Exile
He went
the symbol of sorrow
into that huge country
knowing neither language
nor custom
to remain
always
the stranger among strangers
to stand in his age
straight as a board
with lancers
of the non-existent army
Poems on the topic: stranger
Poems on the topic “stranger” on Poets.by.
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,
Noreen Part II
Cecile walked
Everywhere, everyday.
Absorbed in her own world.
She walks.
As usual, Cecile was walking
On her way to school
She gazed at the swirling silvers and golds overhead.
She walks
Whistling to her own tune.
What was she thinking of?
As days passed
Holidays growing closer
Bakeries baking ginger treats
The festive scents filling the air
The lights glimmered
Twinkled
Flowing Glances at Cafe Trieste’
I fell in love today all over again,
with the girl next to me at Cafe Trieste’.
Thick red eye lashes and a matching mane flowin’,
my pulse has yet to slow and rest.
The only words we exchanged were regretting,
her telling of the code for the wireless connection.
I’m convinced of in now that while we were sitting,
our feelings had their own multidimensional convection.
I know I’ll never see her again,
it’s really for everyone’s best.
If she were the last love of my life,
what would happen with all the rest?
They come and go on a daily basis,
always with a yearning body and head.
Hold the coffee and glancing races,
give me a bottle of red wine instead.
Best strangers
Once upon this life, we were like soulmate; we bared our heart into one another with no secret left.
Oh this life! But now we are like two people who never met; we become best strangers.
Love and a Question
A Stranger came to the door at eve,
And he spoke the bridegroom fair.
He bore a green-white stick in his hand,
And, for all burden, care.
He asked with the eyes more than the lips
For a shelter for the night,
And he turned and looked at the road afar
Without a window light.
The bridegroom came forth into the porch
With ‘Let us look at the sky,
And question what of the night to be,
Stranger, you and I.’
The woodbine leaves littered the yard,
The woodbine berries were blue,
Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind;
‘Stranger, I wish I knew.’
Cityscape with Pink Rose
I stop at the flower lady's cart
to see if she has roses. There are a few,
with straggling leaves. The blooms
are decent still, especially those in pink.
She interrupts her desultory lunch,
brushing crumbs from her sleeve, to slip
a long-stemmed pink from among the buds,
carries it to her work table, and deftly wraps
the stalk in a yellow paper, tying it,
gentle-fingered, with a thin red ribbon.
I watch her eyes as I buy; they are like
those in the face I love, but the spirit is closed:
she has dwelt upon disappointments.
As I turn away, I see in my mind's
eye, myself turning back to buy for her
one of her own roses. Ha! no doubt she must
Fleming Helphenstine
At first I thought there was a superfine
Persuasion in his face; but the free glow
That filled it when he stopped and cried, "Hollo!"
Shone joyously, and so I let it shine.
He said his name was Fleming Helphenstine,
But be that as it may; -- I only know
He talked of this and that and So-and-So,
And laughed and chaffed like any friend of mine.
But soon, with a queer, quick frown, he looked at me,
And I looked hard at him; and there we gazed
With a strained shame that made us cringe and wince:
Then, with a wordless clogged apology
That sounded half confused and half amazed,
He dodged, -- and I have never seen him since.
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