"touring" poems
The man at the bar
He is a young ****
He's got years on his slate
Double my own
A bottle of scotch
He swishes away
The British way
Born in London
Now a Southerner
Touring the country
With his Wife,
Elene
Not missing a thing
Quite the engineer
Laughing away
With each glass
The bartender brings
Flapping his yap
At the pretty young miss
Residing at the bar
Enjoying her dinner
No longer feeling a part
From the crowd
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 8:58 PM UTC
She's my pretty city country girl
She's something I can't lose
Is she livin' in the country
or the city, she must choose
You know I really love her
She's the one I really want
But if she moves off to the city
It's my heart she'll stay and haunt.
When I first saw her smiling face
It was a good old summers day
She had moved down from the city
And I hoped that she would stay
We played games out in the haystacks
We ran races through the corn
Turn left and hit the river
Turn right, you're lost till morn
She's my pretty city country girl
She's something I can't lose
Is she livin' in the country
or the city, she must choose
You know I really love her
She's the one I really want
But if she moves off to the city
It's my heart she'll stay and haunt.
She occupied my dreams then
And still does to this day
Back then I hardly new her
I just hoped that she would stay
Short shorts and Gingham dresses
made her look the country part
But high heels and silk organza
Tugged the city in her heart
She's my pretty city country girl
She's something I can't lose
Is she livin' in the country
or the city, she must choose
You know I really love her
She's the one I really want
But if she moves off to the city
It's my heart she'll stay and haunt.
We'd go to high school hoedowns
And dance like no one else was there
But when she heard Big Band Music
She was dreaming of Times Square
She loved to go out touring
In my pickup through the crops
But in my heart I knew she missed
The sounds of taxi cabs and cops
She's my pretty city country girl
She's something I can't lose
Is she livin' in the country
or the city, she must choose
You know I really love her
She's the one I really want
But if she moves off to the city
It's my heart she'll stay and haunt.
She stayed here all through high school
But I knew deep down it had to end
I knew if I tried to say "I Love You"
she'd say "I love you like a friend"
She knew I'd never leave here
And I knew she had it made
If she went back to the city
And stopped her country masquerade
She's my pretty city country girl
She's something I can't lose
Is she livin' in the country
or the city, she must choose
You know I really love her
She's the one I really want
But if she moves off to the city
It's my heart she'll stay and haunt.
It was two weeks past commencement
When I told her what I thought
Then I dropped down to me knee right there
And I showed her what I'd bought
I looked into her smiling eyes
And prayed that she'd say yes
Would she choose to stay in Daisy Dukes
Or go back to her chiffon dress
I'll let you guess the answer
By the way I end this poem
But I'm still here in the country
And she's waiting now at home.
She's my pretty city country girl
She's something I can't lose
Is she livin' in the country
or the city, she must choose
You know I really love her
She's the one I really want
But if she moves off to the city
It's my heart she'll stay and haunt.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
Bad blood.
Yes, that's the substance
That appears to be touring amongst us
Stains of a silent vendetta
Howling against my cranium
Classically, such a rhythm dances
With a carelessly, continuous tune
Am I but an indefinite design
In this fearsome game?
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:56 AM UTC
Miss India is back...
To bring happiness from those gloomy days and nights...
When everyone enjoys the royal feast
Their faces beam of sheer delight..
Ohh... what a wonderful Diwali night...
When the newly crowned Miss India returns...
from months of touring all over the world
Home sweet home at last...
On this special Diwali night
She is here with her loved ones on this night
Tonight
Look up at the sky....
What can you see?
Arent those crackers and sparklers up the sky?
So shining sparks the night
All because Miss India is here on Diwali night...
