"trav" poems
“And the first beast was like a lion,
and the second beast like a calf, and
the third beast had a face as a man,
and the fourth beast was like a flying eagle.”
-Revelation 4:7;
The Sun is the same…
The Sun is the same…
The Sun is the same man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
No, the Sun is the same…
The Sun is the same…
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
It follows the path of culture’s dream.
The southern skies aren’t what they seem.
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
Yeah, the Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
The horns of god stab through the trees,
The wings of the bird, -now it’s trav-el-ling,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
A screaming Eagle punish-ing,
Judgment of Lions sets you free,
And the Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) Man as me,
Sky of light, -his shining sea,
Horns of the Bull pierce through the trees,
Eagle, Lion, -Man and Ox you see?
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
The Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
Yeah, the Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
Yeah, the Sun is the (Say-Ame) man as me,
The Sun is the same…
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
_Subway skip jive,
Off and on,
Up and over,
Been and gone.
Mind your wallet,
Watch your step,
Take your seat,
Turn right, lean left.
Token trav’lers,
Quick, quick, slow,
We’re underground,
And on the go._
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 8:15 PM UTC
Enter forest green and black
wherein treetops shade pathways leading back
the wind malevolent grins with mirthful eyes
a playful ill-will as cats before their mice.
It is not the fear of bitter cold
nor of darkness stories old
it is something moving in these aged trees
that brings shivers down to-- What trav'lers these?
Who walk with downcast eyes below the hidden sky
and bowing step forth unto demise.
When moon does show it's drowsy eye
and once red is blue as the night
what lurks between boughs of green and gold
has blackened heart from lies once told
saunters 'fore the wooden place
where young men end their race.
What trav'lers these who call before the fight
They- with no weapon- shout with might
To live and die in mighty storm
and one day take on heaven's form
The feared one raises head and claws
perching soundless to cause their painful fall
"Let me hear your ending call, that god or devil
may not forsake you all."
"We have no gods nor demons, no angels nor devils for us to call
for we are men of faithless earthly hall
who come to bear the earthly yoke
of life short lived and death's unrighteous stroke;"
"we walk to death and nothing after
as is custom of those with little faith
hear our cry oh merciful wraith
that we might pass under your yellow eye
as those who live and ask nought but time from life
that we may eat and drink our fill of what might be had
and drunken die before mad-ness take
and for other lives and worlds we save our fate
and we praise heavens and gods contrived in faithful tirade!"
Scrutinizing these travelers with delicate stare
the wraith had never seen such men that would enter the forest lair
With a laugh he let them pass
gods be with them and send them fast.
This last humor bore them along
to lands and drinks where their song is still sung
and the lives they lived were none too long.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
Relentless trav'lers
know not the peace of farmers'
ordinary life
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
**Trav'ling o'er miles of time
and space unlimited
where disembodied we drift
unseen yet seeing
into the lives of a thousand
otherwise unknown people**
~Hilda~
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
ever an expat
~
i'm ever an expat,
this culture ain't mine;
a trip to my next stop,
a place in my mind.
this soil isn't home,
my soul it's on loan;
just looking for peace,
in a world upside down.
i'm a' travelin' light,
in pursuit of a song;
not seeking permission,
for my heart to belong.
my sole's intermission,
will only prolong,
finding the courage,
to write all my wrong.
surrounded by others,
with tickets defined;
you ask if my home's
at the end of the line?
no, i looked for a non-stop,
a grand destination;
my vocation mistaken,
a search has awakened.
i'm ever an expat,
in a culture not mine;
a trip to my next stop,
a place in my mind.
this soil isn't home,
my soul it's on loan;
still looking for peace,
in a world all gone wrong.
though ever a trav'ler,
and rarely at rest,
enjoying this journey,
my accepted success.
in losing i'm winning,
my end my beginning;
for my pain isn't gain,
til' i lose all the excess!
come fly with me,
in this quest to be free;
i'm prepared to let go,
of all that i've seen.
this my adventure,
a spirited venture;
perhaps solace i've sought,
appears in release!
i'm ever an expat,
in a culture not mine;
a trip to my next stop,
a place in my mind.
this soil isn't home,
my soul it's on loan;
i've finally found peace,
in the words of my song.
~
post script
I once wrote the following words to a dear friend in response to an article about childhood and belonging...
"it is said of men and women alike, one's latter years... those years when eyes betray, as often does one's strength, are years in which a sixth sense emerges, and with it a 20/20 vision; a hindsight that sees in its rearview mirror the beauty and wonder of life, of dots connected with its enigmatic smoke screen stripped away, its majestic tapestry coming into view... a blending of time and place where purpose and intention can become focused.
In physicality, I am 47 years removed from my host country, Japan, but here I am today, still feeling each point of these words, more poignantly than I'd like to admit!! In my more rational moments, I'd say I've moved on... in reality I often still feel stuck, unable to see my childhood as anything but a dream or another life... almost an outside-looking-in experience!"
Ever an expat, perhaps; peace and rest are elusive at best!
Mar 3, 2024
Mar 3, 2024 at 1:15 PM UTC
You may see a star or two
within this vibrant shell,
my sun shine bright, anew,
the laughter fill a hole.
See now upon my sleeve
the glistening moondusts wane.
What means by which they cleave?
What spirit do tides feign?
I sail a sea of calm, but
waters of the deep, they say,
do not profit from the balm
of strangers on their way.
What ease might come from Him?
From trav'ler drawing close--
more friend-- along the rim
of lonely's deep repose.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:34 AM UTC
Hi I'm Trav,
I would say my full name -it just takes too much time that I already don't have.
Oh I'm doing good, but just tired. Tired of being tired.
I've got a position open for someone to tell my busy-ness to and you see- you just got hired.
So sit back relax and hear my tales of cluttered schedules and dreams- about the day when we will slow down. Sit and I'll tell about the day we know won't come close enough to smell.
So here's to you, cause I know your busy too.
I must go, I'll let you be.
The only rest I find is knowing my God isn't too busy for me.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Mom, why do you say
"You were such a happy girl
What's with you today?"
There were happy parts
But childhood was also where
All of this stuff starts
I didn't hide from you
The fact that I was bullied
And teased by the school
I couldn't hide it
When I slammed down a desk, and
When my tooth was chipped
Maybe I didn't say
That going to sixth grade made
Me dread every day
I didn't talk of
All my plans for taking off
Like a trav'ling dove
I guess you only
Saw my backyard play and trips
That's when you saw me
But much of the time I
Looked at the birds in the sky
And wished I could fly
You don't know how much
I wanted to run away
From my school and such
But you do know
About the times I got hit
By classmates long ago
They told you about
All the times the other kids
Made me scream and shout
So you can argue
Whatever you want, but your
Favorite point isn't true
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
A Trav’ler lost inside a world
Wants only love to be unfurled
Two roads diverge, both cloaked in mist
The one not chosen will be missed
A Trav’ler wanders ‘round the mews
Wants peace of mind, gets morning news
So many voices lacking tact
And telling that which is not fact
A Trav’ler's heart is filled to burst
And mind a maze of twists and turns
Now etches life onto a page
Black ink replaces blood today
A Trav’ler weaves yarn through the loom
And knows the thread leads to a doom
But trav’lling just to move through skein
Seems pointless and, oh so mundane
When trav’lling is all that you know
It can be hard to stop and think
Oh what is all this trav’lling for?
A Trav’ler shrugs, but dreams of more, to soar
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC