Best Fugitive Poems
I wanted in my poetry cup
Neither fixed heat nor cold
Sought just to raise it up
Close to your hair gold
No centre is required to write
A poem of beauty or struggle
Rather a fugitive’s might
To bring out those lovely bubbles
We live mostly in thoughts
Of pictures and colors various
Trying to untie the knots
To unleash your eyes hilarious
This is a fugitive world
At the margin of the bell curve
When it is fruitfully unfurled
There is a dance in your nerve
Were there no fugitive thinkers
To mix dream with the reality
No poetry would ever shake the drinker
To draw you close to me
It is an asset dear friend
That the words are my companion
Yes I swerve from the mainstream no doubt
And pursue my pen in abandon
And the result is fresh morning
Green leaves and sometimes bouquets
Many a time they come adorning
Fugitively orange days
_________________________________
March 12, 2016
terza rima
Years of experience, a discovery -
I can speak without making use of my jaws.
Prudence and patience are rudimentary.
Some folks get their kicks using scuttlebutt claws.
Their tongues' crude vitality comes with closed eyes;
emotional blindness - the probable cause.
Starting with prejudice, they out and out lie.
When asked, I stand silent, comments I refuse.
To their third-degree grilling I can't reply.
Some fake aggravation, crying through tissues.
But demurring to speak, objection I raise.
Honesty is one of many dead issues.
Bidding no farewell, I leave, making my case,
which makes me their next target, no hesitance.
My objection overruled, noise fills the place.
Turning my back on verbal vindictiveness,
this fugitive from gossip needs no redress.
13 March 2016
A Fugitive
Fugitive
wandering, nomadic
escaping, eluding, absconding
frightened alone seeking sanctuary
Refugee
Written by Jill for Julia Ward’s
Fugitive contest, any form
A maid, lovely and just as fair,
is a flower, a bloom, afresh
even when no sunshine's o'er there.
In spirit and in youthful flesh,
so magnificent past compare,
she softly glows, with skin so fresh.
With youth and loveliness to find,
she coyly offers no consent;
but with her smiles and trust so blind,
she stirs a restless discontent.
When peeks, and looks, betray her mind,
she befriends me as if we're meant.
Her sweetness, though, sparks a desire,
a lust without wise self-control;
but rule I must, I must, this fire!?
For this maid's a girl, not a doll
to quench and slake my swollen spire,
the squire of my depraved, dark soul.
A flower wakes up
Finds shelter where lies turn truth
And
Its true colors bloom.
*
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Contest Date: 4/9/16
Contest Name: "A Fugitive"
Once a jade vision
Briefly twisted in the breeze
Now brown and demised
A fugitive from society,
A fugitive from the makers of the nook,
A prisoner in my special school,
A convict to the female OT department, look.
Not needing occupational therapy from a woman,
From a girly woman who had no depth,
Who used Yuhu to stick a philosophical view of life onto her,
Who used bobbles, hairspray and lipstick maroon;
Who represented inequality in healthcare,
Where there’s so many more women than men,
Who validated your parents fully,
Before they cheered up your ben,
They didn’t meet me, but did play,
Without going out of their way.
But it was all my fault abstractly,
Although i know it was not because i was only two and three quarters,
When i replied to the doctor that i was ok when i was not,
When i answered to him about what was within, about what I’d got,
Instead if replying to him straight.
The other doctor, the school doctor has done fine with me though,
And i never ran away from him,
So he helped me with my problem at university,
When we were both studying to win;
I could talk to him at anytime at school,
Supposedly, because the other kids shunned me for talking to him too much,
Since they thought that my slow physical development was funny,
Not worth inquiry or pout,
When i found it an injury stout.
But I learnt that society wasn’t the initiator of school medical structures,
That they were different, that my culture was not delinquent,
And that i fitted in neatly and with eloquence,
To gain my independence and not sin;
By intelligent society i was accepted,
And could overcome and win.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
You've executed that initial thrill.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
Though you might miss the way we used to be,
Of recent suffering, you've had your fill;
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
Resist arrest, no penitentiary
Can hold an edgy soul against its will.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
Be agile and elude captivity.
Embrace no fondness that you wouldn’t kill.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
You'll live a life now as an escapee
Concealing yourself with uncanny skill
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
Accept the fact however you did flee
You have emerged a harder person still.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
From Sixty-Three to Sixty-Seven, we watched it,
upon our tiny TV screens.
We banned all phone calls or interruptions of
these fascinating scenes.
Dr. Kimball had been convicted
of the murder of his wife.
On the day set for his execution
he'd escaped and ran for his life.
He ran, looking for the true murderer,
the one armed man he saw,
at same time steps ahead of Lieutenant
the dogged arm of the law.
I watched every single episode
of those four seasons, so
how did I miss the ending
on the last night of the show?
For nearly fifty years I've wondered,
did he win or did he lose?
If he's still running, I am certain,
he's worn out those running shoes.
Fugitive
Fleeing the confines of mind
scurrying over addled thoughts,
sorting through lifeless sermons.
Challenging the confines of conformity.
Fleeing oppressions oligarchs
loosing a flow of vitriolic viciousness,
hell bent on pissing off the world
signing on as the “devil’s advocate”.
Running off at the mouth,
parsing paths chosen - by the chosen.
Fugitive!
Worn boots, frayed cuffs,
sun washed shirt, ruddy face,
narrow eyes, impish grin,
peering into a future,
dancing with a shadow.
3/16/2016
submitted to – A Fugitive – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Julia Ward
I robbed a bank today
Suprisingly
I got away
The cops were just seconds behind
The money so much money
is mine
I cant believe
I pulled it off
Just a hoodie, bandana,
and a plastic gun airsoft
I told that teller
give it all to me
So scared
so frightened was she
put in the bag
stuff it nice and full
or I will be forced
to give this trigger a pull
Everyone stand down
not a single noise
I pulled it off
with stellar poise
As I left
I had goosebumps up my spine
I finished it like the movies
in record time
I got away I made it
no repercussion in sight
Until I was alone
that very same night
Couldn't stay out of the windows in my home
They showed my photo on the news
(I must be known)
What did I do
there is no turning back
Need to stuff this money
into my pack
Stuck constantly
looking over my shoulder
Life as I knew it
is completely over
Going to hit the road
see what I can find
The worry the guilt
racing through my mind
I thought I was successful
but the aftermath isn't fun
Wait this means
I am a FUGITIVE on the run
4/1/16
It was almost dusk when he rode into town
Looking for a saloon, his sorrows to drown
'Twas in that saloon a fight broke out
And he had to punch a cowpoke in the mouth
The next day the posse came looking for him
Wanted dead or alive, his future looked dim
Or worse yet, and this is no lie
They would string him up and hang him high
But he lay low until they went away
Then he rode out of town the very next day
He had killed a man in self defense
But the sheriff wanted him nonetheless
Wanted him to confess to the crime
But he wasn't fixing to do no time
He was an outlaw, riding from town to town
His six shooters at the ready, to let off some rounds
He was quick on the draw, his name was Sid
But he was better known as the two gun kid
Then one day in a crowded saloon
The sheriff walked in and spotted the kid
He told the kid to slap leather at high noon
Or keep on going and run and hide
The two gun kid finished his drink
And obliged the sheriff by stepping outside
The two men stood ready to draw
A crowd had gathered to see the outlaw
Before the sheriff could reach for his gun
Two shots rang out, the sheriff fell down
Quicker on the draw was the fugitive named Sid
But he was better known as the two gun kid
~~~~
3 - 23 - 2013
There are some gateways
to free you out of bond
of what you call a prison
and others hold it fond
There are some gateways
to save you from your plight
though you lack in strength
all knows of your might
Go on, go on
and be a fugitive
of what you hate and love so dear
what you call your life
There are some gateways
to set you forever free
let you fly as high as you wish
up and beyond that line of tree
There are some gateways
for you to be forever saved
away from all the pain
and walk on a road already paved
Sail on, sail on
through all the lies and obstacles
glimpse the edge of your prison
and melt into the sun’s last rays
The Fugitive
He’s now subdued and has health issues.
He was once in a dysfunctional marriage.
He’s presently in a stable relationship.
He’s more responsible and doesn’t drink like he use to.
He’s a gentleman, and no longer beats and abuses women.
Once a dead beat dad; he’s now trying to be a good father.
Once like an enemy to me; but now, he’s civil and a friend.
But there was a long journey before entering the road to civility.
He had prior criminal offenses before I ever came to know him.
Serving time for his crimes did little to alter his bad behavior.
He disturbed my family’s peace, and the peace of my neighbors.
The law did not protect anyone from the destruction of his disturbed soul.
He refused to surrender to law enforcement to face the music for his crimes.
Becoming a fugitive from justice, he fled the continental United States, and
remained so for some five years.
No man is an Island, and at some point, we all get caught.
He has now paid his debt to society, and his running days are over.
03092016 PS Contest, “A Fugitive”, by Julia Ward
Live
Fugitive!
Nearest relative.
We come close consecutive.
In light you appear dark, selective
and follow as disciple, protective.
In dark you flee being active,
Shadow sensitive,
Reactive.
Live!
Wow!
‘My shadow,
Come close and follow.’
May be long, short, wide, narrow,
As light with me be able to allow,
Sideways, back, front, diagonal below.
It will flee as dark will grow.
Light and dark play so,
come and go.
Wow!
Thrive!
Fugitive!
Since I am alive.
In bright light you will survive.
You are ready to flee, I believe,
waiting for dark to bid bye and leave.
Hide and seek in day and eve.
Dark makes you passive.
Fugitive!
Thrive!