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Here I lay in my comfort composure
Listening to every rythm of my music
Removing my white earphone to listen
To listen to the beauty of nature raining
Picturing myself as a randrop falling; free
Picturing the placid movement of water
Moving as one, cold breeze and falling with heavy gravitational pull
Thinking back to when I'd lay in
_comfort_
Listening to every perfect beat of your heart
Concentrating on the whispers of your spirit
Being attentive to your chords as you release them
Piercing my mind, _quaking_
through my flesh
To simply un-wither that was even desintegrated
Your love circulating my veins
Simply
By speaking
Rippling accross my seams
Bolting through my body more
than any drug ever
Hanging me on your hook
Touring to the meadow in my
dreams
Conquering the battles in my
nightmares
Re-writing the words on my page
that is life
Then
After enough re-painting
Of my story
You started to un-write my book
Crossing the hearts
Tearing the written pages
Oh how I could only stand and
_stare_
Oh how all you did, difficultly
_Glare_
The whispers your soul gave
_withered_
Cleared and filléd my mind
_vacant_
Was I abandoned by your heart
So easily the welcoming door
Became an unbidden command
_requested_
This hour
Is when I play it back;
Remenisce about it
Laying alone, in discomfort
Listening to no beats
Not even one of my own
Then I close my eyes violently
Shoving back the emotion
To silently replay those words
I love you
Always
Crashing down
Bolting tar through my body
Poisoning my mind
Rippling through my veins
That same poison
Is what I use
To **** inside me
What demons creep
See the story has a twist
What I feared most
What demons I feared even more
Is exactly what I became
The poison inside me
Crisply ogling at me
Inside the cage
Compresséd
Inside what
We call a
Mirror
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
I'm eating chocolate,
the kind the Swiss
keep for themselves,
the quality kind
that can only be delivered
by security truck,
Chocolate that the Incas
would **** a thousand in cold blood,
Chocolate that's so good
it will turn a committed ******
into a ******* sweet ****
*Touring Venice with the Chocolateer is paying current dividends!
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 10:21 AM UTC
Hilary the Hippopotamus
had a long held dream
to dance with Nureyev
in the port town of Charlene
her dream became
a reality
when Nureyev was touring
her particular locality
his regular dance partner
came down with the flu
and he was at a loss
as to what to do
he called the tour organizers
to ask their advice
they said he should
contact Hilary and not think twice
a lovely version of Swan Lake
they performed in the port town of Charlene
dancing with Nureyev
was Hilary's dream
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
Brake-clutch-shift
Glance at the clock
It must be about... half-past-an *******
as I sit in traffic, idling, wondering
Glance at the clock
Could this be hell?
98 degrees, sure humid enough
and will this guy ever signal a turn
or find the gas pedal?!
No, of course not
His job in damnation is to torture
the sucker stuck behind--
--his cardiac appointment
his destiny at the grocery store
Half hour early
just to wait in line
to pick up prescriptions
to punch the clock at The Pearly Gates
He's out and about in his Ford Taurus
ridin' the brakes
touring the streets in sunglasses with blinders
“No Effn' blinker, Pops!?”
Twenty miles per hour
just inside the lines of
Turning me into the animal I am
in the depths
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
he ran away from his unborn child,he thought in his mind he was too young to raise a young child,couse he also was a child.
All he wanted was to be free,young and wild.
As he took two steps back he felt relief,then he believed he could leave,so he left with his believe.
Runing away was like runing to jail he knew not.
Planing to go in drunkiness and in revery that two he knew not.
The mind kept spreading more lies to the morning bread he eated,he was just too weak so his heart was defeated.The unborn child forgotten.The weeping girl weeped and whipe hear tears,but his memory remaind,a picture of him that can never be ereased,that each and every thought of the child evoked the unbearable feelings,the bast of fury flames touring her mind,shouts encrepted in the her heart,on the bed twisting n turning,wakin and sleeping but still she found no rest,internaly bleeding,emotional abused by his pictures
then she thought
thought that abortion might be the solution to the situation that she is in.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
[Intro: Quavo]
**** man. Brrrrtttttt
Hello?
What the hell you mean Ma? I ain't did ****
****
[Hook: Quavo]
Feds hit the spot man I ain't saying nothin
They came around about 5 o' clock this morning (12!)
They telling me I'm copping contraband from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Feds hit the spot say I'm copping from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
[Verse 1: Quavo]
Yeah, yeah, Quavo
I pick up my **** and then hit the door (Oh **** **** 12!)
Surrounding my house and they kick the door (Boom! Boom!)
"Don't move, get on the floor!" I hit the window and fell on the curb
I'm trying to get up and take off, the officer speared me, like Goldberg
Say "Where were you 3 o clock on the dot?" "My Momma's house" "You a ******* liar"
Have you heard about your new worker? (Nah) Know I put him in your circle
I witnessed you purchase the pound (nuh uh)
I witnessed you purchase the brown (no you didn't)
I witnessed you purchase the white (no!)
Say goodnight down the road for a long flight
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Takeoff]
Hot Boy like Silkk the Shocker, pull up on your blocka with the Waka Flocka
Momma hit me on my cellular told me that Quavo got caught by the coppers ****
They say they've been investigating and Migo gang we connected with the mobsters (Huh?)
Can't talk to you ****** my lawyer talk. **** the prosecutor Mr. Marcus
**** Lookin out of my window, I see a black truck and it's empty
Walk to the door check the peephole (what that is man?)
Then I start hearing a noise and it makes me paranoid ****
Thinking what the **** is going on? (What the ****
All of these tools like it's Autozone
If I get caught I ain't coming home (No!)
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Offset]
Offset!
They said that I sold to informants
I told them I just got off touring
They circle my house like an orbit ****
He telling me he gon extort me (huh?)
50% of my income, unfortunately he not gon get none
Life sentence or freedom so pick one
**** ***** you trying the wrong one **** *****
Quavo call my phone, his spot got raided it just got kicked in
We all met up in the Westin
Who know what the **** going on it ain't making sense (who know?)
The police talking they got evidence
I told you ****** bout serving them Mexicans (I told you ******
**** There go 12 ****
I picked up my **** and I moved out the residence
[Hook]
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
Pennarby shaft is dark and steep,
Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep.
Stout the bucket and tough the cord,
Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford.
'Never look down!
Stick to the line!'
That was the saying at Pennarby mine.
A stranger came to Pennarby shaft.
Lord, to see how the miners laughed!
White in the collar and stiff in the hat,
With his patent boots and his silk cravat,
Picking his way,
Dainty and fine,
Stepping on tiptoe to Pennarby mine.
Touring from London, so he said.
Was it copper they dug for? or gold? or lead?
Where did they find it? How did it come?
If he tried with a shovel might he get some?
Stooping so much
Was bad for the spine;
And wasn't it warmish in Pennarby mine?
'Twas like two worlds that met that day--
The world of work and the world of play;
And the grimy lads from the reeking shaft
Nudged each other and grinned and chaffed.
'Got 'em all out!'
'A cousin of mine!'
So ran the banter at Pennarby mine.
And Carnbrae Bob, the Pennarby wit,
Told him the facts about the pit:
How they bored the shaft till the brimstone smell
Warned them off from tapping -- well,
He wouldn't say what,
But they took it as sign
To dig no deeper in Pennarby mine.
Then leaning over and peering in,
He was pointing out what he said was tin
In the ten-foot lode -- a crash! a jar!
A grasping hand and a splintered bar.
Gone in his strength,
With the lips that laughed--
Oh, the pale faces round Pennarby shaft!
Far down on a narrow ledge,
They saw him cling to the crumbling edge.
'Wait for the bucket! Hi, man! Stay!
That rope ain't safe! It's worn away!
He's taking his chance,
Slack out the line!
Sweet Lord be with him! 'cried Pennarby mine.
'He's got him! He has him! Pull with a will!
Thank God! He's over and breathing still.
And he -- Lord's sakes now! What's that? Well!
Blowed if it ain't our London swell.
Your heart is right
If your coat is fine:
Give us your hand! 'cried Pennarby mine.
