Long Nomad Poems
Long Nomad Poems. Below are the most popular long Nomad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nomad poems by poem length and keyword.
Lin, a Chinese friend giggled at my feeble, say,
pedestrian attempt at Cantonese,
the Chinese word for butterfly or dragon even moth
just vanished down the throat of one
so eager yet befuddled,
turning egg shell noodles under spit fire lanterns,
our laughter rose and fell amid the sotto voce banter now in train.
Me, the woodland boffin, immersed in esoteric marshland plant life,
the sort that rules the grand designs of green leaf activists.
Lin, the restless late teen nomad,
who had yet to sink deep roots,
often dwelt in backstreet fruit and flora stalls.
On occasions even flexing sylvan muscles
on craggy mountain tops.
Her flawless English honed through years of rough sea ferry ventures,
on holidays abroad in trendy sunspots,
at major meadow festivals where gaiety and buzz words sprout.
We keep in touch through text and pen as often as we can.
Meeting up is fun.
I hope one day my knowledge of those mystic eastern tongues
will stray beyond the basics of some tawdry travel phrase book,
the one I’m prone to cart around the world but seldom use
Contest : YOUR PERSONAL FAVOURITE
Date judged with N/A : 4 th August 2021
The things I've been, the things I have been, the things I am, things I'm to be,
a symbol so dark, a sign so brite, a mark of the heart,
shadow of the soul,
rind of mind,
as the Buddhist meditates on mandalas of rich color,cycles,devas,dangers & devotions
I embrace the world with all my senses, with vigilance,
riled rhapsody,
Christians sewing psalms into the conscious
confounded with temptation, condemnation & damnation,
as Buddhists focused towards an ineffable destination
my terminus is an awareness that explains purpose without pain or pleasure
but with an indomitable patience for being in perfection,
as blue is blue for blue,
Freemasons have their acacia & aprons,
the magic of History, of memory, of Brotherhood,
I shall memorize the wrong & right of my behavior, of my beliefs,
carry the cross of carelessness, rub beads of bemusement,
scratch thy palms upon the rough ashlar,
bleed for the sake of beauty, for the right of recognition,
as a hawk glides and swoops with an exactitude
reminding One not to waste effort, to combine instinct & strategy
into trusted tactics, salvation found in solitude,
intuition aimed at the heavens can demonstrate
there is knowledge in not knowing,
serenity can be secured through suffering, happiness in creative endurance,
a nomad, a monk, mother of a nobody
may teach that freedom is measured as strength through degrees,
chessmen bespeak the value of loyalty & sacrafice,
police have a badge, judges gavels, bankers use notes, psychologists study dreams,
artists utilize shapes & sounds to elicit feelings
evoking meaning for life,
perhaps superstition is ultimate motivation,
subjective & collective interpratations for reality which make it all tolerable,
that special definition making life personal,
when a culture abandons, or forgets the symbols of it's constructs
how can it survive,
continuity can not color & inspire posterity,
a tree without water,
as when a human neglects itself,
disfiguring the ideal into something rueful or baleful,
then the mystic symbol must change with it
as rich soil to mud,
the symbology survives, elastic and plastic like a spider web in the wind,
nature will always reconstruct,
teaching that our lives are inflamed imprints for the future -
J.A.B.
12/6/2023
The wild winds tossed my hair…
without mercy and in various directions.
I desired a beautiful place to live, but in an
auspicious,free and in a hilly location!
I couldn’t remain a nomad, I had visions for
a world that I was certain could be!
Justice, kindness and mankind, all existing
in harmonious reality.
Knowing I would never, ever, bow or walk the
path of life as an obedient, passive follower!
But be a beacon of light and hope, even bearing
social isolation, and life’s thundershowers.
Like the great eagles,I am the happiest when free
and in individual,free flight.
I can create, and fly in total freedom ‘neath the moon
and my twinkling, star-sister’s light!
Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they face whirlwind snowfall, freezing ice,
while others brazenly squirm,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
of this genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
velvet moon worlds sidereal captured,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
Time of change, years ago
Since then life's bittersweet
Cold seeped into my life force
This engendered great remorse.
History coloured many days
Odd wondrous moments enjoyed
Benjamin Disraeli kissed my hand
His charm I managed to withstand.
Was presented at Russian court
Dressed in white my favour's sort
More than a few felt tempted to bite
Kept my fangs well out of sight.
My likeness painted by Vermeer
Gossamer veil so very sheer
Such dedication to his art
Sadness felt when we did part.
Bonaparte, Corsican upstart
Eventually exiled to Elba
Dined on him, his blood so thin
Clear to me he would not win.
Music was constant delight
Dinner with Mozart, one dark night
He was oblivious to fond farewell
Decided to look up Raphael
Life of change, one wish denied
Should love to turn back time
Not possible - it's torture for me
So many people would disagree.
12th November 2012
Updated 21st January 2014
Resurrected 26/07/2021
Title change from Nomad to Vampire
Time does indeed really fly. It seems only yesterday I had fun with this write.
I'll be turning 68 this spring
and still looking for a health-wealthy home.
This feels remarkably like a younger traveler's game,
with less capital-acquisition baggage
and toxic furniture
and uncooperative tools.
Embarrassing
for an ecotherapist
to be so Earth-habitat unrooted.
Not to indulge in self-shaming,
yet my youngest son,
dependent on EarthTribe to support him
because of physical and verbal dysfunction,
is especially threatened
by Dad's disability
to seek deep and wide root systems
of more cooperative affiliation
with natural and spiritual neighbors.
My support system
continues with good faith feedback
that every competitive win/lose challenge
represents opportunities to win/win learn
and doing so keeps us feeling young,
flexible,
even springy,
optimistic.
I wonder how much older I would feel
if I had never left my family farm birthplace
in Michigan
where this nomad epic wandering
was first inspired
to run into young adulthood
on my own two strong legs
and back
and more orthodox egocentric mind.
Now more imaginatively stimulated
by heretical thoughts of a well-cushioned rocker
next to a comforting timeless fire,
surrounded by neighbors,
people
and birds,
squirrels
and rabbits,
chipmunks
and woodchucks,
fox
and shy coyotes,
wild turkeys
and horses
and cattle,
sheep
and goats,
mother trees
and lilac bushes,
a blue lake
and a green alpine mountain,
a shade speckled rocky river...
And still I search
for compassionate companions
on this daily revolving journey
through Earth's nutrition nurturing seasons
active and dormant,
light with rain and snow,
sometimes feeling far too fast
and sometimes anciently slow...
And still we search,
my son and I,
for yet another right place to go.
I need you like the pulse
that refuses to sleep,
while Ink’s heart aches
to weave this longing
for the sky mirrors secrets
swirling ...swaying ... streaming
over sultry sea-stone skin ~
rising, refusing
mannequin mannerism,
truly your beloved ~
mere mundane mistake,
as love speaks
beyond Poetry’s words,
like an anguished angel
haloed in opal fire,
milk-quartz opium ~
dulcet lies
lethal devotion…
I trace Viking lips of tsunami
confusing clusters,
crashing closure
into coral clarity
steel-contoured ~ staged scars,
as I am
an empress without an empire ~
a Cassandra without cure,
an Ariadne without escape,
a pen-less poet
a poem-less page
a flameless soul,
a heart homesick ...
but O knight of night ~
nocturnal nomad
what if desire
is an insidious dream
dressed in didactic dialects
strolling the square ~
silence incarnate,
a pawn to paused passion
sacrificial sigh
breathing across
soft-blushed cheeks
refusing,
gambit gamble
gypsum wings wagered
against impulsiveness,
as patience loses
pieces of peace ~
the rook standing resilient
four-legged conundrums’ cusp,
checkmated,
stranded, stalemate,
intricate inertia,
tactfully tongue-tied,
tethered, tripping tenacity,
an ivory air
tiptoeing the triggers
of your marine mirage,
surging lime rocks~
left and right,
sun and moon
salt and sand
bishop and blue
an endgame,
myth moved,
crown star-kissed
an erasure
of endured
life's emptiness...
