Adventure Travel Poems

If you are the vast, ever-changing ocean,
I will be the sturdy mountain, holding you close, 
Embracing your gentle morning waves with care,
And welcome your crashing...

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Upon the tracks, the train does glide,
With people inside, a bustling tide.
I wonder their thoughts, as they journey along,
To places afar, or where they belong..

Are...

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USA busway
East Coast to West Coast
Greyhound Bus vision
Lots of scenery in reason
It took four days
Hour by Hour
Time didn’t sour
That is what I call a vacation...

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Despite the cold chill
Traveling this zigzag road
Life's must go on thrill....

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Whether a trip to a sister's funeral in Chicago;
Or another trip to Los Angeles for my aunt's funeral;
Or a slow ride to a family reunion...

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"If one has no planned destination - One can never be lost"  ~~The Poet~~

It was in the early winter when the frost had come...

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Behold sequestered by the sea,
not whale, nor seal, nor small sand-flea.

This is the face of old grand Ewe,
whom from the cliffs, has come to view.

Though...

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There once was a hobo that lived by the tracks
Never ate a full meal, just ate lots of snacks
He rode in a boxcar most everywhere...

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Going through headwind
My tenacious fills the sail
A trip to unwind....

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Traveling up an interstate highway 
Round down about in a midwestern cove
Speedometer cruise control sets low
Going down interstate by the way

Full tank of E-15 gas,...

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Does, like birds and beasts, gratifying daily needs suffice?
What's more? What should I aim at? Like a sage, where should I go?
The things and beings...

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I can travel on paper. Visit unknown places. Gift barren lands with lakes and rivers, the poor with gold and silver. I could run a...

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My mind sets in motion, 
words that will come alive.  
Creativity needs to be added, 
then mix imagination with creativity. 

 
Coming alive within...

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Our dad drives with the recliner down like a waterbed as uncapped bottles of water gushes down. My older sister putting on her third face...

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There’s a pair
Of jeans
That he can’t
Bring himself
To wash
Because the jeans
Still smell
Like Sri Lanka,
The sand
And the ocean,
The blood
And the sweat
And the tears,
The beauty
Of it all....

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