Fugitives Poems | Examples

Echoes of my mind

It’s pumping…
What’s pumping?
It feels like it’s exploding.

Why?
How?
Nothing galvanizes me anymore.

The atmosphere is calm,
conducive 
but not in my mind,
where thoughts sprint like fugitives,
and I cage them behind a silent smile.

I hide under the pretense of joy,
while the weight crushes me slowly.
Night comes too fast,
and the day… it stops smiling.

I keep trying my best,
clinging to the fragile hope
that one day I’ll see the light 
the light they swear waits
at the end of the tunnel.

But is there even a tunnel?
I’m not sure anymore.
Perhaps it’s just darkness
disguised as a promise.

Still… I’m hopeful.
If not today,
then maybe tomorrow will be better 
for me,
and for you.

But sometimes I remember 
it’s all in my mind.
Just thoughts…
spilling out,
loud enough to drown me.

Hopping Trains

On Friday nights we’d sneak into
the railyard and wait
in the shadows 
between the floodlights for a train
slow enough for us to hop,
our hands already tingling
with the promise of flight.

We trotted beside the train,
waiting for the right moment
to grab a boxcar’s ladder
and climb to the roof like outlaws—
aware of the danger
and thrilled by it—
as the train gathered speed.

We jumped as it rounded the curve—
boots hitting gravel, hearts pounding—
but a voice barked out of the dark,
and then a dog, all teeth and fury,
came tearing toward us.
We bolted for the fence
without looking back.

We hit the chain-link fence at speed,
scrambled like fugitives—
I braced for asthma to take me
but my lungs opened wide,
no tightness, no fire, just breath
pure and clean, lifting me over
like I was born to run.

I landed laughing—
heart hammering, lungs still free—
and something in me shifted.
I had outrun fear, leapt past
the story that said I couldn’t—
and for the first time,
I believed it.

The Fight for Freedom

I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
Distracted, I am just a rover.

For I have wandered in a field of fog
I cannot see or feel or know
Where I am going until the air had cleared
And a vast land displayed a great chateau.

Large mushroom like trees grow here and there.
With palms swishing lightly in the lawn,
But in the middle elves stand on guard
A beautiful woman is tied to a pole like a pawn.

I roll the magic rocks and a nasty sound blared.
The elves disappear and I quickly untie the beauty.
We run out into the fog and find a rocky patch.
She is hungry. The rocks yield berries fruity.

Danger lurk above as an eagle soared
She magically got a bow and shot down the bird 
Others appear the fugitives must flee.  A unicorn appears.
They climb upon the magic horse and spurred.

Now I have only one magic rock: what to do?
I wish to be back in my home and in laughter
We arrive safe and sound. We will be married
And you know what: we live happily ever after.

Kindle Your Purpose

Can you envision clearly
The path to your destiny
Is your software trained
Not to be a futile trailer
Of doubts and negatives
Turning ideas into fugitives
That turns you into a clown 

I ask you now to kindle 
Inner candle to purpose 
Please burn your tears 
Smoke doubts and fears 
Steam all flaws to purify 
Mind and soul, and clarify 
The road to your crown

Fugitives, Paris 1632

we stood
were well

you pushed 
I fell

they came
I hid

she ran
I did

they chased
I stopped

she turned
I dropped

they shot
I died

she fled
I sighed

they went
her too

I died 
for you

.. I died
.. for you

you used
me too

Economy

I do mind it but it is getting easier to be in economy when my mind tells me I deserve first class.

The careful management of available resources has somewhat dimmed but with manageable.

My life is a season or a sunny day compared to the Earth and as each cell betrays ,gravity beckons.

I see friends and family and they are departing. And their song goes with them but I listen still.

Listening in the night and crickets salute my aloneness. I see my father, hospital gown as his companion, I hand his waiting mouth a lollipop and a smile.

Mommy snores and speaks her own language and I listen anyway.  Kissing her face I know I’ll see her and she mumbles and eyes alert looking at something. Brushing her straggling hair I see the youth and a drink of water goes far for her parched lips.