Cut loose, cast adrift
from all I set out to accomplish.
Thrown to the other shore
by a stream I was sure would carry me to the sea.
Stranded at the source
words replaced thought, images replaced word
to leave me speechless
mind agape
transfixed to glossy page after page
of color and pattern, wholeness and detail,
art and craft manifest
in perfect balance on warp and weft.
A beautiful obsession, from ideal to actual,
a literal magic carpet ride
to a figurative land before time
a land of light, and space,
barren hills
and broken hearts,
sheep and wool, plant and dye,
ceaseless wanderings and flights in the night.
A land of my dreams and conception
(there on the carpet as my parents lay)
a carpet beckoning and enticing
to stay and rest awhile, caress and stare
without inhibition
at the sheer beauty
only a fellow nomad could conceive
for the solace of another world weary soul.
(2/20/22, first published in my sixth book of poems, OUT OF TIME OUT OF MIND, 2022)
Like a wandering nomad
I roam this earth in a quandary,
Oblivious of the passing time,
Knowing not what I seek;
Obliterating each passing moment
as inconsequential,
Each passing year—
Unrewarding.
Do I seek true love or absolute truth?
An escape from
the confines of the traditions
and the clutches of social mores
or deliverance from the sins
and release from the concerns of life?
Whatever I seek, I seek in vain
Whatever I achieve is naught,
Cowering in obscurity
kowtowing to the dictates of time,
Unable to free myself from
the overwhelming sense of self.
Until this journey ends
How many more lives must I endure?
How long must I suffer
the folly and bigotry of man?
I look back at my obsolete past
Look ahead at my vague future,
Whatever I do, I must do it now
Or drift into an eternal oblivion!
~Contest: "N" poetry
~Sponsor: Constance La France.
~Contest: Oblivion
~Sponsor: Rob Carmack.
Ask is love blind, or deaf or dumb, still kind.
At eleven, what hypnotizes me -
Imagining perfect, like braids entwined,
His eyes always on mine; and all is glee.
Wide smile on screen, his star-studded jumpsuit.
Sings puppy love, in midst of brothers, cool.
He is all mine, I think - he is so cute.
Alas, I must look to those in my school.
Dream-talk things out in a gentle manner.
Godmothers are real at this juncture.
Our children fly harmonious banner.
Can’t foresee a fairy-balloon puncture.
My gaga-ness sits well - can’t wait for date.
The cuckoo clock strikes knot - open the gate.
The cuckoo clock strikes knot - open the gate.
Whee…here’s reality…he’s hopping mad.
There’s making love…then each other frustrate.
With seasonal beginnings like nomad.
Throw kids in mix, tantrums of grown adults
Who wipes behind - changes diapers; and mind.
Answer: I consult God with good results.
I listen intently, lean into find
That nothing’s perfect all the time, but love
Is the kindling, bittersweet fire, sublime.
We can smile now as kids kick out and shove.
We work as one unit - we’re at our prime.
Why are beginnings called going steady?
Prepared for what life brings? Are we ready?
Prepared for what life brings? Are we ready?
Looking around, at emptiness, I see
Our empty nest - kids have left already?
At sea, we lose our minds on a cruise spree.
Small time later, our knee-decks creak, languish.
And side to side, we’re off balance - at sea.
Can’t find the shore, went overboard. Anguish
About future of aged, of you and me.
Mom’s eyes sealed shut, we had to say so long.
My dad kisses her lips, holds wedding rings.
My mother had cancer but she was strong.
Looking at my husband- the gifts life brings…
Rejoicing when in dark closed room, confined -
Ask is love blind, or deaf or dumb, still kind.