2k
Sculpted by nature they tower over all,
Casting great shadows across valleys and emerald lakes,
Fresh air fills my lungs,
Chutes carved into stone walls,
Scars across evergreens,
White flowers scattered along the tree line,
Sun rays penetrate ***** clouds,
Tree covered train, trails along winding tracks,
touring though tremendous terrain,
traveling to the West,
Rock surfing down the face of Cascade
Bathed and drank from her *****
Rainbow bridges from mountain to mountain
Thunder booms in the distance
Heavenly clouds to my right, sun beaming on my cliff
Butterfly lake darkening it's greens
Rocks slip, I'm done...
...
...
Balance restored I resume breathing
Violet mountain flowers lead me to safety
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Teaching high school kids the craft
Directing them in their school show
Teenagers singing just off key
With a band that's one beat slow
Holding rehearsals when the gym is free
Have you really sunk this low
Are you truly at your bottom
Or are you "Waiting for Godot"?
"YOU'RE ON IN FIFTEEN MINUTES...MR. WILSON"
Doing plays in local theater groups
With untrained amateurs on stage
You tell them all your stories
And you keep them on their page
It's not exactly where you started
Talent that you just can't gauge
Selling programs in the lobby
It's time you act your age
"TEN MINUTES TILL SHOWTIME MR. WILSON"
Touring shows around the country now
Second touring group, smaller towns
Doing revival shows of Sondheim
"Sweeney Todd " and "Send in the clowns"
Living out of an old suitcase
The countryside a sea of browns
Where you are at the local's mercy
And there's less ups than there are downs
"FIVE MINUTES TO SHOW TIME MR. WILSON"
You've made it, you're on Broadway
Starring roles are yours to choose
Where the highlights of last nights show
Are in today's reviews
Where a sold out run continues
And your name is in the news
You're an actor, and you're famous
The world is yours to lose
"SHOW TIME MR.. WILSON...ON STAGE PLEASE"
The kids are out there schlepping
working their way through the *****
singing songs sung by the Beatles
"All This and World War II"
You're just a pillar standing, sweating
As you see what you can do
You're still an actor, and you know it
You'll need a drink when this is through.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Your shirt was checked.
I hate checked shirts
I thought as I noticed you alone
In the corner with a coffee.
You must have left whilst I was engrossed
In Bryson's Europe.
Sorry I didn't notice;
Belgium is beautiful at this time of year.
I was dancing through the starlight streets
In a dress
I never wear dresses.
A coffee later
I am in Germany
Bored. Not my scene.
A boy rallies round on his scooter
Indoors!
You walk in. Again?!
Two coffees in one day
You must be tired
A briefcase - are you a worker
Like me
Kept away from December's festivities
I catch your eye
Awkward in these situations
You are sat opposite me
Purpose?
Bryson is touring Cologne. For once it sounds awful
But the 60 minute mark draws near
Though it rains outside
I must leave you here in the warmth
Back to a lonely work in the lonely rain.
Perhaps I could smile at you
As I close the door.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
You rise...
I rise...
We all rise...not to fall
That which seems like a fall
Is meant to be a bounce
To take us to greater heights
Far above where we ever thought
I'm sorry Mr Isaac Newton...
I have come to overcome gravity
Airplanes are doing it, so it's not a new thing
I know it takes a lot of energy
I have it in me and I will be using it
Yes, I'm aware it could get stormy
But that won't be enough to stall me
What is turbulence
Compared to my unwavering persistence
Upward and forward is the movement
These wings are for soaring
Outer space is where I want to be touring
No stopping...Just soaring!
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
*Chitter , chatter chirrup
Three birds of a feather
A friendly chummy posy -
in perfect morning tide pleasure
Trilling , thrilling , touring Thrush's in the noon palmettos
Chiming sweet refrains in the -
broomcorn meadow
Musky , dusky weary
Gold songsters in a bush
A huckleberry trio in the-
nighttime hush*
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
These islands are magnificent
So much to see and a lot to do
Between people, money is lent
As we always see something new
Full of romance and pure beauty
Sights some may see in photos
Up an extinct volcano feeling free
What's new to see, no one knows
Now my time here is far from boring
I'm enduring pain and also confusion
Busy with free and organized touring
To me it all just feels like an illusion
I think I found someone that I like
She happens to be pretty and sweet
We talked on the Diamond Head hike
And got through it together in the heat
I don't know what to do in this moment
It's not the first I've have to quickly decide
While climbing the volcano that's dormant
I realized that I am no longer able to hide
I'm limping around with a strained calf
It happened while swimming in the ocean
It felt like my calf had been ripped in half
Now it's in pain like a while ago it had been
I'm in this romantic area full of compassion
But I'm alone with my own unique fashion
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Flowers shot in the dark like hearts shot through with darts
Clotting blood in the voice box
Time moving slow as the clock tick tocks
And more bricks are laid
Between me and God
Children smearing on war-paint
Grandmas spitting against the devil's taint
Broken churches, corpse of the saint
Images listless and visually meaningless
In a long array of destructive days
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God
Overlarge toads bellow in the park
Green slimy beings croaking insults in the dark
What they're singing has meaning and the meaning is stark
Rhythmic insults haunting the night like the bark
Bark, bark of a wolf seeking prey
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God
A murderous man has a knife and he stabs
A touring killer with no remorse as he jabs,
Jabs, jabs whilst their blood coats the floor
Serial killer with an unquenchable need for more
Though the police are paid
The case runs cold
More bricks are laid
Between me and God
Chanting children there, with the devil's eyes
Urchins that smell fear, young weavers of lies
They encircle a dog and they throw it with stones
A cold-blooded giggle surrounds the dog's imploring moans
Little demons are made
And more bricks are laid
Between me and God
Are you friend or foe
Rattlesnake or doe
In the night or day
Do you fight or pray?
Curse or hymn
Hate or love
Does it differ?
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
Inside my head
inspiration wars for
territory/ my eyes
inviting any and everything
in it's path inside with a story
that I'll tell it's story
My mood doesn't
always shelter my
desires to be creative
but my eyes never stop
working constantly supplying me
with inspiration...
some times I don't
wanna write.....
so what's inside
becomes impatient...
So things decide
to up and leave
through the crevices
in my face and....
It spills in its
desired form so
it's ink my skin is
tasting.... I apologize
ahead of time my gift
and it's vision care nothing
of your time it's wasting
~Rebel Flower
Inside my head there is a place
awaking the purpose to write
like incisions on a platter
like a golden sizzorr
Cutting in time wasted
where it could be
used in skills practice
to free a prisoner of rest
Like leggos we stack purpose
And speeches never frail
There are times of a nothingness
for ink flows and poetic thoughts
yet naturally words
yell at my window for spills
a welcoming and re-entering
Paving for my souls exertion
editing exact details
carrying in a song in my psalms
I don't live in the gift
the gift lives in me
touring like a concert to sooth
or even to feel
Like a record playing on repeat
This is my mental obsession.
~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
I'm obsessed
with all the talent
god has left me to
possess but sometimes
I get upset at the lack
of control I have over
the information my mind
accepts/ granted a gift to
project messages hidden
in the mess life lessons usually
left but I stress because that gift
sometimes forces my tired hand
to respect
I struggle...
some much on my
mind absent the intention
to invest... How do I turn
off the switch to how my
registry was blessed..
~Rebel Flower
Blessings of such a skill
at times may be overwhelming
I picture the gift of words a performer
When need of pros we feed our drive
as well as the audience
We plumage into a well
of urgent tunes
then we tiré, and we are restless
poetry never dies
it will come back when need of a place
of itself to live again and again.
Every poet needs a light
and the switch will dim in any time
I'd worry more when it flips back on
How great the light will be.
© Copyright 2014 Poet V-Ink &
S.T. Rebel of Eden.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Poignant prose chucked out and recycled by morning.
Turned out trick repeated til boring.
The local band just started touring.
Sonnet's blasted until the ladies are 'whooring'.
...
Roxy Music dropped David Byrne.
For Ellie Goulding and a remix of burn.
Robert Johnson's been reworked.
Ratatat rap as interest is perked.
Dylan picked up the silent game.
Making ambient noises which all sound the same.
The Rolling Stones joined the church.
After buying some of Hoosier's merch.
Nicki Minaj claps her ****
Laying down a tribute for Terry Fox's stump.
Benefit concert soon to be run.
By the played out Glee Club composing Fun.
Beach Boys dragged in with the tide.
...And Stars Collide.
NOFX has gone clean
Fat Mike's gone and become a dean.
Tom Waits stomps out to Kendrick Lamar.
Hacking up bits of blunt induced tar.
Bumping out in Steve Ellison's car.
To Captain Murphy's karaoke bootlegged from a bar.
...
Less than 10 good tapes a year
Even fewer if referring to those others actually hear.
Jack White's gone third eye blind
Getting over run by his drug free mind.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Billie Holiday and Arti Shaw
performed together
for 2 years touring in a RR
both their record companies
couldn't get their act right
now only two tracks are known
Charles Bukowski
had a kitchen piled up with
Dairies and notebooks
but was kicked out of his appartment
again
Rembrandt van Rhijn
made a large scale piece
On the first meeting of the Batavians
16th Century City Hall Amsterdam didn't want it
Only a 1,5meter piece remains of it
in Stockholm
Sure, they were ******
so were we
But at least they tried
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:49 PM UTC
I love you like a funny joke.
I'm smiling because i just remembered your punchline but I always seem to forget it.
I love you like an artist loves his first painting.
Although there are flaws, they are what makes the painting unique.
I love you like my favorite band.
I know every word to your songs and and desperately want to talk to you but I never get the chance since you’re touring in bigger cities.
I love you like a kindi-gardener’s fresh box of crayons.
Rarely touched and taken well care of.
But eventually lost and broken and smashed
I hate you like a sheet on the clothesline in the middle of a hurricane.
Being ripped from my line and drifting off away from you while you’re safe and sound.
I love you like a heroine addict loves his dealer.
Enough said.
I love you like a tree loves the rain.
Soaking up every drop of you that’s given.
I love you like a book worth reading over and over again.
Wanting to memorize your every feature like I could never see you again.
I hate you like a broken down car on the highway.
Stalled out, I was replaced before I had a chance to be fixed.
I love you like a sunset in the summer.
Indescribable, speechless except for the word “gorgeous”
I love you like star gazing.
Watching to find something and call it my own.
But I haven’t discovered anything yet.
I love you like pancakes on a sunday morning.
I love you like chocolate
I love you like nature.
I love you.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Tourists touring temples taking #selfies,
body’s there but souls not,
like Techno Ghosts back from the future,
not here to save the world just here to take a few shots,
but my body is my only temple,
and true enlightenment comes from the absence of Self,
so selfies seem silly to me,
in the same way as trying to wear pants 2 sizes to big without a belt,
or I guess a better analogy would be,
trying to wear a heavy belt without a buckle,
and that thought’s deep better yet heavy,
like Axel Rose those thoughts are heavy metal,
which makes sense especially if you’re an alchemist,
and believe what the Kyballion says about how everything’s metal,
yeah that’s heavy,
heavy as Heavy Metal rock,
being played by the US Army,
in Baghdad with the volume all the way up,
all the while spraying heavy metals,
in order to weigh down moral,
but what does any of this have to do with #selfies you ask,
well listen and I’ll tell you,
narcissist egos created this mess,
force used to push an agenda,
because when we’re too focused on our “selfs”,
we lose sight of the big picture,
like taking #selfies at temples,
and not seeing the beauty around you,
like drowning out the sounds of nature,
with the playlist on your iTunes,
it’s all kinda ironic isn’t it,
it’s tough having morals when complicit in any empire,
so I try and escape to exotic landscapes,
like Malagasy rainforests or Tibetan Temples,
but when I get there I find,
to my disappointing surprise,
a bunch of tourists on their phones,
only remotely living their lives…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
in
the land
down under
retired folk
get on the roadways
touring extensive countryside
their destinations do vary
some go to the coastal strips while some
do the inland trek in the red hues
we call these older folks the grey nomads
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC