Best Rambler Poems
I think of how you must have been
in bygone days with friends from your boyhood.
From things you’ve said, I picture you back then
blazing trails and camping in the Cincinnati Wood.
And then perhaps you stood a man at seventeen
with one carnation pinned onto your suit.
Vernal still, and on the threshold of your dreams,
you’d blaze a path anew and leave your roots.
Years passed. Only you can fill in all the spaces
of what you heard and tasted; what you did;
pursuits, accomplishments, and the many places,
and when you found Alaska, I was just a kid!
I’m certain that you felt at home, grew bold
on the tundra, moved with feline grace, and maybe kayaked there,
viewed double rainbows, hunted, and knew the color of gold,
climbed mountains and inhaled the pristine air.
You’ve seen the eagle soar; fulfilled a destiny.
So much you’ve done in all your fruitful life.
You served your country, married, made a family,
coached softball, taught and traveled; loved your wife.
Today you move more slowly, or so you’ve told me.
I’ve never seen your face. Better do I know your soul.
I see you as a wine finely aged – mulberry,
red and sweet – not bitter – and you long for a life that’s full.
Behind closed doors you sit alone in your chair.
I envision books displayed, numerous on a shelf.
Despite this show of knowledge gleaned, your house seems bare.
Your family’s gone, and you’re having to care for yourself.
You like to frequent restaurants and watch a little TV,
but friends have passed. You need a fresh new plan.
Forge a new frontier, my friend. Exclaim your poetry.
Poems should have a purpose, and so too must a man.
May 29, 2022
“Write me a Poem,” she said.
"Paint a Picture for me with words."
"I want to see, hear and smell what you write"
"You can choose the subject".
"But don’t make it sad."
“Write me a Poem,” she said.
"Don’t make it too long."
"Nor like a song."
“I want to be awake at its end.”
“I have a Cat.”
“Can you write about that?”
“On second thought, I’ll do it myself.”
All of the roads this bold rambler took
were narrow and dark; a half-moon hung very low
displaying its melancholic mood never turning mellow...
it had a perplexed glance as if it wondered how he mistook
its somberness as an anticipation to foretell sorrow,
which showed often when it appeared as a merrow...
wallowing in gleaming waves with brooding tones
that injected more fear into his strong bones!
How lost he seemed without any star, flickering from the Void,
to guide his footsteps; he often tripped and prevented
a fall with a tactic learned trekking through mountains:
when agility and strength were essential to his survival skills!
How he looked above to interact with someone he dearly loved,
who had gone beyond without a chance to say " Farewell, "
leaving many words on his tongue never spoken to dispel
how untrue her affection was whenever he sought truthfulness,
or proof that she had kept her vow as pure as her loveliness!
All of the roads that this bold rambler took
were the foreshadowing of events to come to shape his fate,
and as adverse as they would have been, he felt no immediate need to alter it
by accepting challenges and fighting off his rivals filled with implacable hate;
which antagonist force controlled his will? Did he overlook
his sensibility...was he mocked for being too honest?
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Chorus:
The countryside rambler refused to be confined
in an institution of experimentation and be abused;
escaping civilization was her will to find freedom,
to see the new spring bloom and chase butterflies:
all she wanted was to ramble in her peaceful kingdom,
where she was free to create her own happiness!
Verse I
Many don't know why Linda Bishop was afraid;
her strange personality made her helpless and frail,
and unable to burn all the bridges she crossed,
she held on her firm belief that freedom wasn't Hell!
Verse II
Linda Bishop, challenged every doctor in the psychatric world...
refusing what it offered to make her feel alive and do better;
her mental disease was advanced and needed to be cured,
pills were the only alternative to make her a prisoner forever!
Verse III
And in that room where demons gathered daily
to break her fearless spirit, she planned revenge:
never giving in and allowing others to change
her outlook on life and mainly her delusive reality!
Verse IV
Linda Bishop defied a society that believed in medication,
she broke from it and wandered in that wilderness all winter;
surviving on water and apples she picked in cool October...
some wonder how she spent her time in bleaky desolation?
