#drifter
My mothers love I never knew.
Her affection was cold and pale blue.
My thorny heart was born to sin.
In creek water, I'm born again.
A pack of joes, a fith of gin,
I follow ghosts of what could've been.
Ive seen the sun pass through the. moon
In every town, I start again.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 11:05 PM UTC
Holding the compass of uncertainties,
Carrying the baggage of memories,
The drifter is drifting along with the tides…
Without boundaries or borders,
Floating with the moment,
The drifter is weaving timeless dreams…
Playing with the shadow and light,
Swinging with the hands of time,
Unbound in the truth of freedom,
The drifter is living in the moment…
The journey of love and joy,
Build in every pause life takes,
Never holding back the voyage,
The drifter survives in the passion…
Miles and milestones left behind,
The strides always ahead of the past,
Moving forward in the distance,
The drifter fades between the lines of present and future…
Jayakumar K
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
Isolated I stood at the shadowed corner
illuminated only by the street lamp
across the decrepit road.
Deafeningly silent I sat perched
at the bench awaiting my vessel
to deliver me.
Coyly he drifted into my universe
wearing a cloak and a smile
that would charm a Queen's guard.
Stiff like a board I stared at him
existing at a medium between
the end and the beginning.
Puzzled I was at a loss of how
to approach this drifter and his
exceedingly charming demeanor.
Thunderously my heart thumped
waiting anxiously for my vessel
that could not come soon enough.
Do I dare succumb?
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
I'm a small pebble
making a giant ripple
A speck of black sand
on a coral white beach
The left foot
kicking up a storm
A hermit, a drifter
a paradigm shifter
I am a disruptive
not a destructive force
I think outside of the box because inside I'm lost
I've been Nero, DaVinci
Neruda, Dali
burned as a witch
and now I'm just me....
a small pebble
making a giant ripple
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
I'm just another stranger that no one knows
Call me a drifter going with the flow
I'm just another one, just.. Another one
All remains the same when said and done
Just pass by
I'm another face in the crowd
Don't try to figure it out
I may be alone but free to roam
Its alright, no worries tonight
Im not lost but im hard to find just lookin for somthing more this time
Another gamble
Trying my luck
Off the beaten path
I won't give up
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC
i am a pixie
so do not miss me
when overnight
i fly away
i am a puzzle
with missing pieces
so do not cry
when the picture isn't perfect
i am a drifter
so when you see me
this is what you signed up for
without a contract
i am a nap
for a the insomniacs
what you need
but never lasts
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
I have always had
The compelling urge to leave
Where I feel welcome
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
I can't seem to find my way home.
Through this world I roam.
Rejected and alone.
I miss the times when I was happy.
But now my clothes are tattered.
My boots are worn and battered.
But I still walk these lonely roads.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
who broke you?
a lover,
a stranger,
a drifter,
a grifter,
a bolt
of lightning?
now,
get back up,
brush it off
fix yourself
and walk.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Has this become my life?
Writing poems that few people take their time to read
Looking at the walls, windows, and shadows hoping to see light
Waiting to have a social life again
Has this become my life?
Waiting anxiously for a friend to call or text
Knowing that I can only count them with one hand
One hand because there are restrictions set upon my life
Has this become my life?
Talking to thyself in the middle of the living room
Listening to music and thinking of what could have been
Looking at thyself in the mirror and controling the tears
Painting my face with no ocation just because I'm bored
Has this become my life?
Overthinking each past situation
Realizing every mistake with agony
Looking at the sky and screaming why
Has this become my life?
Whispering to myself that it's all gonna be okay
Meanwhile listening to others enjoying the outside
Trying to be better in a bubble
Being judged by every single present mistake or action
Has this become my life?
Being the center of attention at home
Driving to doctors here and there, there and here
Getting labs done every once in a while
Has this become my life?
My entire future lying in the hands of others
Proffessionals determining which pills I should pop
Parents restricting my social life
Listening to every opinion of what I should do with my life
Has this become my life?
Bursting into tears in my mothers arms
Accepting only professionals and mom to unburden me
Denying help from others because the anger exceeds the forgivenes
Has this become my life?
YES.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
My poems are better when I'm hurting
I can connect more with people and bond through the pain
My poems are better when I'm hurting
Everything is seen through tears and lust
My poems are bad when I'm happy
I see everything in a positive way
I find no critics to say
My poems are bad when I'm happy
Usually writers connect through life experiences (the bad ones mostly)
My poems are bad when I'm happy
No one likes to read a perky girl's poem
My poems are excell when I'm fading
I see the moon and start talking about it
You see the loneliness drives me to this
My poems excell when I'm fading
I talk about lust and people suddenly recall old memories
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
The man beside me, he spoke in staccato sentences – as if his lips had forgotten the shape of words.
He said he’d been walking a long time, with a hungry thumb stuck out into the road, grasping for the wind beside passing cars. With tired eyes he watched them move on and blur into the faraway horizon.
He’d spent many days out there beneath the meat-eating sun, hoping to find himself in the shade. By night, he slept beneath blankets of stars and dead leaves.
A ghosted-out drifter upon the loneliest roads, appearing only in the transient headlights, and then gone.
I asked him where he was headed; he said it wasn’t what pulled him, but what pushed him instead. There was no beckoning light. He said the shadows, they snapped at his heels, and there was something in the deep lines upon that weather-blown face, like country roads – and I believed him, and kept my foot down upon the pedal.
He said a lot of things, in that strange, broken way. He said a lot of things for the longest time, and then for a longer time still, said nothing at all.
I’m not sure which was worse.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
The drifter in the room is a stranger,
he is crazy, is Bigfoot with deer moccasins on−
monster of condominium rooms and dreams.
The drifter in this room used to be my friend.
He spoke straight sentences, they did not sound like poetry-
reverberated like a narrative, special lines good a few bad,
or stories being unwound by the tongue of a gentleman,
lip service, juggler of simple words to children.
The night is a dark believer in drifters,
they sound sober, affairs with the wind,
the 3 A.M. honking of the Metro trains.
Everything sleeps with a love, a nightmare at night.
The drifter.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
A drifter, a shadow,
There one minute, moving on the next
Always watching, always waiting
Loved by some, despised by others
But never caring.
The eternal guardian of the sky
Some celebrate the absence of any,
Others relish in the relief it brings
But regardless it does its job
Whether hated or loved
It can be the solitary loner,
But it always looks for a group.
Whether to enhance the sunset,
Or create a righteous storm
It seeks comrades, it seeks a home.
Never caring whether hated or loved
It seeks comrades it seeks a home
But it still stands resolute.
It will always watch, it will always guard;
Regardless of the opinions of other.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
Šest tisíc mil asfaltu a prachu.
Kolik tisíc chlapů vydalo se na tu cestu?
Už dobře poznáš tu hranici strachu,
když blížíš se k proklatýmu městu.
Tam lidi neznaj slitování
a ženský neznaj lásku,
a ty proto nad svítáním
nosíš ocel na opasku.
A tak jedeš dál,
možná najdeš svoje sny.
Seš silnice král,
ale štvou tě pouštní psi.
Snad až si jednou spočineš
na lůžku z kapradin a mechů,
doufám, že pak nalezneš
klid hvězd, co ti poskytujou střechu.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
It feels like i'm floating on thin air,
spinning,
drifting.
Wonder if i'm really here.
Shattered glass
makes stars that line the sky,
in every way,
and I don't even question why.
I'm a floater.
Floating on by.
I'm a drifter,
and I don't know why.
But I'm staring up
at this black glass sky,
that will welcome me at times.
Telling me it never really changes,
night is always night.
Cold yet warm,
and I don't know why.
Why I stare at this sky,
and call it a beauty.
Call it a saint.
Call it a home,
every now and then.
Why I float,
between it's stars,
that in my eyes,
don't seem that far.
Why I drift,
in it's cold warmth,
that hugs me,
embracing my inner all.
And I never ask why,
the cold warm sky,
is my stop sign,
while yet so vast.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC