Wanderer Poems

Wanderer 24-08-25

Who isn't a wanderer?
Guided by dispersing clouds
hoping to glimpse the moon.

The Wanderer Stands Beneath the Sky

The sky does not explain itself
It simply opens.

The wanderer... quiet with ash and memory
Does not ask it to.

For there is a wind that knows his name
It never speaks it aloud.

As together, they walk...
Not forward, but further.

The Wanderer

There is a place he knows of rest
it is a place in wooded mist
and days of wandering in sorrow ways
his broken heart returns this day

she's waiting weeping by the door
and cries his name her silent call
her voice of whispers through tower of tree's
like soft cloud leaves upon the breeze

there's gentle rain on steps through out
but

Heartbroken Wanderer In Wasteland

“When the heart breaks the trail of longing 
gets lost in the debris of its shards”- By Poet


The sparkling dawn enwraps my heart with hues,
spreads the sunburst luster of my yearning,
paints golden garden in mind’s blank canvas, 
blooming with the patina of my love,	
unfurls buds of fervent facsimile 
of your astral floral face, I adore.

The Circadian Shadow

Let the brief time be cast away,
Let the movable thread be loosely handled,
Let the shadow be cast on you,
Let the water flow over the distant edges.

But when you know you’ll never get the wanderer back,
Even as you cast him off,
When you tally the drifters,
They’re all misplaced and undone.

The Moirai will let him go,
Because, you know,
You

The Wanderer Footle

grey hush
wind’s crush

fog’s veil
hearts pale

black coat
lost note

thin light
love’s blight

back turned
flames burned

The Happy Wanderer

The Happy Wanderer

I like to wander near and far.
Just me and my little white car.
There are treasures to be found everywhere.
Just waiting to be discovered out there.
Soon I saw a little mom and pop store.
It was in a small house with a green door.
I was greeted by a jolly little old man.
He had a small

Wanderer

Survive or submit. It hits
differently than it once did.
When to submit simply meant to yield now
but life to fight again.
When to survive was waking up. That's it.
No need for titles and ownership.
No deeds to the bits and pieces
chipped from the spoils of everyone else's grit.

Such a sweet-seeking world has left holes in our teeth.
I wander.

Gentle Wanderer

In tranquil depths, the sea turtle glides,  
Ancient traveler where the ocean hides.  
With a shell like armor, so strong and wise,  
She dances through currents, beneath the wide skies.

A journey of miles, through coral and foam,  
In the heart of the sea, she finds her home.  
Graceful and patient,

The Wanderer Life

Wanderer Life

Live like a wanderer is a gift from Life
A noble award and merit from wildlife
Our fortune is our sad fate, one kind

We want life, not the destruction of war
We want air, not pollution and grime
We want nature, not dead ground dust
… and we needed love

Almost all the wanderers live without love
This is a reason

Old Wanderer Friend

Old Friend

Yesterday taken a walk in Fryent Country Park, a heart of nature
Landscapes, ponds, trees, bushes, fields, forests, great shoots
My camera cried with joy, I often wiped the lenses, wide-angle

Yes, the winter weather was so friendly, the fresh air gave me thoughts
Just walk and walk, the wonder of nature here always changes me
New ideas, and

The Wanderer, Part III, translation of the ancient Anglo-Saxon poem

The Wanderer, Part III 

The wise man contemplates these ruins,
considers this dark life soberly,
remembers the blood spilled here
in multitudes of battles,
then says:

“Where is the horse now? Where, its riders?
Where, the givers of gifts & treasure, the gold-friend?
Where, the banquet-seats? Where, the mead-halls’ friendly uproars?

Gone, the bright cup! Gone, the mailed warrior!
Gone, the glory of princes!

The Wanderer, Part II, translation of the ancient Anglo-Saxon poem

The Wanderer, Part II

Awakening, the friendless man confronts the murky waves,
the seabirds bathing, broadening out their feathers,
the hoar-frost, harrowing hail & snow eternally falling…

Then his heart’s wounds seem all the heavier for the loss of his beloved lord.

Thus his sorrow is renewed,
remembrance of his lost kinsmen troubles his mind,
& he greets their ghosts with exclamations

The Wanderer, Part I, translation of the ancient Anglo-Saxon poem

The Wyrdes were like the Fates, controlling human destinies.

The Wanderer
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
translation by Michael R. Burch

“The one who wanders alone
longs for mercy, longs for grace,
knowing he must yet traverse
the whale-path’s rime-cold waters,
stirring the waves with his hands & oars,
heartsick & troubled in spirit,
always bending his back to his exile-ways.”

“Fate is inexorable.”

Thus spoke the wanderer, mindful

The Wandering Heart

a restless heart untethered and free
wanders the world seeking its true love
with every beat it longs to find the key
to unlock the passion it’s dreaming of

it drifts through cities and barren lands
searching for someone to understand
the depth of its ache the tremble in hands
the pull of desire like sinking quicksand

one day it meets a kindred

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