Jogging Poems - Poems about Jogging

It’s the morning of a different day—who knew there’d be another? Lisa and I went on our harbor jog @ 5am—that’s nothing new. It was, like 44°—we’re enjoying fall’s cold, refreshing bite. Anyway, my mind wasn’t on it and I nearly stumbled over a chunk of dark, uneven roadway, made invisible by its function. Charles, jogging beside me, wordlessly managed...

Continue reading...

RUNNING AROUND - DOESN’T MEAN JOGGING Glad I said it because I could, could finally say “goodbye.” Hearing the words needed to say, was painful … can’t deny. I loved him once, so very much, he meant the world to me. I know one day, he’ll soon become, a shadowed … memory. At first, I was so confident, that he belonged to me. I was seeing...

Continue reading...

I’m an old guy jogging like Joe Biden, kind of goofy looking. The wind is dragging its feet, the sun is frying sweat again. I like to rock on the porch shopping in my mind for stuff too expensive to actually buy, but out here people stare, young girls giggle, dogs sniff and yap, some attack. I get a runners fizzy-dizzy, then cuss under my breath. I...

Continue reading...

I’m an old guy jogging like Joe Biden, kind of goofy looking. The wind is dragging its feet, the sun is frying sweat again. I like to rock on the porch shopping in my mind for stuff too expensive to actually buy, but out here people stare, young girls giggle, dogs sniff and yap, some attack. I get a runners fizzy-dizzy, then cuss under my breath. I...

Continue reading...

no morning jogging. I find In my running shoe. One scared little frog....

Continue reading...

Rest in peace. People gather around to pay homage. Every one gets busy! I feel the soul’s craving for solace. Probably the last few minutes, the most precious moments, when the soul can say “Good Bye!”. I curiously asked mom, “what would you do, after you die?" To this she replied: Don’t mourn, when I die, If you feel...

Continue reading...

I jogged, one foot after the other, Lungs wide open to welcome, Breathings of the warm evening air, Eyes stung at the touch of Cruel sweat, saturated and salty. I jogged, a flat branch overhead, My left arm reached out to touch The tree and its clippings, Dwindling down the serpent's throat, Though my fingers were amiss. I jogged, against the moving air, Soles hitting the...

Continue reading...

A November jog don’t know where I’m going, but my shadow comes too...

Continue reading...

don't debate get out no doubt get in shape don't complate be sure to log gin before jogging...

Continue reading...