All is quiet as I wake and the Fourth Watch. God is here and has to tell me importance. I must move constant of the plan. Alert and at the ready for the fugitives of the Watch. I was salvaged from the heap so I must keep a look for those. Willed for the weak and alone I must carry across the line to redemption. Never weary and never falling along the way. Together we will.

Shadow Dancers

here they come again
windblown fugitives of gold
dancing with flowers

sun's shadow dancers
green fluttering leaves darkly
silhouette party

purple birds glide by
dusky beats upon the ground
trembling, shade fruit vines 

in a dance to night
movement in grassy marshes'
dynasty of days

Those Who Depart and Come Away

Those who leave,
those who leave are phenomenal...
Are cold, are hot,
are sun and rain,
walk in the fields,
wander in the cities...
They are from all continents!
Nobody notices them for sure,
no one chases them, they are fugitives...
We only notice them, when
they write poetry...!

Hunter of Words

I'm tired of flying
chasing fugitives
  stars,
behind decaying
stars...
i got tired of me
fall in love with
unfulfillable dreams,
impossible missions...
today I run...back
of the lyrics,
hunting
words...
 as a hummingbird,
 kiss flowers...!

Hunting Poetry

I'm tired of flying
after stars
fugitives,
behind stars
decadent ...
I'm tired of me
fall in love with
unrealizable dreams,
impossible missions ...
today I run ... behind
of the letters,
retract
words...
 as hummingbirds
kissing flowers ...
I seek a love affair
with poetry ...!

Leftover Lines of Poems Undone

Love avenue shuffle
spirits fandango through
grave eyes of doubt on
delusions of disorder
when we kiss do 
dreamy clouds cuddle?
Photonic warped thoughts
feed on disdained
mecurial clot eclipses tick tocking
against organic time thieves, there's
cerebral fury on medication row as
rival consuls consort on 
succulent erotic painules--huddling
under jagged mistletoe as bellicose vision
fugitives plan placid avant garde getaways
of broken glass and bloodless lips
under hexagon suns and sharp quark 
triangles. 
Neptune Clubs open their pores to 
Blue Plate liquid aura traders----
reveling in the street life hubris.
And so it goes.

Beauty On the Thorns

I adored the colour of your skin,
And your saccharine sweet lips,
They were blossom soft,
It's so hard to recognize you now.

You cry and feel excruciating pains,
Trembling like an aspen-leaf,
Unutterable things pressing on your soul
like a pent-up storm craving for outlet,
Weak and frail like the vapor of a vale.

You are from the Giant of Africa,
Your parents were fugitives and well fed slaves,
Today, they are free but extremely hungry,
Leaving your heart to be as dry as a reed.

Your blood is red like wine,
Your charms lay like metals in a mine,
Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver in some stagnant lake,
But it hurts to know that your beauty is transitory,
Because your future is jeopardized today.

I'M Just Getting Started

I am just getting started to venture… 

… feasting sumptuously, satiating my cravings midst well-being’s fullness

... feeding the malnourished kids toward physical and mental footsteps

… featuring myself along my twelve-month color scheme of saintly fashion

… flying over Mt. Everest, then trek at its pinnacle with my gratitude flag

… freeing all biblically righteous activists, accused as religious fugitives

... fostering abandoned special children in our orphanage to adopt them finally

… fathoming futility’s frame against frustration-fall

… fleeing to family’s joyous bondings around blessings’ flow

… fulfilling my own desires, defying folly’s flair

… firing-up my heart’s fixations…

Fueled by God, I thank Him for putting in me reverential fear* so by faith freely I follow Him willingly 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 24, 2019

(Free verse incorporating alliteration and list forms)

Unafraid

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.

How Absurd It Seemed

How Absurd it Seemed


Ah, those memories, so well refined, reworked, revised to meet the failings of memory – or the shame of remembrance.  Tinged now with humor’s hubristic insolence, fleece covered shards of broken lives reassembled in a grotesque collection of stained glass pleading with the moment for forgiveness.  Time, imprisoned for aiding and abetting the fugitives,  providing refuge for the tattered transgressors, disguising the thoughts, denying the actions, suffering the consequences of eternities amnesia. 

        how absurd it seemed….
			            …in a family of black sheep
						                       …to be the black sheep



John G. Lawless
©7/16/2019

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