Best Fugitives Poems
Gypsies
Across a misty channel
Sensor fingers
Stretch
Through foggy, silent waves
Where two souls embrace
In expeditions of speechless discovery
Two minds stand naked,
Face to face,
With wordless words
Each knowing the inner rhyme
Of another soul –
Intimate outside skin and limbs.
Across the barriers of minutes, hours, months
Two silent gypsies wander,
Through heartbeats
They stand, then gaze,
Connected to each other -
Escapees of the spoken word;
Outside the limits of ticking clocks
Two hearts touch
And see the signature of yet another
Self
At the address of the not yet arrived,
Undelivered.
Across the minutes and the moonlight
Pushing past the stealthy march of mysteries
Two fugitives flee holding hands
Leaving footprints
Escaping lines and spaces
Of a calendar;
Two almost strangers stand
At the mystic gates of the unknown -
Today’s unwanted guests
Intruders in tomorrow’s dwelling -
Thieves of time -
Fate’s despoilers.
Across the walls of midnight’s
Crumbling castles
Two wanderers peer into fleeting glimpses
Briefly understanding
The images and ghosts
Taking shape in the mist undefined;
Two stowaways crouch in secret coves,
Hidden from eyes born into mortality
In the warehouse of the borning
To see and not quite
Understand
Young future’s dance.
Across all barriers of time and space
Two gypsies touch outside galaxies to identify
Vague daylight outlines- dim midnight contours -
Embracing imprints,
Acknowledgment of events to come -
Words still unspoken;
Two souls run past the morning
Then return in recognition
For they now stand
Outside of themselves -
Vagabonds of facts
Nomads escaping demands for proof in black and white.
Great minds get the memo.
Categories:
fugitives, friendship, metaphor, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
Against the odds, among the brave, his class was not defined by race
Talent can never be confined by color, race, nor faith, or time
He climbed his way with dignity within a world of bigotry,
and found acclaim, while making waves, when racial boundaries
fanned the flames
He earned a place in history
He raised the bar, and paved the road. He played each part with brilliancy
He bore the load and carved a path, with courage and humility
In a racist world, he earned respect, where few before had found a way
He crawled inside each role he played, and gave them life, from deep within
He wore the skin of many men, with a courageous, calm insistence
One early role, that stirred the pot, was a plot pledged to his love's fair skin
Yes! Shocking some!!.....But soon he'd find, applause for wedging understanding
A cause that spiraled racial growth, and better yet, acceptance
Another role where deadlocked chains, with ankles bound, two fugitives
while on the run, we cheered them on........and viewers too, unlocked old ways
"To Sir, With Love" above, beyond, his art would teach us how to change
"Mister Tibbs!!"........he said it clear!!....."Don't call me BOY! Don't you dare!"
We believed in what we heard, courageous rage, that we could cheer!
He sang with nuns while we clapped hands.......they built a church in desert sand
He won awards for gentle grace, and won a place in history
He warmed the screen with soul and truth, and paved the way for striving youth
who want to be a legend too, be it black or white or green or blue
Bahamian bred, Defiant One, Ambassador, Freedom's reward
Against all odds, he logged his time, to change the tide of narrow minds
A winsome smile, with deeper lines, that swayed the Lillies of the Field...
He was a fugitive against a time, when racial tones were bound by chains
____________________________________________________
Categories:
fugitives, celebrity, dedication,
Form:
Narrative
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
Categories:
fugitives, fate, fear, grief, hate,
Form:
Rhyme
The Headless Greenlandic Horseman
A Meditation in 6 parts.
Avalanche
I.
The sky is starry
The night is scary
I'm very afraid
of the living dead;
On a mission; or Fugitives in the city
II.
The headless Greenlandic horseman
speaks Kalaallisut very well indeed,
plus Dansk and English! What a man!
A polyglot he is! Yes, sir! Although he
Is evil and wants to behead Mr. Donn
Oh! How horrible! How horrible! The
reason being, Donn owes him plenty
of money. More than 500.000 bucks!
Camera Obscura
III.
Mikko Donn (whose dad is Finnish) is a fugitive in the city
& Hansen, the cowboy from Kalaallit Nunaat, is his hunter;
500.000 U$ is that debt's figure, folks;
Oh! This is horrid! Truly horrid for sure!
I contemplate upon this very jittery and jumpy
Oh, I am scared! Oh, yes! I am scared!
