Nomadic Dawn
I wander with the gypsy caravans,
at daybreak drifts the scent of roasted young corn,
the fragrance of fresh goat’s milk,
dew chilled, a breath upon the budding flower…
And the burning sigh of the gypsy girl
scatters fledgling birds, whispering to the sun:
wait, just a moment, my sun…
For I long to kiss him, to be—
to be the deep seal of desire upon the neck
of my sovereign, my beautiful Gajo, my fairest king.
Ah, you know, my sun,
why I wander sleepless, dream-dazed,
a little drunk, enchanted by the roaming caravan—
I wish…
Don’t be stopped — no matter the cost,
Don’t linger long, don’t stay or pause.
Life is fleeting, though time is vast,
So quench your thirst, and make it last.
Time waits for none — it won’t for you,
It rushes on, forever new.
No plea can change its endless flight,
Life’s but a droplet in the light.
The past is seconds, present is now,
Tomorrow’s dreams — we can't allow.
Leave what's behind, embrace today,
And work with purpose, come what may.
If tomorrow dawns, it too shall yield,
When time’s your friend, life is revealed.
So walk with time, let journeys blend,
And life will start, where once you’d end.
Cradle the weight between my shoulders.
Heavy thoughts anchor down the nomadic mind.
Tired and weary from the constant battle.
Chewing on words from a forgotten rhyme.
On my knees in a steady rain.
Left with shards of a vision torn.
Walking over cobblestone broken and gray.
The streetlights hang their heads to mourn.
Valkyries have long abandoned this field.
There are no angels to take me home.
Crawling ahead to finish this race.
Carve my name into the stone.
This nomadic wind
This nomadic wind, and along the way the buds are a fallen subtlety
i have gathered them all, paved to greet your way
Accept , please accept them all, with thy humble hands.
When I am no longer around, they will blossom around your flowerbed.
your fingers to weave a floral necklace , remember with heartache and pain
as if I am there with your remembrance
The sleep deprived nightingale is a response there with a failure and the pain, tonight , an absorbed tonight!
a pair and their own,
a pair and their meeting churn
moonlights floodgate and the full moon during the festive moon
the subtle hue are all willing there, there when tomorrow is lit up
during your fatigued noontide.
ambulatory itinerant vagabond
nomadic nuisance
feared by some
adored by others
wayfaring wood tick
travels on white tail deer
enjoying his journey and beast’s blood
Silent voices
traveling through uncertain dreams!
Have you ever seen the sky
during the evening prayer?
The colors of the water lilies
glowing in refection on that still pond water.
An open-ended story of an eternal time!
Where standstill time enchants the paintbrush strokes!
Time that does not define the everyday coffee mug
There are many more colors , yet to be born
in fatigues, in leisure time.
The sunset that, the twilight hue
stories scattering through a nomadic skyline!
lonely wanderer
on the transcendental trail ~
tracking peace of mind
13.01.22
Haiku Contest Inspired By Basho Only Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Damned I-Be
People are becoming a tribe of nomadic
Who emigrate and become fanatic,
Hoping they will get a peaceful haven,
They have become completely raven,
Wishing for a cozy Lifestyle and future,
And a mere supreme and good exposure,
Which is quite subtle and miniature,
They forgot their own great culture,
The people go through the immigration,
Either for job, business or education
Hope they foresee the goodness of our nation
And make this their lifelong destination.
Nomadic waters travel
Across the world for free and
Never speak of their travels;
They keep their secrets.
I’m left perplexed. How vexing, how complex…
the plight of a simple man, (one’s ruin is another’s choosing) is moving and doing the least that he can, no oil changes no wedding band.
All this just to exist, just to be standing, still living, surviving this life with a pocket knife and all the time that most never venture to find before the last goodbye.
Like the return of high tide you can count on his nothing, nothing to show nothing to hide... a cowboy trailblazing the countryside.
Beethoven's eleventh symphony ?keeps the beat of this visceral epiphany.?
No piano key in record history? could serenade away the blue music that drips from the riffs in me.
How is it to be, so utterly free. No paper trail to keep folded neatly, a homeless nomadic home body taking what the rest of us are wasting, catching sickness digging ditches while we dine on delicious richness.
My intuition becomes twisted and misses the simpleness where my wisdom depicted the abyss, this before my vision was transformed by barely bearing witness to his existence.
Nomadic Treasure
by Odin Roark
A wise man told me
The Essence tuning fork
Is never idle
It is always resonating
As in…
Surviving one’s homeless spirit
One may tune in audacity for a roof
Direct eyes to dine on tomorrow
When eyes no long see
Listen
When ears no longer hear
Think
When no thought comes
Allow
Resonance lingers
For when one’s father no longer lives
Compassion becoming father
When mother passes on
Embracing Order is natural
When no friends come near
Quiet assumes companion
When one’s home is no more
Silence becomes shelter
And so…
I now reside somewhere nameless
Responding not to supernatural influence
My tongue leads its own choir
Allowing no such fortune
Visit my park bench
Need remains but a tactic
Detachment my strategy
My Means have discovered the Within
Where nothing and everything
Becomes my destiny
Anonymity proving divine
Death but treasure found
He also taught me
When your lover has gone
Sleep invites your courting
For tomorrow’s awakening
Awaits slumbering shadows
Primed to detach into the light
Where begins anew
The tuning of the fork
The Smiths' were gypsies who wore rings in their ears
Dan and Tom were tramps who loved drinking beer
They met up with Stanley and Sam, both petty thieves
Together they rode the rails, they enjoyed this relief
Setting up camp in the woods near a dusty town
Not far from the rails, for that's how they got around
Stan went into town to "pick" up some supplies
His pal Dan followed later to get some beer or rye
The others stayed behind to secure the campsite
When the duo returned they were half drunk, and wanted to fight
Later cooking up the food that Stan picked up
Afterwards drinking whiskey from a jagged tin cup
A few days later they decided to move on
Never staying in one place very long
They gathered up their supplies, for the train would soon be coming
These vagabonds were soon aboard to continue their roaming
Destination unknown, on these ever winding rails
Continuing their adventures, while blazing nomadic trails
4 - 21- 2012
There's a gentle echo in my brain,
whispering low and long,
"I'm one, I'm all."
What I hear I must heed and obey,
I'll follow the skyline's
silent call.
Now, I'm aching, dying to return
to where at last my
nomadic soul
may find its almost forgotten self
and, yes, once again
be truly whole!
running, moving away
never really got a place to stay
ran fast and far all my day
not away from, but away to
where I'd lay me down smiling
'neath a tree, breathless
dreamless, lifeless, someday
lost my way, gone astray
couldn't care less anyway
I'm close to home, I'd say
smiling as I sought my road
biding my time with one
who asked "could we together
run this way just for today?"
together, we searched our way
unsure if it was night or day
no promises, no lies, we'd say
but in her path I couldn't stay
so we smiled and sighed
no questions whatsoever
for, all along, we knew why.
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