Best Caravan Poems
I will always be a gypsy- woman filled with curiosity
Running wild beneath a moonglow grasping fireflies;
Then to quickly scribble impressions on leaves, my poetry:
How zest ignites visual arts — charcoal, acrylic, oil—streaks upon
Drawing boards until night’s rhythm forgets to ebb :
Nor do these limbs pause when bewilderment tempts hours
Of dance, weeks of exploration in unknown realms
That this spirit ever free, ever me flames an inner beam…
Nomadic meditative dauntless as a caravan of light and life.
9/27/2018
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Anthony Slausen’s Your life in Nine lines...or less
Truly, the bee hive innards hum
Truly, the body inside gurgles
Truly, the cave echoes the vortex
Truly I know these sounds
from last night
4 cackling creatures spewed
their saturated sayings upon
the floor
upon each other, upon me
the hammering of the gong
the stampede of a thousand
African Elephants all were
asleep in my head before
these 4 opened the flood gates
of the Mind and the sudden
rush of tidal-wave trumpets
I had to leave, flee, rush
walking, against stone and
broken checkerboard spot-
lights I saw you.
Latin King of knowledge
and intellect came down
the Cardio-Hill and embraced
the darkness with refreshing
light. Saving me from ignorant
swine and masses of greased
filled bodies a pool of stale
eggnog that once seemed
white in the moonlight
now floats dead and
stale, a growing vile mass
unlike its former self
Breaking free from this
chain of emptiness I
went with you, oh one
from another land, took
me to a land of distant
memory and dreams
That bubbling feeling of
the Reed-Flute crying
the Baby also crying due
to separation. It was this
sound that rose higher then
the rest. That sound
propelled me to leave. The
nosey throng and join the
party of Lovers as they
dance. But this dancing
does not have to be
physical, but in the mind
that fluid motion of
loving mind-numbing Dance.
created a sensation in
my heart and soul that
the Hernia of Pestilence
was healed and I
could then, after exile
with the Latin King, return
to the normal mortals
and once again brave the
slow Caravan's journey
against the concrete sky.
A shored life
awakes the old
patience is a virtue
a wondrous light
a way for the world
one way passage
yielding trifles
abundant returns
nameless faceless
novelties in scrolls
constant to air
The Book of Life
accounts tallies
clearly visible
hidden from sight
chance of a lifetime
warps through glass
bottled sealed.
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
The College Caravan
Last night we loaded the minivan with her
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chest of plastic drawers
stuffed with clothing, toiletries, school supplies, and posters.
While our vehicle is tightly packed, her room stands hollow;
drained of stuff and spirit, except for the furniture she left behind
like the last icicle melting unnoticed in the spring thaw.
Morning’s excitement, today’s foreseen guest, found her passkey
so early, she displaced the alarm clock, announcing her presence.
On the verge of adventure, our cramped van vacates the driveway,
eager to meet the other jammed vehicles joining our journey.
Sporadic chatter splinters moments of spurned monotony,
spanning the miles amassing in our rearview mirror until …
A hatchback hauling a heavy load leads our line exiting for the rest
stop, where the parking lot hosts vehicle after vehicle stuffed with
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chests of plastic drawers …
Our re-entry acceleration runs smoothly, courtesy of a
clamshell-covered car graciously slowing to permit our advance.
From sedans to SUV’s, the right lane is flush with fenders and
families, forming a cohesive chain whose links approach “The Exit”
signaling for the deceleration lane. The college caravan, flowing
onto the exit ramp and through the green light, turns and winds
along Main Street. As the minivans, hatchbacks, clamshell-covered
cars, and SUV’s pour onto college campus USA, they’re carrying
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, chests of plastic drawers,
and, of course, the proud, nervous parents …
escorting the Freshman Class of 2018!
E. V. Wyler
In the shimm’ring empty distance
Of a vast central Asian steppe,
A faint and formless shape appeared.
A soundless mass of black and brown
Rose like a djinn from out the dust
Of the long traveled Great Silk Road.
As it drew closer on its course,
Under a wide and hot noon sky,
That vague and slowly swaying shape
Cloned a train of two-humped camels,
And dark-faced nomads robed in blue,
Who marched in sync with Borodin.
