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Jet lag
up in the all-
day night
the upper-
weary bed
Poèmes sur le thème : travel
Poèmes sur le thème « travel » sur Poets.by.
Vacancies
where to sit
in the garb and gait of travel—
sign busy till late
Bus trip
overtaking you in a coach
the wheel of her face
you talk enough to entangle
two or three hours
finches singing
in the middle of the night
Wanderlust
the tower knows nothing of the hill
travel is a sort of music
counterfeiting hands and discourses
not fit for paper that still word away
like a man gone out
of his quiet mind
Armchair traveler
west of elsewhere
slept in my clothes
a journey on paper where
I travel along harm’s way
feign difficulties and hurry
myself to bed
Planetoid
a peach in the palm
is a sort of pleasure
like her mouth when
she speaks of travel
as far as another
home world
Budget traveller
We tell money
how to serve us without money:
on any given road,
several businesses and a bed.
Open road
the road is a thing
I seldom sit on
where I hear the difference
between fleet and gone
weary of staying
to pay for air
how little I would keep
like an office at night
Travel Anxiety
If travel were just
the open road, I might
take to it. Not this
labored labyrinth,
this intestinal clench
of visas tickets security screenings long lines wrong seats bad restrooms too much luggage no-fly lists takeoff turbulence recirculated air cramped legroom boredom soreness limbo purgatory sleepless wondering will they let us in turn us back demand proof of our identity confiscate our umbilical cords make us wait wait wait wait,
wherever we are bound.
Traveling Through
Traveling through
the long winter nights
at the speed of dark.
The Cherubs, The Harbors
Your constancy inspires me to refurbish
pavilions of hope. Your sweetness
unfurls yards of woven sky
that luxurious tailors applaud. Ah,
my dear, what a long way we’ve traveled
together. Harbors have
looked out for our best interests,
San Francisco, Stockholm, Mobile,
Tacoma, Barcelona. Love
is a province we inherited
from an oligarchy of cherubs.
I wish I were as wise
as you deserve, as patient as
the moon, as extraordinary
as you. I desire all blessings
to come your way like voices
Of the Valleys
Some valleys you passed through replaced
themselves in memory.
Their mystique deepens like loam.
A glacier of forgetting moved into others.
You never know: should mind’s climate
change, these might be recalled.
You cannot remember entering even
one valley without having felt changed:
Maybe you sensed descent into routine,
or escape into meadowed ease—
or knew involvement with anonymous
mass humanity lay ahead, urban sea.
You entered that one valley—remember?—
by train. A pleading wish to be from that valley
seized you, a wish not be you.
As you gazed on and out, your forehead