Long Traveller Poems
Long Traveller Poems. Below are the most popular long Traveller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traveller poems by poem length and keyword.
Crown of Thorns
A trace of thorns you are
on my body,
I am an eternal traveller,
never stopping.
You are the bitter predicament
of my comfort,
Traces of sensual pleasures -
The mist of a veil is
my constant reminder.
You wound the stubble of my heartly thorns,
I stand alone on the dusty conflagration
Gazing towards an endless void,
I am bridled with the burning pain of the
thorns...
My gaze tirelessly roves,
Prickly are the thorns,
With malediction entwined...
I am drowning in a sweaty torrent,
I am plunging into thorny depths,
bloody and overworked
from the struggle,
I yield myself to
the decision of fate.
The quick sands collapse within abyss
invited by airless darkness
where marshy reeds slither,
escape routes entangled
as hazard paves life’s walkway
for the destiny to saunter.
Weary steps uncalculated falter
wobbly pace uncontrolled dither,
the sands and the reeds wait
for the traveller to arrive
tired of walking a long while
life’s rough walkway.
The survival game begins
in the arena life bounces
struggling hard to win
until the time comes to join
the farewell party waiting.
Destiny is not an excuse
the walk is one’s own walk,
the pathway lighted or dark
the inner lamp decides,
caving in or girdling the garden
the inner vision conceives.
A special sanctum of sanctity
the lamp lighter needs
and the vision maker seeks
to walk life to the brink of bliss.
April 1, 2021
Contest : All Yours (Apr 2)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Just imagine if you could time travel,
What sort of mysteries could you unravel?
I would stop every minute of the day,
Pull down the bosses trousers for all the deductions in my pay.
I would go back in time when I was young,
And kick the bugger’s **** for all the times he failed instead of won.
I’ll take a stack of photos all of me,
And scatter through each era in history.
I’d place crab claws in all the fossils they consider a human missing link,
And in each crab claw a Budweiser drink, what do you think?
But most of all I would love to see God creating the heavens and the Earth,
To camcorder the events of their birth.
I’d tell Adam “Don’t listen to that woman, don’t eat the fruit.”
For her daughter’s will nag your sons and spend their loot.
And how they boast that birth pains are like no other,
That his sons are blind to the fact they turn out to be just like their mother.
Did I tell you I can time travel but it’s a pain?
And did I tell you how frightened I am of flying in a plane?
All I get out of it is feeling tired which is a drag,
So good night all, this time traveller is going to sleep off the jetlag.
© 2000
The sun on this September afternoon
is not quite what it might have been in June,
but hot enough. My barman’s chatting on,
while somewhere, some lopsided carillon
is clanging tunelessly. I’m in the square
of San Francesco in Arezzo, where
I’ve longed to be for years. Rome’s far behind
(in fact it’s hard to summon Rome to mind,
albeit I was there not long ago.)
Tranquillity! I almost feel as though
I’ve plunged in freezing water. And the sight
of fiesta flags, inflamed by evening light
can make the heart start pumping. It’s too late
(for me) to learn to free-associate,
but what feels right, is right. I’m in a groove,
and who can say if I will ever move
from this precise position? Favourite pen,
a fine coarse notebook and “remember when” …
can life improve on this? When things combine,
we feel we’ve touched the hem of The Divine:
perhaps I’m heading for a nuclear fall,
but sunlight slanting on that craggy wall
is just as good as (better than, perhaps)
a coffee in that place from “Google Maps”.
Until I found Palazzo Guillichini
Gregorio, life’s classic “in-betweeny”
was lost to me: but I, “traquer le lièvre”,
can get the story from the cause célèbre.
Back in times when I travelled
I didn't have to be crazy brave
To book a room in a hotel or a seat on a plane
Now politicians have become worried too much
They see every trip as a scam
They think every visitor intends to stay forever in their great countries
Each traveller can be a colonist
Or a freeloader, burdening the economy.
Good job I don't have to go anywhere
The moving era of seeing the world is over
My travels disprove Heraclitus' theory
Neither the river, nor the sea, nor the ocean have changed
Since I swam in them, and I haven't changed either.
I'm exactly the same on bus 15 as I am on bus 94
All the places I’ve seen didn’t change me a bit,
I’ve nothing to regret or to rejoice about.
My little secret is that I don't distinguish countries anymore
With their nationalities supposedly expressing something
They used to consider as special.
I turn on youtube and travel with a sound off
Watching the watchers films on a regular basis.
I don’t need to present passport, I don’t need to have a nationality
I am not a country, nor a nationality, nor part of either.
I am simply an individual belonging to the human race.
This sparse information is sufficient for any biography
That no one would bother to write.
I am nothing more than a wandering traveller,
Intertwining through networks of stars.
I focus my path, on the sequins of light,
So my feet don’t wander in the dark.
