Rimbaud, 1880
I have borrowed some quiet—
the first in my life—and am
resolved to go. I settle
my accounts with myself
and fear in hand,
furnish my mind with a tent.
Poems on the topic: journey
Poems on the topic “journey” on Poets.by.
Getaway
I went by water to my father’s country,
crew buttery as lard, paper ship
to transport me and my tired work.
Leave-taking
the trees react to colder nights by stripping naked
the meadow too
it’s as if they’re about to set off somewhere
all excess baggage is left at the gate
the sun too is a budget traveler
abandoning most of the sky
the days are so quiet now
take me with you
even if there’s nowhere to go
even if it means leaving myself behind
In the Open
A deep sigh escapes my lips, as in the morning
I empty a full bladder, leaning to the coconut palm.
Nothing more pleasurable than to empty oneself
Of urine and from one’s mind, yesterday’s thoughts.
I blush; a Black Drongo on the wires turns
Its head to look at me; a Magpie Robin trills a song.
The Kingfisher, hops down on a branch
Above my head and shakes his, as if in disapproval.
High above, against the darkening sky
The dragonflies swarm and circle
Bracing for the long journey ahead.
When do I, begin mine?
Journey without Maps
Could you walk- with
Your hand in mine?
Could you see – life
The way I see?
Would you care- to
Share my pain?
Would your heart - beat
As would mine?
Would you love- the
Things I do? Would you
Trust, would you be true,
Would you have faith as I have in you?
You said yes? Then come!
There is no road no map no light to guide
Only my love to ward off the cold
It might be short or last forever,
I'M GOING AWAY
I'm going away,
I'll send a letter one day,
don't tell her just yet
or at least not today.
I'm going away
to discover my life's destined way.
I won't mind the long drive, I bet
I will survive at least till May.
Many words I know I will get
about the pain and the sorrow and the wrong I have made,
but don't tell her just yet.
I'll send a letter one day
and there will be tears running down the cheeks,
but Please!... Not today.
Sick: for Home
The best time to be homesick,
Is on your way home,
Any other time wouldn't allow you the joy of the experience!
The Man You Just Passed
No clear origin,
No obvious direction.
Thick-thighed, big-bellied,
Heavy buttocked, hairy,
Squat, a working man,
Head set directly into chest,
Upright. Upright looking
Skyward, looking earthward,
Averting eyes, looking deeply
Into eyes, burning to look
Deeply, to reach out to you
In the pride of his youth.
Upright. Arms uncomfortable
At his sides, gesturing,
Grunting out of a cave,
Ice-driven into shelter,
Poems Written Out of William Carlos Williams 1
Now we have started
to come back,
the fast is longing.
the light of cast foreshadows all else.
We are bent upon it,upon the way.
There isn't enough light until we bring ourselves
Say it only once,that you may know.
Still
There isn't enough light until we bring ourselves
For caught up in the wind,
we stand before,
we have knelt that way
And
There isn't enough light until we bring ourselves.
* * *
If this were a method one stays
awake.
Ethics explain one's position.
I carry my head with me wherever
I go.
The Train of My Life
It departed at 8:32pm on 1st October, 1963
from a maternity hospital
in a small town in North Albania,
stopped at a creche to collect some cries,
toys,
ink spilt on shirts and trousers,
a broken pencil.
Other stops included
dull classes with mountains of books,
copies, fights, loves, hates, mistakes,
first kisses, white dust from the chalk,
lost shoes on football pitches.
Then it stopped again
at different workplaces
where the head was not needed at all, just the arms,
because the bosses were the ones
Thirty-Eight
I drove through
endless rain,
seeking one merchant
who might give aid
to an empty hand.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
Or try: