I, not deceived by tales,
Thankful to be healthy and alive.
Sweat and pain are part of every life,
Joy and hope need no religious bait.

Drained but glad I reach the mountain's top,
Look around and quench my worldly thirst.
Awestruck I take in the splendid view
Jesus left unnoticed to my right.

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