Best Gipsy Poems
“Good Morning! I know you are busy. Will you stop for a while for an interview?”
Sir, what do you want to know? If only you are keen,
And do not look at me with prejudice, I shall explain,
How I ended up here and tell you my whole story_
The story of my journey from the cliff to the plane.
“Yes, I know you are a traveller, tell me all about it. But before that, I wish to know about your origin and background.”
I was part of a big rock, so static without motion.
I used to watch birds in flight on feathered wings,
Going from one end to the other, merrily singing,
Buoyed up by the force of the wind as on swings.
Like them I longed to be free and roaming
But knew I was cradling just a fanciful whim.
I slept most of my life with my dream tucked in my heart.
As time rolled by, my dreams and fancies grew dim.
It was then a tremor shook the very face of the earth,
Loosening my mother boulder from her strong hinge.
She moved and rolled down from the great heights,
On the way a chip got broken, in pain I did twinge.
Thus, I was born. Painfully, alienated from my mother,
I felt so orphaned and lay silent in a dark corner,
Lost and hungering like a dream waiting to wake up.
But my grief gave way to joy, no more I was a mourner.
“It sounds so interesting. How did it all happen? Please tell me…..”
Seeing me lying dejected and despondent, a small stream
Took pity on me and carried me along.
I enjoyed my ride and never more I was sad.
Now to a wider world, joyfully I belong.
Freed from all chains, I am out to view life and enjoy.
I stay in nature’s bosom, free to saunter wherever I wish.
Never feeling the need to pitch my tent, like a gipsy,
I travel along with the stream, with a merry swish.
“So glad to know that your life has taken such an unexpected turn. Now a last question.How do you respond to the popular saying- ‘A Rolling Stone gathers no moss.’”
Sorry, I have nothing to comment. Let men see it that way,
Enjoy life is my creed, my song is the song of liberty.
Leaving all cares and sorrows behind, like a tramp I stroll,
Taking turns and twists, sometimes cascading down in endless novelty.
“Thank you for stopping by to tell the story of your life and sharing your views and aspirations on life”
I want to die because of sorrow.
I wish I embrace you before joining the death row.
I`m ready to god taking everything I gain.
So that I can be with you one more day again.
Before you my life was meaningless.
Before you I didn't know what love is.
I am your gipsy, your pilgrim.
You are the key to my destine.
You are the first love; you, the last one
My whole life is you, you the only one
You are the pure love God gifts me.
You were my love and you will be.
Once a Seafarer
I was thinking of my life as a seafarer endless
voyaging like a gipsy of the seas.
It was the best of times because I was young
but was also the worst of times being without
a woman for months on end.
I was a lousy seaman really didn`t blend in
Preferred reading in my cabin and got a higher
education without trying or knowing it, yes
I`m grateful to so many writers they gave my life
a meaning on the ocean of colossal ennui.
I came alive when the ship docked, and I could go
ashore, cold lone star beer in Houston and
dance with a cowgirl or a midnight swim with
a woman in Honduras.
As I got older little could assuage my boredom
the drink became both friend and enemy, washed up
on the shore of Portugal, here I got up drank a cold
beer built my house on solid earth and dreams.
Bathing on the mild mid-afternoon sparks sun-charmed,
Reclined on a wave lounge, the pulse of the landscape warmed
My mellowed sighs mollified by colognes of fragranced jasmine,
The scenery enchanting slumbered, its pulsations pristine.
Pliably surfing through the air, with a rustling symphony
A swishing ensued, rocking the willows in tuneful synchrony,
Infusing the stroked atmosphere with its breeze contagious,
Like a sedative morphine, its flowing gust harmonious.
Birds stayed aloft, darting, weaving and swooping in flight,
Swimming in the calmed gale crests, relishing its raw might
Seamlessly suave as a reposing sea, the aura imbued
A chorus of trills recurrent echoed, while trees slued.
The surging wind ambled the aerated skin of nature,
Wandering like a regal gipsy, clad in mistless moisture…
Immensity of efficacy lies within veils of intricate purpose,
Like the invisible textureless wind, moseys to self-repose.
© Maverick Nyambu
A young damsel was,
Walking in the green forest,
Searching for the old gypsy,
Known by palm readings,
Predicting about present,
With a great accuracy.
The gipsy told to,
The damsel that if she wants,
To predict her future life,
Only have to look,
How was living nowadays,
To know the foresight foresee.
For Sedoka rhyme poetry
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Third Place
1-3-2016
ate summer - gipsy violinist
In the immense mass of a green leaves
flashed the red and yellow ones
The promise of a change
messengers of the Fall
In the air floated certain undertones
of a melancholy and decay
The melody, as a raging river
owerfloaded from a trembling strings
The Violin sobbed with a plainitive note
its voice, penetrating
as an eye of a Sphinx
sent the shiver down my spin
and left the rest of me afloat.
The gipsy man drove his bow
as if it was a Devils tool
an arrow shot from the Hell
The moves stabbed to the heart
and pierced humans soul
and he kept playing
for few coins and understanding smile.
The whole day resonated with the joy
of a meadow if is filled
with the music of birds
and humming bees.
and with griefs
of dusty roads and endless journeys
With a passions
of the night under twinkling stars
with the beauty of a nomad life
with the secret of a fortune teller
with an eternal damnation.
A stranger passing Gail Gilbride
A stranger passing would never notice
the colour of fynbos
and wild raw woundedness of grief
foaming in a back corner.
By Sandra Hill
Curled up
hugging my body
huge well of grief.
The bubble protects me
with its golden light.
Swirling body of pain
heart-wrenching wrongs
unspeakable accusations
from a feverish jealous godless mind.
A stranger passing would never notice
my escape. The shy deer treads softly.
Gentle eyes make careful contact
as I turn swiftly follow him
my gipsy skirt flimsy
my body firm intact.
In nature untamed
colours glisten
the colour of fynbos.
Words fly in the ether
still find their way to my ears
thrust the unspeakable upon me
wielding evil power against me
wounding fatally.
Every fibre rebels.
I reach up snatch those words
try to assuage
the wild raw woundedness of grief.
And even here
where the shy deer treads
and all is snow covered
pristine innocent-seeming
I wait.
I know they will find me.
There is no escape when
a veneer of civilization covers
barbaric cruel hearts
foaming in a back corner.
Great were the old times
When we first met eye in eye
Green was the grass everywhere
Sorrows we had not in our minds
For memorial stories we shared
Our hearts beat with entire joy
Now as dreams have evaporated
Life has become acrimonious
Worries have grown in our hearts
Great has been the created distance
Between us yet we are close
Sleepless nights we spend
Nobody knows but siblings think
Our bond is mounting naturally
Yet love is virtual as lies hamper
Now broken are these weak hearts
That no more beat for each other
And so both our feet are wobbling
I feel hugely let down for
Surprisingly that gipsy guy
Has stolen your striking sight
By creating perfidious smiles in you
And his unwise sweet words
That make you feel mine bitter
It is hard to digest that disloyalty
Making me lose my only paradise
My land with a limpid well between
That used to quench my arid thirst
Evaporate the cold in me
To keep my body and soul healthy
Although you no more hug me
But let me die of cold dreams
Fainting to kill your emotions for
Unrealistic promised untrue worlds
I am certain when the day wakes up
The sun will shine for true love to revive
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Arrived is now Spring,
The scents of flowers
scattered in the fields
Awaken feelings of sleeping children.
Here, the breeze that goes
Between flowering almonds.
There, weeping of poplars
Are spreading like white snow.
Far away, along the path,
White magnolias
Inebriate us with their essences.
Children around
Are preparing to weave
Tales born of their dreams
And entrusted to the wind
Like their joys.
In the shadow of the willows, I can hear
The babbling of rascal brooks,
While, at the crossroads of the country path,
I spot the magpies
Chasing each other in spiteful carousels.
Little girls seated on the steps of the Church
Comb their dolls while trying gestures
Learned from their mothers.
As a child, I would flee to gallop
Towards distant shores of hope,
Towards the sun reclining on hilly roundness.
The joy that awakens
From the lazy winter gorges
Soothes us all to sing heartfelt praises
In our throbbing hearts.
The enchantment overwhelms
The gaze of an infant
Who reposes at the slowness of the wind
While caressing his hair.
Lizards and reptiles
Overlook the boulders
Admiring undeterred sunny rocks.
Far away, messy clouds caress
Still and blue horizons
While the cliffs reverberate
With the squawk of opaline seagulls.
And when the heat of the yellow planet
Falls behind the last hills,
There appears the moon
To inspire gipsy guitars,
Love plots of
Young peasants,
And the fantasies and amusements
Of children in the courtyards
Of the yellow farmhouses.
On Summers eve-you danced by night
On sweet-scented breeze by the campfires light
Your flaming hair-locks swirling wild-
desires and passion you did rile.
My Gypsy maid from Clare's sweet paths
from Donegal to Dublin's streets-
and a brothel there called Clancy's Meat.
You tease me wildly my Gypsy flame-
you enthral my being with your game-
You tempted the man-of another's wife
Into his heart you plunged your knife-
my Gypsy Maid from Clare's sweet paths.
There was a Galway lass so fine
but you stole me away from her-
then broke my heart my Gipsy maid.
My money so-you so freely took-
left me poor-as poor could be
my Galway lass so far from me.
Where are you now my Gypsy maid-
are you dancing round another's fire
as you fill his heart with false desire
Or are you back in Clancy's Meat-
charming those you choose to greet.
a poem/song by john scott
( COME BACK )
There's naught in the town and its profitless pleasures,
no comfort in labor, no gladness in play.
The beat of my bosom but wearily measures,
the heavy-winged hours that you are away.
A world that was golden is barren and lonely,
the skies that were azure are leaden and black.
You are Faith, you are Hope, you are Honor; you only,
are Life and its meaning! My dear one, come back.
The strength I rejoiced in is futile and broken,
come back to the mountains and fields that we knew.
Come back! Though the depth of the soul be unspoken,
my earth and my heaven hold nothing but you.
The wind of our wilderness, failing and dying,
the billow that tosses the bubble and wrack.
The brant in their multitude summerward flying,
shall bring you the message, "My dear one, come back.
Come back from the coasts where the dolphin are leaping,
come back through the spray of a jubilant sea.
Come back with a heart that was left in your keeping,
come back, little gipsy, to love and to me.
I plagiarized a verse
Japanese,
that was copied on
Australia,
later it was recited
In Rome,
until being censored
in Arabia ...
I stole a gipsy poem
that was transcribed
in sanskrit,
went through the package leaflet
in Africa,
and ended up here
in the nook ...
Everything I write
is played ...
All i say
It has been said ...
Nothing what
we poet,
it's unheard of ...
Everything here or there,
It's plagiarism!
‘Corona’ you ‘old gipsy man’
Crowned over humanity, victorious
Ushering Coleridge’s Angel of death - the LADY with
Bright red-lips and dead-white-skin?
Caging people and casting spell?
You anchored the coast of every continent,
Fueled with hasty vengeance,
Counting the cost of all who
Live up,
Who, cannot give up,
In formidable quarantine.
So sweet a name you are ‘corona’
Charm laden attire, lovely to look
In the electronic microscope,
As if a witch has assumed a princess.
You taught us,
Sweet touches are sour,
Breathing, spills venom,
Sneezing, sparks bio-bomb,
Kiss is an atomic explosion!
Now people are zombies,
Or the fire spitting dragons.
Staying at a gap, they fear their kind —
Not even safe is the mother’s lap,
So altered is the human map.
Musk-dances are so real, and
Gloves are not for sub-zero chills.
You gave us a bio-chemical riddle,
And, we are still solving.
Prayer: Don’t get me please as I have written
So sour things about you,
Don’t get us for
We know not, how to fight
Aliens, so tiny.
Wait and don’t catch any life
Until we know you better,
Spare! Spare and spare.
I am drunk, stoned, woozy and tipsy
Drinking beer, brandy and whiskey,
Swinging with abandon like a gipsy.
Kinda crazy, sozzled but hella merry…
Ha, Mary, kiss me! And Yo Sherry,
Your luscious lips, red as a ripe cherry…
Yoo-hoo, life could be a ding-a-derry.
The unsavory past is but long forgotten
Life’s more fun now and not at all rotten
The hurt is bearable and the pain lessen
Since flirting with this devious devil often
Brings me bliss and heartaches soften.
Like little children laugh, dance and sing
All summer, winter, autumn and spring,
With a passionate heart I bid you to bring
lots of hugs, kisses and joyful yodeling.
~A Brian Strand contest.
Contest: Addiction
Sponsor: Rob Levasseur
The Golden Lighter
I met her in a small Spanish coastal town
she was a gipsy and barefoot in the dust
a flowering skirt and laughter.
I was 18 years old and knew with certainty
this was the love I had been looking for
dark eyes and lips slightly apart I could see
her perfect teeth, yes, she loved me too.
She might have been Juliet, but I was no
Romeo, her father, came took my lighter and
told me to stay away from his daughter.
This was the moment when I should be strong
and fight to get my lighter back or the girl.
went back onboard and pretended I had lost it.