Donn's head is at stake--because he's a debtor;
Another headless man? And multilingual again?
Isn't that whimsical? A headless man wants to
decapitate another man and both speak many
superb languages! That's admirable! Yes, sir!
Spasmodic Apostrophes
IV.
Ave Hansen, Morituri te Salutant
anthropologizing, vexillologizing;
Well, Donn's head is still extant.
Though, I dare ask, for how long?
Equestrian Interregnum
V.
Fear is what Donn feels
even down to his heels;
He feels he's gonna puke
even though he is a duke!
The philanderer's philter will save him no longer
The Greenlander and his plug are after him;
There's no escape--the event is rather grim;
He is doomed. Period. Good-bye, fishmonger!
Hurkle! Hurkle! Hurkle!
VI.
Donn's head is safe now. Why?
Because of my idea; Donn is a fish vendor
and has a friend who is a surgeon;
Therefore, I suggested "What about implanting
a fish's head on Hansen? Wouldn't it be nice?"
Donn okayed what I said & called his friend,
Mr. Sherry, the surgeon. Hansen accepted.
They made a deal. Besides the fish's head,
Donn has to teach Hansen Suomi, a
perfect language. And that's how this tale
ends. Hansen and Donn became friends
and ate partridges together.
Categories:
fugitives, best friend, city, courage,
Form:
Verse
Shadow trees
On gentle breeze, heave
and lip the edges of a sanctuary
Hallowed space, of union graced
In liminal hour
Protected
where dappled light plays cupid to our delight
Crepe paper garlands
Seek to adorn us
Fugitives in search of respite
No penetrating eye should moot
this canticle to umbral shine
nor prick the virtue of our plight
Unsteady mood of solace and peak
Shadow trees
In boundaries you speak
as we move on the fringes of the night -
Let me keep time
damned blue midnight
Categories:
fugitives, imagery, introspection, journey, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Mother Nature...Oh! Blue water,
Oh! Soft Globe...
I’m your slave; I’m your probe,
I’m for you... and for what you hold,
I’m a nature addict, this what I was told,
I like your fresh air...I like your breeze,
I like your flowery plants,
I like your shading trees,
I like all your little creatures....
Squirrels, wild rabbits, birds and bees,
I like the odours of your virgin prairies and farms,
I like the magical beauty of your countryside that charms,
Hunters, adventurers and lovers more...
Vagabonds and even fugitives who come for,
Seeking shelters to escape and hide,
Horses-lovers and jockeys who ride,
I like your singing rivers that show and lean,
I like your floating swans going in twin [s],
I like the tiny alleyways that lead and mean,
Paths, short cuts, mews...all in green,
I like your braying donkeys and the barking dog,
I like the whistling winds and your splashy bog,
I like your orphan turtles and the leaping frog,
I like your frosty mornings and your ghostly fog,
I like your stylish gardens...I like your vogue,
I like everything in you, mother-nature,
But I don't deserve you...
Since I’m destroying you,
And myself [...] I’m a rogue!!
Categories:
fugitives, beauty, environment, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
The ground was blanketed with fallen leaves
that crunched under their feet as they ducked
into the bushes and secluded spots behind thick trees
The forest was their domain the comforts of life
as fugitives in hiding they could survive,
it beat capture and torture.
Emerging on the path came eight horses
with their riders trotting into view
Robin Hood and the others emerged from hiding
knowing they will not be eager to surrender
As the sun starts melting into the horizon bringing in the twilight
Robin Hood and his men knew they were in danger
Why did he feel like he was totally kidding himself?
Jumbling and stumbling they start to dwarf
Their voices had evolved from bass and baritones to tenors
Avoiding getting caught they all backed away and scattered
Bidding the riders farewell, then departing
2/13/2016
Poetry Contest: A twisted poem about Robin Hood -
Sponsored by: C. T.
Categories:
fugitives, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
Almost everyone who came back from Korean War
plays Piano now.
All around that lounge were cognac glasses
being used for tip jars.
The customers were either runaways-fugitives or
here for a cheap getaway.
Red could play Piano for days hooked on
saltines and codeine.
After the evenings set Red new it was back to the sidewalk
laying next to a warm cup of coffee and the memory of being told how good
he was.
He was startled by voices that begged him to play more songs
"c'mon Red give us a song
that old favorite,the song
that makes us forget".
Categories:
fugitives, imaginationred,
Form:
Free verse
Mystery Box
A gray morning made of concrete, bricks and clay
Where rain ceased, thin tributaries, stayed calm
Final elements of wet, evaporated in the thin streams
Faded into small crevasses on the street
Soundless on the emergent day
It was easy to see, above the road by the bridge
A faceless hard ground cracked by age
A green cube, sitting there, waiting
At the functional spot, at the center of attention
With singular precise proportions sealed, a box in angular perfection
Buildings looked up with windows closed, in disdain, in disbelief
Refrained from making roof top speculations about the thing
Rivers too looked away from this location
Moved babbling rapidly on
Hid under bridges, under rocks, with every drop concealed
Then ran like fugitives over brooks, overlooked and flooded
Avoided confrontation in the dark cornered waters
Hexahedrons could be contagious
So all things in nature moved away
Green box was out there all exposed in broad daylight
Made of metal or something else or so it seemed
There were no openings for that matter
Just six sides residing
No proofs that it was solid like a block
No facts laid out that it was empty like lost souls
Speculations indicated nothing but a box
Quiet fell around it like a hammer
Looking for a nail that was not there
Clearly, the cube that sat in plain view
Had nothing better to do
To bring this matter to conclusion
It was avoided at all cost
Box or not
This was its final stop
Categories:
fugitives, absence, change, confusion, image,
Form:
Free verse
America, the land of the free, catering to the wealthy and pushing the poor.
Blacks are all but exempt; they are seen as property and nothing more.
California brought into this nation by gold, as a false equality,
Demanded by some to spread the systems of vast irrationality.
Extradition in compromise to abolition.
Fugitives thrown back to chains, complete pacification.
Grace, all too fallen from, that was this nation.
Humble as many others were, one woman changed the nation.
Illegal activities by abolitionist became the norm, in hopes to stop degradation.
Johns and Janes educated in the taboo subject of the naive.
Kings and knights replaced with tyrannicals and elderly slaves.
Liberty and freedom for all,
Men and woman, Black and White, all readying to fall.
Night falls, creating a stage for the quarrelsome show.
Oppositions face each other, their bodies ready to feed the coming crows.
Position between this and that,
Quarrelling over the proper way to skin a cat.
Runaways are forgotten for the time being,
Say it so, as many were fleeing.
Tackless politicians following a false tradition,
Utilitarian, one may say, on their decision.
Vicious out cries spread across the nation following
White men's decision to take a stand being,
Xecute the evils of the world.
Yells coming from each side, each saying they are more moral'd.
Zephyrs blow across the grasses, to contrast what is to come.
Categories:
fugitives, history, , cute,
Form:
ABC
If I weren’t afraid, I’d…
… feast sumptuously, satiating my cravings midst well-being’s fullness
… feature myself along my twelve-month color scheme of saintly fashion
… fly over Mt. Everest, then trek at its pinnacle with my gratitude flag
… free all biblically righteous activists, accused as religious fugitives
… fathom futility’s frame against frustration-fall
… flee to family’s joyous feedings around blessings’ flow
… fulfill my own desires, defying folly’s flair
… fire-up my heart’s fixations…
Fueled by God,
firmly I cling to Him, thanking Him
for putting in my heart
fear* that's reverential so by
faith I can
freely obey and willingly
follow Him along holiness-bliss of
fervency’s fortitude.
*Psalm 111:10 The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: a good understanding have all they that do his commandments: his praise endureth for ever.
September 11, 2019
Edited on February 10, 2020
3rd place, "STRAND SELECT K, any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 2/11/2020.
Categories:
fugitives, appreciation, blessing, christian, faith,
Form:
Alliteration
The formality of it stings.
“How are you?”
Delivered with a self-conscious courtesy and
a poverty of emotion
calculated to immediately keep
me at arm’s length,
fencing herself in.
There was a time when this
same greeting would
have been prefixed with a
velvet-soft “hey” and saturated with
a low hum of closeness
that instantly muted the world around us,
drawing me inside the fence with her,
accompanied by a slackening
of features and posture,
as if the short separations
demanded by work and
other humdrum inconveniences
of daily life were
reluctant journeys,
and home was wherever
I happened to be.
The piano player in a corner of the bar,
as if sensing the intrusion of
something buried into the world of the living,
the chance encounter of
present with its past,
is now, with a mischievous glint in his eye,
playing the kind of
slow, tinkling jazz tune that,
echoing from many nights past,
is freighted
with a desolation of angels.
We're talking like fugitives fleeing our own shadows,
the plastic pleasantries we exchange
a cover-up,
every word the coded equivalent of
“don’t go there”,
slow dancing
without touching.
Too soon, or too late,
we decide it’s time to put an end to the past-present,
like two estranged parents enforcing an
early curfew on former versions of themselves.
While we're walking away from each other,
the piano notes waft like wayward stars
through the door of the bar,
trailing two ghosts who are,
behind our backs,
eloping into the night.
Categories:
fugitives, emotions, lost love, memory,
Form:
Narrative
A Satanic “ANTI-CHRIST” Lies in Every Heart
My ‘Brothers,’ ‘Sisters,’ hear my ask, and choose to follow CHRIST!
What ‘RIGHT’ calls faith’s not FAITH at all. LOVE claims no ‘CHRISTIAN RIGHT’
to force ALL PEOPLE to its WILL! My God! RIGHT’s aptly named!
‘RIGHT’ think that acting in THEIR WILL’s the way to paradise
but that’s IDOLATRY. All faith that’s sure it’s RIGHT is SIN
(the ‘DEVIL IN DISGUISE’) and GRACE a gift God gives to ALL
(man’s actions don’t deserve!) Friend, FAITH’s the path to where Grace lives!
Abortion is a fact of life (at times, a gift from God!)
which would be parents think they hate (rape’s victims meet with love!),
and practiced long before Christ’s birth. The Bible’s silent here!
Friend! It’s satanic claim to KNOW what’s right for other’s lives!
‘Roe versus Wade’ does not hurt you and lets each person vote.
The Truth is true for all of time, no matter how it’s sliced
and those who lie to make truth wrong are allies of the night,
with hate, with Hell, with Death! Love wins when Trump, his friends are shamed!
Where Satan tricks, God gives you choice (redemption conquers vice),
God’s goal’s your growth, His Truth’s that Love wants sinner’s souls to win!
Success gets primed with Christ’s amazing Grace and still we fall!
No church fares better than the rest; they’re wisdom’s fugitives
that seek to hide their nakedness with borrowed leaves! How odd!
Acknowledged sin has lost its edge (where vanity hides truth in glove);
what’s weak is strong through faith (though all feel shame who know they fear!)
Life’s lessons stressed we earn through pain; its honey comes from hives.
“Each night earth’s known has met day’s dawn” is poetry worth note!
Long Tooth
May 23rd in 2022
Poet’s Note:
Do not despair that our churches are all more hospitals for the sick and dying than they are Country Clubs for the saved. That seems to be what Grace is for! Give more Grace to others if you dream it is yours to share.
Categories:
fugitives, faith, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Hand in hand
Handcuffed
Fate and I
Fugitives of Reality...
Categories:
fugitives, life,
Form:
Free verse
The royal chambermaid and the young warrior, fleeing the wrath of the heavenly palace, were flying low, their robes trailing through the air like colourful ghosts. Their elopement to the earthly domain had been condemned by the celestial throne, and now the soldiers of the pursuing army, forbidden to descend any further into the dwelling place of mortals and beasts, the line between heaven and earth being inviolable, had massed in the sky, each with a white cloud underfoot, their eyes following the desperate flight of the fugitives, two bright specks sweeping over the barren landscape far, far below. The commanding general raised his sword.
Deserting the blue,
Match made in heaven, earthbound,
Gravity of love.
The two lovers could sense that the end was near. Flying huddled together, his arm around her shoulders, they looked into each other’s eyes, a wistful smile on their lips, the wind pushing a thin strand of the chambermaid’s hair onto her face like the track of a tear. To die next to each other, just above the realm where they could be human about their love, was the second best fate they could have wished for.
Doomed by human hearts,
Celestials embracing fate,
Flight interrupted.
The sky darkened. A million jade arrows poured straight down from the heavens, blocking out sun and hope, whistling through the air, a shrill dirge, then smashed like thunderbolts into the land, their shafts and feathers quivering in a green fury at having been sunk in this filthy turf forever. Presently, deep in their midst, out of the trembling, seedless earth, appeared a pair of mysterious red flowers that, through the numberless winters since, have refused to wither.
A merciless sky,
A deluge of green arrows,
Bamboo forest sways.
Categories:
fugitives, earth, eulogy, fantasy, heaven,
Form:
Haibun