The path is endless, with different routes,
And decisions in which I must choose.
On how to make the most of a precious life,
With time I do not want to lose.
The path can be cold, and lonely sometimes,
When the light in the dark will fade.
But the void of dark, the blackness of night,
Will again turn to a lighter shade.
We make our journey, as beings together,
And some will fall along the way,
Some will religiously follow their path,
And others to the dark will stray.
But the majority of people who do decide,
That time is as precious as life.
Will find a companion, an intertwined path,
A partner, a husband, a wife.
A pair of travellers, with souls merged as one,
Memories made together.
To see the colours and wonders of life,
And darkness to be banished forever.
Who is there….?
Restless night and disturbing dream,
makes me walk in this moonlight stream.
Wondrous mental activities nerving profound,
searching for release from this madness imaging sound.
Knocking at this bright moonlit door,
with folding hands and kneeling on stony cold floor.
I hear the sound of the owl nearby, adding to the atmosphere,
and I cry again, ‘Is there anybody out there’….?
All perplexed and still, no answer to my will,
desperately seeking my conscious fill.
A phantom host seems to be the only listener,
feeling like, a homeless space traveller.
Spreading my arms towards the sky in silent moonbeam,
sensing of being in some portal of luminous stream.
Beam me to a peace of mind, the ultimate blessing,
then the torture of my troubled mind becomes very distressing.
After a while of calming deep breath in serene still,
I felt in my heart some strangeness of fill.
‘Is this stillness answering my cry’? ,
while observing a singular tiny light, moving in that sky.
As suddenly some strange veil lifted itself by nature,
and I felt some release from my mental torture.
I sensed some echoing through the spectrum of light,
wondering if that star is the stimulation in hardly bright.
I remember a quote by a Sufi poet saying,
‘ The limitation of God, is in his name’,
putting my moonbeam frenzy gesture into a gentle frame.
‘Whoever is out there, has no name!’.
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK
We can never catch up with the
Clock and time,
No matter the length of this
Solar rhyme,
The sun rises in the east every
Brilliant morning,
As a new wondrous day,
Begins dawning.
It sets in the west every evening,
Each country having its own
Particular calling,
And slowly a moon rises,
In all its glory
Foretelling of romances, each
A unique story!
According to our predictable calendar,
Things haven’t changed, says
Our lunar traveller,
The moon will eternally rise
In the east
And will always set in the west.
In between it wanes or
Becomes full,
Gravitation of the moon and
It's pull,
Causes tides of oceans,
Be it low or high,
That no man would deign to deny!
Again this movement of oceans
Help us,
To measure time, as it
Gallops ahead,
It overtakes us and before,
We know it we're dead!
For human beings, also
Have a cycle,
We are born, we live
And we die,
This is a truth, about something,
No one can lie,
Long lives or short, we are also
Affected by age and time,
As nearer to heaven,
We hopefully climb
And, the world revolves,
On its axis,
As surely as man has to
Pay his taxes!
But thank-you God for allowing
And giving
Us humans, more than a
24 hour cycle,
That we may enjoy our children
And life,
Just sad for the poor, who
Have to strive!
The Sun, moon and oceans
Have a 24
Hour cycle each day,
Confirming how surely, creation
Went forward His way!
Bringing Summer, Autumn,
Winter or Spring,
Each season doing its very
Own unique thing
Responsible for this work of art,
And time
Is The One I had in mind,
When I began this rhyme,
Our Maker,
And Divine Creator!
Remnants have been stained the color of
The blood moon
Hidden beneath the boulder that is Western
Civilization
The glory of sunrise has been buried
With promises of eternal light
Fruits of darkness lay crushed under
Waves of chanting the righteous
Path
Many trails the night traveller takes
Lead to love
Every hand is needed now to sow
Forgotten remnants to every corner
Where fear of darkness huddles
True love bears fruit even under cover
Of shadows
Do not be afraid
Joy will come to you who has no
Fear of receding light
Love will be your
Reward
01/01/15
© All Rights Reserved
You perforate my normality
with snap-shots of the past.
Images of yesteryear form
a slide show which interjects,
dove-tailing, sneaking in to
the now with the stealth of
the stealthiest fox.
Distracted from the present
my mind meanders down-stream,
pausing at a bridge arched over now
and then. Remembering when I was younger,
carefree, flitting between hearts,
scattering the lovelorn in my wake
like sown seeds, lost, never harvested.
Then flippancy of youth. The transience.
Easy come easy go -
before the burden of emotion takes its toll.
My fickle fingers touched your heart -
then dropped it, hot potato-like;
craved for then petulantly discarded,
out of fashion, gone, onto the next .....
Yet here you are merging then with now.
You found me somehow, and I you.
Back to the future. Time travelled
and catapulted into familiarity.
The perforation of normality.
Present in the present with the steel
of the steeliest fox.