Long Travels Poems
Long Travels Poems. Below are the most popular long Travels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Travels poems by poem length and keyword.
Homeward Path 11/08 Roger M. Landry
Wise men say, stay out of the fray,
And perhaps that is logical, and even soundly psychological.
They advise, do not go my son into the dark wood; you will only come to no good.
And I ask, if the road is less traveled, it will leave me baffled?
The trail in the forest tall could it leave me feeling forever small?
Alone, will I not even hear the sound of the stately tree’s fall?
In my craven travels, shall I perhaps see the pellucid pillars of heaven seven,
Or experience the depraved depths of perdition?
But, what if there is no one there to tell?
No singing angels, or laughing demons from hell.
Shall I be weary of my iconoclastic dreams?
Because, in my youth, I had magic visions of being the princely toad,
Of crossing elegantly the paved road to fame.
However, carrion birds now read, feed on my bloody entrails strewn along the lane.
Now, I only wake up in the fevered night, no princess to soothe my stifled screams.
Beaten and torn, shall I become the salacious stripper of old?
That, with nagging words, expresses my vulnerable, and sagging soul.
Like a lost muse, shall the tiger burning bright, in the forest of the night,
Become my one and only frightful and guiding light?
I can see quite far from the gritty solitude of a lofty mountain.
But, would rather sit with my smiling children by a bubbling fountain,
Have someone park my expensive car,
Or sip beer, with friends, in a quaint neighborhood bar.
Going on a shopping spree and wearing designer clothes,
I think, is superior than to society loathe.
To have opulent gold is better than writing poetry in poverty, wouldn’t you agree?
Or, would it be better if I contemplate my fate, eternally alone, under a frigid night star,
While I pluck loose strings on an out of tune guitar?
They say that if you favor the glacier-blue, the flavor will get inside of you.
Now that I have made enough bad choices, because of those niggling internal voices,
I am eternally lost, my mind unloosing in a wilderness of my own choosing.
Like a pharaoh, I know there is a divine treasure in my head,
But, I work and work, feel dead, and just can’t get out of bed.
The road has its own agenda, to which I know my heart must surrender,
Therefore, I shall curb my shameful wrath,
And trust that my soul knows its homeward path.
Form:
i was eight
the first time-
i saw Yin-Yang Mountain.
the height of it’s peak
contrasted by
the light on one side
dark on the other.
as the sun travels
from east to west
the color of the slopes change-
the light becoming dark
the dark becoming light.
i stand on the peak of Yin-Yang Mountain
watching the shifting
light and dark.
the line dividing the sinuous halves
is my being.
am I dark or light?
a white line or
a black line?
i am the curve between.
i am the difference.
i am the deciding factor.
i stand now
beside the River of Life.
my feet bare-
i step into the cool waters
observing the shifting reflection
and shadow.
the current swirls the dark and the light.
this life giving, fluid filled gully
brings darkness when one is consumed
by its waters.
above the light is reflected-
below it is swallowed.
soothed i sit-
resting below the shelter
of the Tree of Constance.
the trunk is thick
made of layers of living matter within-
dead matter out.
the dead bark surrounds
the living core-
protecting.
from this sturdy core
branches shoot towards the light.
from those branches shoot buds-
which contain life-giving seeds.
the seeds fall to the ground below.
laying upon the dark
mineral rich earth-
i imagine.
below my body burrow
insects and roots.
they depend upon the fertile
ground for survival.
humans have turned this earth into
a burial ground for the fallen.
the rotting bodies consumed in darkness
feed the creatures who dwell
in the earth.
these departed whisper
knowledge to fallen seeds.
imparting wisdom-
to ensure growth.
I return to the peak-
of Yin-Yang Mountain.
from this peak i observe
the mixture around me.
here on this peak I know
the answers.
i am the wisdom.
this knowledge has paralyzed me.
with this gift i have been silenced.
i am the dividing line-
i am the question.
with faith I fall-
from the peak of Yin-Yang Mountain
into the icy waters of the
River of Life.
it’s turbulent ebb and flow
fills me with life
and destroys me when dragged upon its floor.
i wash upon the shore
gasping for air-
clinging to the root.
I succumb.
i begin to rot-
feeding the earth-
that feeds the tree-
that thrives beside the river-
which dwells upon the slopes
of Yin-Yang Mountain.
here i will remain-
until discovered-
and then understood-
this
my Youth in Asia.
This is being newly dedicated to my Aunt Jane who reminded me to keep shining God’s light brightly.
THE GLITTER OF LIFE
A tiny sparkle of hope
Hidden within the gloom
We only see muddy water
Occupying all of our room
There is a pretty flower
Beneath those tall weeds
Buried far out of sight
We look not that deep
We seek bad news
So eagerly caught
We forget good news
Should be what is sought
Let us take a quick peek
Of the descriptionalization
It is what life is all about
To reach full realization
The hovering dark cloud
Brings depression and woe
Feeling trapped in sadness
Pulling with an evil tow
You become a hard rock
Or it seems like one of them
Now the trials before you only
Sand and polish you to a gem
Your eye catches a twinkle
To tap your vision per say
It travels far within to spark
Happy thoughts your way
Those clouds of gloom
Cover up the shiny light
The glitter inside of you
That wants to shine bright
All those weeds can hide you
Even from your very own face
So it is time to pull those weeds
To clear the area of your space
A crushed spirit as written
Will only dry up the bones
Whereas is your joyful heart
A good medicine to own
Our strength is from within
The joy of the Lord in each one
Our individual glitter of life
To shine with strong emotion
When you do shine your light
To see your pathway grounds
The glitter of life will be seen
That most abundantly surrounds
There will be a glow of beauty
Like nature covered in sequins
The flowers bursting through
Even the tallest weeds of grim
You will see the difference
You will finally get the hint
Even if you only shine a bit
With a brief flashing glint
To shine your light is simple
Though it seems hard to do
Hum a merry tune, or whistle
Even a smile changes attitudes
Clear the air with a breeze of hope
Thus letting the light inside glisten
A new wind of change on a good note
Chiming a beautiful tune – just listen
Lean not on our own understandings
To form opinions of what appears to seem
It is the faith within that holds the victory
To overcome the world and conquer our dreams
We are all sprinkles of the glitter of life
Scattered through dark clouds of gloom
Fighting our way through evil and such
Brightening the path for happiness to bloom
Florence McMillian (Flo)
"melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams " (by poet)
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life, even when I stopped reading poems...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Instead I looked at recipe-books - how to improve my culinary skills,
and became almost a champion chef in a few months.
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
Delicious food, excellent company,
chasing after active children, stressing about job-opportunities,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
had time for every little trivial thing in the world...but no time for
the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
almost shaking to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted.
every drop of tears brought back the lavender memories ~
of an exhilarating past... my passions, my yearnings,
tender dreams of lilac hues never attained, the abandoned path I was supposed to tread ...
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
the forgotten aspirations and never-met goals...the tremendous sense of loss,
of crushing heart-break, of torturous frustration,
all flooded in!
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
First Place
May 15, 2021
Inspired by “ He gave her a book” contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
the Bus – Travels Through America’s Underbelly
I am a bus rider
That makes me unusual
For a white male
From an upper middle class family
Our people are not bus riders
Though some are subway riders
Bus riders are other people
The poor, minorities, immigrants
People who don’t drive
Because they are blind
Or have a DUI
And in my case
I don’t drive
Because I have bad vision
And bad coordination
Just never got the hang
Of the whole driving thing
Fortunately for me
My wife does the driving
But I still take the bus
From time to time
I rode the AC buses in Berkeley
As a child
Line 67, line 51, line 43 F bus
Rode them long before BART came along
And afterwards as well
As an adult seldom rode the bus
But when I did so
I was always impressed
By the sheer diversity
Of the bus riding property
Hundreds of languages
All sorts of sexual orientation
Some were white
Most were not
Most of my fellow passengers
Were nice enough
Some were friendly
And some were lost
In their own thoughts
And a few
Were scary looking dudes
With the look
Of someone who had done time
And were capable of more violence
I also rode the bus
In Seattle as a graduate student
A lot of fellow UW students
And the usual immigrants
Minorities etc
And some white people
Commuting
And in DC
Over the years
I rode a lot of buses
Mostly to and from the metro
But I got to know
And love the DC buses as well
I also took the greyhound bus
Across the country
Several times over the years
All over the U.S.
From Bay Area to Stockton
From Bay Area to Clear Lake
From Bay area to NYC
NYC to DC
All over the USA
Taking the Greyhound
Was always an an adventure
Met a lot of interesting people
As people on long distant bus rides
Tend to open up and talk
To pass the time away
Overseas I took the bus
All over
In India, in Barbados
In Spain and in Korea
The Korean buses
For many years
Were difficult for foreign visitors
As the signs were all in Korean
Most have signs
Now in English, Chinese and Korean
And are much more foreigner friendly
Riding the bus
In America
Allows one access
To the underbelly of American society
The poor, the marginalized
The immigrant communities
That many middle-class white people
Just never see
And for that reason
I am glad
That I am a bus rider
One morning I sat down with Ernie to explain English,
I know you're a mouse but that squeak can only go so far.
He looked up at me blinked and then bared his teeth,
I said I'll take that for a smile so let's get started.
Ernie, quit staring out that box car door at the scenery,
You'll never learn to talk the King's language that way.
This is no tiny feat for you so please pay attention,
He sat up on hind legs and truly seemed to listen.
I told him that I was a young vagabond train traveler,
And explained that he was the smallest hobo of all time.
So if he could just learn to speak he would become famous,
My tiny friend it's just a matter of adjusting vocal chords.
Remember that if I can mimic your squeaks than why not,
Why could you not imitate my simple gibberish stated?
My God, right then I could see he understood my point,
Ernie's eyes lit up and he proceeded to write hobo on wall.
Actually he chewed the letters into that wood for me to see,
I knew all creatures were intelligent but what a revelation.
My friend Ernie could write so how far from speak was he?
Was so amazed was almost afraid to ask him next question.
Still I asked him where all his intelligence came from?
He turned his back and curled his tail into a question mark.
Was then I knew that not only did he understand questions,
He was asking me what I thought made me so extra special.
That night he chewed some questions for me into that wall,
Why war? Why kill unborn humans? Why kill nature? Why?
There I was the glorious teacher with no definitive answers,
Yet now that I've grown older I've also grown a conscience.
So easy when young to think you are center and will not die,
Those immortal thoughts soon withering on flesh bone tree.
To think it took my dear tiny friend Ernie to wake me,
It is truly humbling to bow before wisdom of a mouse.
That next day Ernie and I just sat there watching scenery,
He atop my knee and I marveling at my wonderful friend.
This train we rode directly through American history,
Passing by old settlements and battlefields of sorrow.
He saw my pain that day and nuzzled each tear from my eyes,
Knowing useless deaths with no respect for nature lived on.
We would travel together after that as ocean ship stowaways,
Still I will finish telling of our train travels together.
To be continued!
© Copyright 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
Bertrand Russell
was intrigued by systems theory,
appalled by systemic racism
within himself and others,
corporations and churches
not recognizing each other's wisdom
also found in temples and synagogues
and community investment banks
and poor houses.
He was also interested in political philosophy,
power of aristocrats
anticipating growing personal economic despotism
offering no respite
to green/blue democratic EarthLovers.
A contemporary of Einstein's,
who shared Russell's political philosophy
and perhaps his interest in 4Dimensional
prime NonZero-entropic space/time
co-arising dipolar bilateral
spatial/integral
physical/metaphysical systems
also sort of bicamerally structured
Russell writes,
"The reason physics has ceased to look for causes
is that, in fact,
there are no such things.
The law of [unilateral linear] causality
is a relic of a bygone age,
surviving, like the monarchy,
only because it is erroneously supposed
to do no [win/lose, either/or leftbrain dominant reductive] harm."
Here, Russell's parenthetical analogy
betrays his political philosophy
favoring natural/spiritual green/blue co-arising systemic democracy
of We The Healthy MultiCultural EarthPeople
causing and effecting
monoculturing
narcissistic aristocratic collective fantasies,
anthropocentric Naked EarthExploiting Emperors.
Causal systemic power travels down to up,
like root systems toward flowers,
nutritionally before,
secondarily, communication flowing back top to down,
like seeds embedding in Earth's co-invested future
multiculturing fertile soil
bearing multi-regenerational anticipated win/win fruits,
Dipolar co-arising in polyphonic apposition
more normatively nurturing
than win/lose bipolar challenges of monoculturing,
too aristocratically self-delusional
short-term empowering aggressors
leftbrain straight white western male predators
on organic polycultural matriarchal fields
of original nature/spirit win/win systemic energy
in which each individual ego
is EarthMother sacred
eco-politically born
For growing systemic
democratic cooperative green energy,
power,
empowerment,
enlightenment
of integrity's systemic multiculturing potential
for climate health,
internally ego-inspiring spiraling spiritual
as externally natural rooted
organic ecosystems of life
reversing monoculturing death.
I hold your hand,
Look into your eyes.
I see fear there.
You don’t want to die.
I watch you breathe in.
I watch you breathe out.
My entire world is trapped in plastic.
I’m surrounded by the sound of oxygen machines.
I watch as you breathe your last.
I wish for you to fly high.
Yet another one gone.
Somebody’s grandmother.
Somebody’s mother.
The people around me,
All huddled together,
Praying that they’re not the next one to go.
All we do now is wash our hands.
We shield our faces.
What are we really shielding our faces from?
It misses its target and hits me right dead in the heart.
We’re not really protected from anything.
It all starts with the simple sniffles.
It travels into the chest.
No one dares set foot outside anymore.
I can no longer hear your voice.
You no longer scold me.
I miss you now.
I can’t help but to feel sadness.
You’re gone.
You’re no longer living here.
I’ll always have you engraved in my heart.
Here I go once again.
Yet another one is dead and gone.
Please, don’t struggle anymore.
Please, rest in peace.
I’ll hold your hand until the very end.
Please, never let go.
I’ll wipe away all the tears.
I’ll stand strong amidst this sorrow.
There goes somebody’s grandfather,
Somebody’s father.
It’s somebody’s reason for being.
I’ll fake a smile,
Walk through these tragic hallways.
Yet one more gone.
They’ve all left me behind.
They’ve all given their lives to someone like me.
I hold their memories close to my heart.
Who knew a simple sniffle could kill?
When will I wake from this nightmare?
Your warmth slowly slips away.
Your grip slowly loosens.
The light in your eyes fades.
Man, I feel old!
There’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just make your final moments comfortable.
All hope is gone.
Dread has taken homage in my heart.
It’s time to get drunk.
It’s time to think about life and death.
It’s the same every day and every night.
This is our new normal.
Someone’s always breathing their final breaths.
There’s nothing I can do.
Just be there.
Just hold your hand.
Nothing’s changing.
I’m chasing after hope.
Running on caffeine and cigarettes.
There’s no getting over these emotions.
Let’s disappear into isolation.
Depression and anxiety galore!
No one to hold my hand.
No one to comfort me.
No one to tell me that everything will be okay.
You were my delight my only child that I prayed for.
My joy overcrowded all thoughts from that day on
I burped you, changed your diapers, and watched you grow.
Take your first steps, I recall patting you to sleep,
Patting you, while you lay upon my chest, gently,
Listening to you fighting sleep, though ever so tired.
Remembering those times will be my epitaph always
Reading to you before you fell asleep each night,
You were more than my world; you were everything,
Then you were whisked away from my life so quick.
Lost I wondered within my mind, wanting, needing
Almost a decade of not knowing, not seeing you at all,
Missing the important years, my heart lost and faded.
My child was gone from my life, losing so very much.
Joy I felt upon that first day, I saw your eyes; I adored
You did come back though oh so distant from my life.
I was and always will be your daddy, loving forever.
Unconditionally, no matter what you do to anyone, or me
All my interests and endeavors are for your future and more.
Many things I was in failure to teach you through the years.
I was glorified beyond any blessings from children you bore.
I made mistakes I should have followed more closely at times.
Not wanting to intrude was my undoing, my ultimate crimes.
To me, part of life is making mistakes, learning, growing.
However, I failed to be there to help guide your travels.
My heart, soul, and mind gave all that I could within our time.
My homestead I gave, in love for you to grow stronger still.
However, I failed to promote the importance of its needs in depth.
Now I must prevent another failure, though you do not understand.
My boldness and refusal to your desires are for a better futures end.
Not to allow the return of a mistake in much anguish I attend.
To allow another to navigate the abode in current conditions,
Shall create more loss in one form or the other to no good ends,
My standing firm at this call is in the best interest to all indeed
My heartbreaks, my mind wallows in the failures of my past.
I must make a slight adjustment; though understand you do not.
Maybe in the future you will understand the strength I give.
These are some of my hardest days of life, for your daddy knows.
However, I must force the understanding of truth about life’s needs.
This is just one lesson I must teach before my end, This I know.
A LETTER TO MY BELOVED
While I am writing this letter to You, my one and only,
the mute wind,
utterly silent and stealthy,
has opened the doors of the old church,
and carried away the prayers
along the white heavenly fields.
The mute wind never opens my door,
because he knows that my prayers ran dry
long since, just like my tears.
While the eternally faithful solitude
carries my passions
across the face of the bloody horizon,
my memories are slowly dying
on the bonfire of the demonic fire of oblivion.
My one and only, I am not afraid of my own death,
I am afraid of the death of our memories.
You remember, my one and only,
the cheerful song of the golden bird
on the red rose’s petal,
when You used to bestow me with kisses,
moist and reverberant,
warm and dreamy.
My pen is trembling in my hand,
just like that red rose,
where Your gentle gaze is no longer present.
You know, my one and only,
one of the rose’s petals shivers in the wind
more than all the others.
It is the same petal
you used to fondle
at the break of day.
Its face is perfectly human
yearning and lonely
like mine.
Up there, the golden bird is singing,
while down here solitude is following my steps.
Why won’t it be killed?
Because its grave
lies down there along with many souls,
because human laws do not apply to it.
And when the mute wind
started wistfully humming
in the tired night’s embrace,
I continued wandering the world
with the inexplicable hope
that I might, perchance,
walk into You.
Days, months and years
were carried away by the capricious wind of destiny,
and You still remained but a memory.
There is no pain in my defunct heart,
everything is so distant and meaningless without You,
and You are so far,
and me,
I never took part in anything again.
And when that golden bird,
amidst its cheerful song,
would casually look into my eyes,
I would be stricken with indescribable memories.
And while the April sky
rose above its
quivering golden head,
I knew that its song
travels towards a borderline,
invisible world,
just like all our memories do.
Do not worry, my one and only,
the day will come,
our day,
when the golden bird shall sing
for us only,
and when that rose petal shall once again
tremble in Your hand,
just like my hand shall tremble
in Your hand.
©Walter William Safar