On they trekked toward Samarkand
With their load of silks and spices,
Mixing sounds of bells and voices;
Indifferently passing by
To vanish in a distant haze
As do so many of our days.
nomad’s caravan---
detours on an unknown place
taking new chances
Haiku On Probabilities
For Marvin Celestial's Contest
dawn's caravan---
swirls unto an unknown places
taking morn chances
Aurora And Avalanche Contest
Now this is a little story of the caravan that rocked
Whether parked in roadside lay-bys, the locals were never shocked
They travelled from the Highlands and motored so far and wide
Exercising their freedom, oh my! that you couldn't hide
They lived just south of Ullapool, and further north than Perth
But no matter where they parked, they always made it worth
Now this couple they liked to journey, to places so far from home
To York, Scarborough and Edinburgh, so capital in their roam
Where ever they went they took in the sights, so beautiful they grace
But every so often their caravan rocked, but never in a windy place
Their holiday nearly over, it's time to head back up the road
Passing places where their caravan rocked, their travelling home abode
They pass such lovely places, like Stirling and Callender
Stopping of at Granton On Spey, their holidays take them afar
Now very close to home, boo! it's work in a couple of days
But they don't mind, for their caravan rocked, without a wind to sway
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-4.php
In a way that lease we broke is a good thing you see
We can travel forever now, it only just set us free
We can see the sights outside the city lights
Come on with me sweetie, we'll soar to new heights
We can go to the ocean and put our toes in the sand
Wish upon the stars and sleep in the Caravan
There are truck stops with pretty good Dinners
Nothing to stop us, unless we get flat tires
I can make some money there playing my guitar solos
We'll keep basically to ourselves and ignore the hobos
I know a interstate highway that runs west
We'll save money bathing as we're dressed
We could lay out and drip dry on the shore
And then never want for anything more
Lets get that sixty two dollars out of the bank
It will be more than enough to fill up the tank
Just you and me against the open road
We can search the beaches for lost gold
Just pack up the van with only our clothes
In no time at all, we'll be smelling like a rose
In my caravan,
oh in my caravan,
there is only you and me
Our mirrors do doubles,
so there you are
with two whiskeys
Our mirror images frown
at our drinking
and saying "cheers"
In my caravan
we both are tipsy
at each other's image
2/16/2015
Beyond a sandstorm’s gritty veil,
A solitary Bedouin,
Like a ghost in a sea of dunes,
Rides slowly along in the dusk.
The singing of rababah strings
Mimic the cooling evening winds;
Tambourines and flutes sound sadly
From the oasis where he’s bound.
His caravans once wound their ways
From the Atlas to the Tigris,
Trudging across the somber sands
Of a boundless and barren realm.
O Bedouin, where are thy tracks?
No hooves clatter in the wadis;
No trail of rotting camel dung.
O Bedouin, where are thy ways?
O Bedouin does your dirah
Yet teem with goat and camel flocks,
Since you have settled in the towns,
Which you once heaped with scorn and mocked?
O noble herdsman once so proud,
Tightly wrapped up in culture’s shroud,
Are you bottled up like the Djinn;
Forced to serve those who hemmed you in?
The rosy mirage of freedom
Is like a scarlet evening light
That paints the clouds with fiery hopes
Which fade in thralldom to the night.
Chilling in the caravan
learning hand to hand
man to man
one bloody palm over the world as we orbit n twirl
Spin a twin
flip her friend
Knocking down doors
Leveling the score
Raqeuteering, blackmailing, not to Badmention
Politician magic tricking women,
Don't play!
don't take away !!
?what we constitute!!!
Is it magic? , it is more ?
Teaching lessons ,molding habits
So I wont bore
Ill el Capitan ,save a woman
If that heart is tore ,
Inner intuitions
tell me open every door
Weeping for the ones sleeping
Peers peep-in ,
hopefully never sneak-in
Awakening the mental each n every weekend
Weakened body Withered by speed/ time or Trick and treatment
Peaceful moments of life created by love and light
Eyes wide open,
always seeing, never blinking,
unless I'm winking
Two options
Tossed into life
Clever thinking or
Endeavor sinking
When you look into reflection
Which king do you see?!?
2/10/18
The road seems endless
Nighttime quickens fear
Unfamiliar, a stranger
In this bus
The air, humid and thick
With danger, angry
Glances swim upstream
Avoiding fallen hate
At first, some were friendly
As hours and days passed
They disappeared, maybe
Changing direction, or
Means of transport, as
Streetcars rattled down the
Middle of the road, always
Heading back to sadness
Women keep their heads
Cloaked tightly, not drawing
Attention, counting on safety
In numbers, various maladies
Afflicted many, silently praying
God is leading them to help
At various moments, fights break
Out, angry words, punches, flotsam
Sometimes wildly swinging knives
Clanging off the sides, a middle
Peace ensues, imaginary walls
Erected, unspoken truce shifts
Uncomfortably
The end, unknown...
Oh when the cold lurks past our doors,
we gypsies love your heated seats.
Stars guide our weary hearts,
better yet, headlights show the streets.
We journey together,
one heartbeat echo’s for all.
My people voice together,
next stop, the nearest mall!
Charms of wisdom and luck,
sometimes ward off ghostly creatures.
Your airbags come standard,
among other safety features.
Labeled as thieves just for trying to find water,
canisters upon our backs in the burning sun.
Oh glory to the Caravan that comes with cup holders,
a Gypsies day can now be done.