Verse V
Linda's fate was an aweful one, she was found dead by a dim burning log
in an old farmhouse wearing a coat that sheltered her from the bitter cold;
she was a hermit who sought no sympathy, perhaps her faith in our Lord
was stronger than anyone who ever lived in solitude, finding comfort in song!
Written on 5/7/2017
His soul alive when he rambled
Hours and hours upon end
Being alone with mother nature
His one and only true friend
Confined, suffocated between four walls
He needed to roam free
Through the mountainous hills and countryside
Of wildlife, rivers and trees
He was a loner by choice
A rambling spirit since a child
Innate to his whole being
His heart and home the wild
The local folk called him “The Rambler”
As no-one knew him or his name
Sometimes at dusk high on a hill
A distant silhouette is seen rambling the rugged terrain
He was roaming, rambler with no luggage,
Never quiescent, but work-less always.
He was loving, sparkling at all times;
But not devoted to what needed everyday;
In need of sheds he got amorous to shadows!
To finish he found light in some folded dimness
Who constantly feel ravenous in Bangladesh.
They were not ready wholeheartedly for a wise walker,
They were not that one at all, they were just starving
And suddenly had a vigorous and hearty vagrant in front
Who was away from all practitioner's competition.
More he was seduced, succumbed than loved so.
Approaching to perception, rather than consciousness
Again and again, sometimes in rage
He tried to root a new, necessary path; but
It was late, unsettled and uncommon,
In no time all his endeavor went worthless,
Because his last course was already certain in his blood,
Finally on an unkind old night
He went away with all his dream and destinations.
My ’65 Rambler
in 1979
i learned to drive in a
1965 turquoise rambler
three on the tree
cracked, dusty leather
smelling like an old fisherman’s boot
the sun spotlighted that car
bouncing off of the irreverent turquoiseness
wherever I went
like a giant florescent highlighter
hanging above my head
most of the prayers in my life
were made fervently in that car…
Please, God
don’t let anyone see me in this heap
Until
One day
I discovered
Exactly what 365 horses
Could do…
And suddenly
I was cool
Faaaast and cool
And always
First.
i made my alliance's in the roar of the gunblast.
the battle had spilled out my head and into vile colour.
morning's no longer softly handle my shoulder.
they run ragedly round my hand's and feet like rat's.
my trademark walk had sauntered of with the devil.
along with my soul and serenity fled laughing.
i just lay waiting for death's welcome approach.
i wake in the sea choking and flapping.
my pupil's eclipse my sky blue eye's.
night after night i twitch like a drunk.
taxi's fly bye neon flashes.
are these the depth's to which i'v sunk
As a weary rambler, I'm nearby and resting.
With arousing, he grasps his ecstatic settling.
His withered bones are currently lively.
It's been done multiple times formerly.
Bequests themselves with musings to meditate.
His danger is gone, and his agony is replete.
The burning sun won't be a fount of hotness.
He won't be lashed by calamitous distress.
A corona of splendid cosmic stars hedges me.
With the coziness of the moon mirrored body.
Inevitably my bewitching will be what I imply.
To assist me with the drudgery of the next workday.
My feet cannot scrutinize any fierce pebble.
Neither stump nor crags can induce him to tumble.
He says farewell to all his distress and dread.
It propounds that you may now sleep in embed.
How I crave a sight that all linger fine worldly.
Moreover, follow the flawless angels in the sky.
Slumber of this body will be a peaceful freeman.
I will never shed another tear in my life again.
You can hunt down such endless glees outside.
The ear tuned, as yet the speech snide.
Oh my God, prepare me for what is to come.
As the well runs dry, I truly hope to bore some.
Written: November 24, 2021
''W'' New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
rambler
ramble ghost goes
looking for pretty things
diamonds, ruby, neat opal,
agate, silver, gold, ancient books, scription
careful digging here and up there
a notable nice man
historian
rambler