November 26th, 2015
She was a country girl
With a city heart
A city mind
And a city soul
She wanted nothing more than to get away
But the people around her would never understand why
Poems on the topic: escape
Poems on the topic “escape” on Poets.by.
Run.
Running to stand still,
When you look up
Do you see the blue sky of what might be?
Or the darkness of what never will?
Do you see me?
You ask me to not run away...
But I'm already gone.
｡: bad :｡
It's getting bad again,
The feelings I had thought gone have resurfaced,
The thoughts I once had are back again,
And the way I view the world has once again become a blur of hatred,
A maze I'm just trying to escape.
The Lockless Door
It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.
I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.
But the knock came again.
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.
Back over the sill
I bade a ‘Come in’
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.
Fugitive
Yes, I can go. I can leave right now.
An aeroplane or train ticket
for 10 or 15 pounds of flesh and bones,
including some clothes
and some necessary domestic things,
and .... goodbye.
However, I’m not gone,
as my memories and feelings
are disobedient. They never leave,
and I can’t dictate anything to them.
So, when you see me leaving
don’t even think I’m gone.
It’s not me.
It’s just a heft of myself
escaping from fighting with me.
A Tale
there is a huge gray bird out on the roof
he wants to eat my heart out
the daisies are asleep no-one knows.
I chased a galloping lamb up the road remember the day
it got away and galloped up the road and was gone ?
there is a huge gray bird on the roof outside
he wants to eat out my heart
the daisies are asleep and no-one knows.
I chased a galloping lamb up the road remember the day
it escaped the butcher’s van and galloped up the road.
Fifty-Seven
Around us people
talked on inanely;
we two fled,
seeking shadow.
Eleven
I walk on sand
and think to join
the gulls. We'll seek
a route across waves,
leaving behind
so many troubles.
The dory-boatmen
launch through surf,
eyes picking their way
through rocks ahead.
Advice to a Pool
Be a liquid threshold for the dawn
And let night touch you with his back.
The earth-bowl prisoning you, and cold night winds
Are only pause and rhythm
Within an endless fantasy,
But you, like they, can be
A dream from the loins of a dream,
And build a golden stairway of escape.
O coolly unperturbed pool,
Slap your ripples in laughter at men,
Who splash you with their lordly hands.
Time is but a phantom dagger
That motion lifts to slay itself.
Escape
When foxes eat the last gold grape,
And the last white antelope is killed,
I shall stop fighting and escape
Into a little house I'll build.
But first I'll shrink to fairy size,
With a whisper no one understands,
Making blind moons of all your eyes,
And muddy roads of all your hands.
And you may grope for me in vain
In hollows under the mangrove root,
Or where, in apple-scented rain,
The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit.
Henry Tripp
The bank broke and I lost my savings.
I was sick of the tiresome game in Spoon River
And I made up my mind to run away
And leave my place in life and my family;
But just as the midnight train pulled in,
Quick off the steps jumped Cully Green
And Martin Vise, and began to fight
To settle their ancient rivalry,
Striking each other with fists that sounded
Like the blows of knotted clubs.
Now it seemed to me that Cully was winning,
When his bloody face broke into a grin
Of sickly cowardice, leaning on Martin
And whining out “We’re good friends, Mart,
You know that I’m your friend.”
But a terrible punch from Martin knocked him
A House in Hampstead
My house is damp as damp can be,
It stands on London clay.
And if I move unthinkingly
It shakes in a most alarming way.
Mayhap it will all come down on me
One day.
But through the window I can see
The most enchanting apple-tree.
In spring-time, there are daffodils
And primroses on little hills,
And high within my apple-tree
A blackbird comes and sings to me;
On the black branch he sits and sings
Of birds and nests and eggs and things.
I can't remember, as I hear,
That old grey London lies so near.
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