The blur was green or maybe grey
That past his turgid senses flashed.
The skin would burst soon anyway,
All his tastes and visions smashed.
Grey or green, most perplexing, yes.
The membrane full, his senses stretched.
To smash the wall would cause a mess,
He'll look and search, with nothing fetched.
Green or grey, but could be blue,
Now the cover will surely burst.
An idea, but what to argue?
Must determine the colour first.
Grey or green, did he see a pink?
There's something missed or maybe hopped.
It's now he teeters on the brink.
Be careful now, it could have popped.
"O, joy", he cries, he's found it out,
Not pure and single colours seen.
The pressure's gone, a welcome spout,
He's stemmed again what should've been.
I write because memory is a river that refuses to stay still
The moment passes once
A bird lifting from a fence
A goodbye folding itself into silence
A laugh scattering through the air
Like sunlight through shattered glass
But the page is a patient sea
Gathering every lost wave and returning to the shore
When I write, I become both traveller and map
Walking the road again
While tracing where my feet once bled
Words are lanterns hung in dark corridors of time
And each sentence relights a room I thought I had left behind
A memory enters me once as rain, cold and fleeting against my skin
But through writing, it returns as a garden
Blooming where the storm once stood
I write to taste life twice
First, as a fruit ripening on the branch
Sweet with surprise, then again as wine
Aged in the quiet cellar of reflection
For what is writing if not holding water in my hands
Long enough to see my own reflection?
A second sip, a second sunrise, a second chance to stand
Inside a vanished moment and call it home
when lightning struck all fuses melted in the fire
no more circuit breakers to interrupt the inevitable
stillness loneliness darkness and necessary change
reflections without light can be very illuminating
at first the images showed shattered past and emptiness
fear of whether a mosaic of joy could ever reemerge
doubts and resentments clouded sound judgement
while emotions played inner tunes of havoc and angst
and yet as introspection reached out to a future
tentative sounds of happiness crept in once again
only he himself would shed the load of the past
and loosen the weight in his body mind and spirit
It was the golden hour,
When he'd started afoot,
Through the long rows of maize,
Down the dirty red road.
It was when the winds blew south,
And the days were a little longer,
That he lifted his belongings of two,
And followed his broken compass.
It was when the ferryman hit the shore,
And the vendor sold the last of his little dolls,
He hummed the song of farewell,
And let his ragged slippers dig into the soil.
It was when the pyre had just cooled down,
And the lingering scent was still afresh back home,
Did he find his refuge in the homelessness,
When he found a home in all of nature around.
Yes - I’ve been there -
Where the shades of trains pummel
Silk, silvery tracks - whispering:
“Forward and Back - Forward and Back”.
And -
There were times I saw a traveller there, too
Praying - with a platform ticket in his palm
Wishing he could live the lie -
Or -
Have the engine take him -
Now -
To the Last Stop, on the Line.
The seeker
Seeks of the ultimate truth
For the unknown to be known
The unseen, seen
The unspoken, heard
Solitude
The exploration comes from within.
The traveler
A traveler, not the ordinary one
But of a different kind
Travels through the space & time
Through the dimensions unknown
On a journey without an end
A journey that’s just begun
I’ve finished with travels, for I can’t agree
With the reasons I’m discriminated
Won’t pay for the visa a notable fee
Won’t wait in the queue of migrated
I’m blamed for the crimes which I didn’t commit
Stigmatized for a thing they call “nation”
I’ve nowhere to go and I’ve no one to meet
My train doesn’t stop at your station
I may not be happy about it, but such
Is the case that I’ve to comprehend
My dear foreign friend, I don’t know you that much
As you seem to know who I am
I’m lazy, incurious, spoiled and defiant
I live in the land of the snow
I’m a parallel world to political giants
That all of you are, as I know
Think better of me, if you can, for I’m not
Your enemy or cater cousin
Who dreams to come over with problems he’s got
To share at least half a dozen.
It was important to come and see
Though I don’t remember too well
It was ages ago when I crossed your sea
In purpose to buy and sell
I sold nothing and bought a few
Small items like cds and paints
I tried to talk but couldn’t see you
So I gave up the attempts
I sat on the bench in the park lane
With my eyes down to the gravel
It would be hopeless, I knew but I came
Just by inertia to travel
Home is where the two hearts are
One is yours, and the other is mine
Now there's no home for me, how bizarre
To live only in the mind.
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.
on the journey between blues
and between all the tones
sun, salt, sky and sea...
I balance myself between general tones,
I am a sail, a sailor's soul
Own motor boat, and with hope,
I wait for the wind, which goes and advances
I sail towards the future OF omorrow... !
Farewell, o' weary traveller.
The stormy clouds now ever lift'd.
From that mortal night unto which you drift'd.
Daemons, once so fierce, shall make no further sounds.
For now, at last your sanctuary has been found.
The world around shall always pass 'n' go.
But in your name, as rose of love shall ever grow.
'N' tho' you've now succumb unto your inner beast,
Pray now sleep tight. Forevermore a spirit now at peace.
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.
I'm a traveller
Always on the road
With my mind far away from home
But for her, I'll be more grounded
Cause being on the road is fun at first
Till it gets lonely
And when you are up in the night skies
All you think of is what if you had the one
I'd want to land and make a nest
And stay close to guard it
Fly off from home at dawn
And be back before dusk
I'd want to have eggs by the nest
With someone to keep an eye on them
So that when the eggs hatch
They'll have someone by their side
I know I'm a traveller
And there'll always be the thirst for the skies
But with her, I'll forego the skies
Cause she'll be my universe
The PO£T
I hear the freight train coming
It must be about the fourth
If it's moving slow enough
I might just jump on board
I been east and I been west
But I've never been up north
Might just mosey up that way
Just to see what it is worth
I've locked up the old cabin
The key is well hidden too
Neighbors will feed my watch dog
And he knows just what to do
Been a while since I travelled
But I have maintained the knack
And still I keep to schedule
So by autumn I'll be back
I will do floors and farm work
So that I can make it by
I will always tell the truth
For I've never learned to lie
I know that my clothes ain't clean
But they keep me from the cold
And by the way, all the dust
Is just hist'ry from the road
Maybe from there I'll head south
Moving to a warmer zone
Might just get me a soft tan
Before making my way home
Been around this country some
Though can't tell you where is best
It might be the very spot
Where they lay me down to rest
my line of work
is space travel
those distances between stars
that's me
arranging all the loungers
around the hyper-pool
although
I'm only filling in
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