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Glades and Creeks.

One day in a journey far far away,  the forest was speaking to a lone wanderer.
"I am quite the clean forest, am I not?." The forest whispered soothingly.
"Mmhm." Spoke the wanderer, passive by such an interjection.
"Of course. Thousands of forests have wilted and died under the hand of man. I remain lush and brimming to the birch with life."
"Where is my way out of here?" The wanderer asked, becoming quite needy at the thought of having to spend the night in that dung-infested greenhouse.

The forests name was Evergreen. Allot of forests were named Evergreen. This forest had just been sold cheaply to a large logging firm who would come and tear the ugly trees down. The proprietors of that sale was a tribe of Indians. The specific agent who devised and contracted the sale was named Nahiko. An Indian tribesmen who, like his ancestors could speak to the forest.

Indians were what Europeans called people from India and natives of America. Allot of Indians in America were killed for being Indian. When an Indian boy came of age, they would be thrown into a jungle and starve until they saw an animal spirit. This was probably prelude to eating said spirit animal while thanking it for helping him live on.

"I, Evergreen implore you to stay within my womb of plant and fauna."
"Hm." replied the wanderer. Not wanting to argue.
The wanderer took a seat beside a flowing creek on a rock. The creek lead up to waterfall, which in turn lead through a river that spanned for miles. The river did not speak as it was an extension of the forest, Evergreen. Down the creek was the old homes of the Indian tribe.
"Have you ever saved someone else?" The wanderer asked.
"My yes, of course. Everyone who is to enter without water or food is rescued by my charming animals! And luxurious streams. I am quite hospitable you see. There was a tribe who lived within me, they were by name called the Perchil tribe. But they had to leave for more. Hmph. As if anything up in that ****** town is worth more then me."

Further up the river, away from the forest was a town named "Milan". It was named after a kingdom of the same name in Italy. People in Milan spoke German. This was odd given Milan lay in south America, but not unusual given its history of being a port to German slave traders who came from a German colony called "Tanganyika" in Africa. The town was named Milan because the Germans wanted to appear more Italian. This desire was apparent in their most famous dishes "schnitzel Pizza" and "Pasta Salsiccia". Pasta Salsiccia was pasta in a sausage casing often served with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes.

Perchil was also a member of that Indian tribe. He was Nahiko's brother and had a family of his own. Perchil was born in Evergreen and educated in Milan. He had been fighting with Nahiko over the terms of sale of the forest. Nahiko had wanted to preserve the land of old tribe. Perchil was already drawing up plans to sell it to an oil foundry. Their land happened to be on top of a great oil reserve. That means allot of animals lived and died on that land millions or thousands of years ago. There body would dissolve into a black gooey liquid used to fuel heavy machinery. This machinery is used by logging firms to cut down not exclusively, forests named Evergreen.

The wanderer, feeling awkward asked. "So, you'd rather not want to be destroyed?"
"Oh, I am a forest and I do maintain a will of my own and wants. But I cannot rather things should be anything other than what they are. The world is a destructive place. It is disrespectful of its former home and ancestry. I know this. I have tried however, to ward off the workmen by scaring them with my animals. In the end I shall become a town or a shopping mall."
In 3 years time, the deed to "Evergreen plains, Milan" would be sold and used to build a shopping mall named aptly "Evergreen Mall". And the forests voice would be spoke out of loudspeakers, but in the form of either a pre-recorded message or announcement about a lost child. Nahiko and Perchil would be married in Evergreen Mall. Nahiko three times.

"Oh woe is me, I lament my lost brothers and sister forests who are no longer beaming and prideful of their enormous trees and crested riverbanks."
"Maybe they should have defended themselves better." The wanderer spoke, trying unsuccessfully to show concern.
"Well, I for one will never give up fighting the man!"
"Good for you." The wanderer then ate his lunch.

Three days from now, the forest would stop speaking to anyone who arrived within its borders and see the lone wanderer again. But this time, he would be protected by four glass windows inside a piece of machinery powered by black gooey liquid called a "harvester" which lifted up wood and cut it into easily transportable pieces.

"Do you, believe in god wanderer?" The forest asked, to strike up some conversation.
"I do believe in god. He's the reason I get up in the morning and assists me in supporting my family."
"I don't. I don't think I believe in god, wanderer. If he exists, how could he let something so beautiful as I and my brother and sister forests be turned into shopping malls and townships like Milan."
The evergreen forest had seen the name "Milan" as a city nearby on a poster which flew into the twig of its tree. The poster was now lying on smooth ground weighted down by a root, as so the forest can read it over and over again. The poster advertised Pasta Salsiccia at a local restaurant in Milan. It had appetizing pictures of Pizza with crumbed steak on it and Pasta filled Sausages.
"God once flooded the earth, destroying all forests and people for their misgivings. Maybe you misgave and people are your divine punishment."
The forest grew silent and whispered soft hymns of wind against the leaves and overgrown shrubbery.

The edge of the creek, where the wanderer sat on a rock had a hard sand that stretched out a few meters disappeared into the dirt. It was unusual to see a small bed of sand without any other visible placements of sand. The wanderer had been dumping it there, with permission from the forest so he could form a base to store his harvester. The forest did not know of the sands purpose, she thought it looked pretty.
"If I were god, the world would be nothing but forests!" Evergreen stated. The gentle words turning a harsher coarse crackling of branches.
"The world seems to be nothing but people right now. Maybe gods a man."
"Unlikely! If god was a man, he would certainly love forests enough to never cut them down."
"Hm." The wanderer was dissatisfied with this explanation, but didn't want to argue.

"Would you **** anyone who came into your forest, just to prove a point?" The wanderer asked, waiting pensively.
"Oh no, as I said. I cannot change what already is and certainly would not bloom the effort to try. Besides. I also know about those people and their weapons. When it comes to human beings, no matter how hard I fight they will always win. How they ever came to develop boom guns and ratatatat chainsaws I have no idea. If they came from my forest, people would certainly have never developed tools so cruel and menacing. But, I suppose Eden had her way for you. Even if it was, at the cost of all our kind."
"Yeah. No matter forest or person, people always win. I'll always be below some rich powerful man too." The wanderer felt melancholy for feeling unimportant. The forest felt the same melancholy for her life and the world.

Suddenly and finally, a noise came from the wanderers pants. He then picked out his phone, clicked it and took it to his ear. After two hours, the wanderer walked east and out of Evergreen forest. He visited her three days later in his noisy harvester. made to cut wood. He parked on his sand bed. The wanderer left his harvester and locked the door without a word. Evergreen forest was properly harvested of its trees in 3 years time. Never uttering a word or complaint. The painted marking on the harvester she saw everyday however, was her last thought as she disappeared. The word painted onto the door of the harvester, its operator. "Perchil."
I wrote this a while ago, it's my first short story. Tell me if you like it. And maybe, beseech me. Whatever. I dunno. BE GENTLE!!!
Amitav Radiance Apr 2015
A solitary wanderer
Guided by the winds
Through lonely valleys
Sipping from streams
Sleeping under stars
Night’s canopy as tent
Rolling on soft grass
Lay supine, dreaming
Of the sparkling stars
Holding them in the eyes
Life sparkles with glee
Solitary wanderer
Waylaid from the crowd
Greener pastures
Greets the wanderer
Solitude is bliss
Wanderer finds meaning
Finding ones purpose
Turning away from the crowd
preservationman Aug 2016
I wandered until I couldn’t wander anymore
My eyesight became a shadow even in the hot burning sun
I just knew I was done
The desert felt like a furnace
Desert Wind Storms kicked up violently
Tears poured down my face in anguish
Sweat was all over my body
My cries for help only echoed back
It was like hearing a recording being a song track
Yet my cries went unanswered
I felt alone
Suddenly a voice echoed out, “You can make it and take my hand”
Immediately the wanderer took the hand of a stranger
The wanderer looked into the eyes of the stranger, and discovered the face was recognizable
It was the face of the Heavenly Father
The Savior who controls
A man powerful and mighty who packs behold
The Desert Wanderer felt he wouldn’t survive
His life of assurance and conquest was written in the scribe
However the Lord said, “I am the Lord and you will strive”
The wanderer moved on
He also felt really strong
The Lord carried the Wanderer and he got along
It was Faith in where the wanderer needed to belong.
Mike Hauser Nov 2013
The Restless Wanderer
Goes from town to town
Running from his past mistakes
The guilt that brings him down

One day he's bound to reach the end
The end of all he is
And when it finally does arrive
Will there be nothing left but this

The guilt he's held onto for years
Is all that he has saved
Kept it closely by his side
Giving a glimpse but not away

It burns him hot to the touch
So why does he bring it up so much
He's learned to lean upon its strength
The guilt is what makes him so weak

                       *
The Restless Wanderer

            
The Restless Wanderer

  
No purpose does he pose

                      
The Restless Wanderer

                                  
The Restless Wanderer

       *
The guilt is all he knows
Written in response to my poem...
Which is a great poem itself...
Thanks Thomas...


The guilt is all he knows, my friend, for feeling guilt is safe.

It means when the day is done, he doesn't have to face...

the truth about his problems. Or the reasons for his fate...

Yes loving guilt is safer,
than facing his mistakes.

                      Thomas Gagliardi
A wanderer of stardust like no other, does not ask why,
The mountain dew don’t weep nor cry.
Transparent and pure in its own plight,
Some phenomenon just shines that bright.
Just like the rainbow in the sky.

A lost traveler with a bow tie,
Remember your strength as you scrape by.
The battle goes on and you are the only knight.
A wanderer of stardust like no other.

True love is vast as the blue sky,
Even if the enemies deny.
You keep your armor on and fight.
Till the end of twelfth night-
For you know heaven is nearby.
A wanderer of stardust like no other.
Rondeau consists of three stanzas, a quintet (5 lines), a quatrain (4 lines) and a sestet (6 lines), giving a total of 15 lines.
The first phrase of the first line usually sets the refrain R it is admissible to use the whole line used as the refrain.
The rhyme scheme is: R. a. a. b. b. a .... a. a. b. R. .... a. a. b. b. a. R.
Inkyu Kim Jan 2012
The Man stands up
His face covered in dirt,
but covered with pride.

Proudly He stands
independent,
but alone.

Strongly He walks
stride by stride,
but without companion.

Bravely He fights,
battle by battle,
war by war,
but without gain.

The Lone Wanderer,
Independent,
Strong,
Ready,
Steady,
Scars over scars,
but not a name to share with.

The Lone Wanderer,
he walks alone,
he doesn't need help.

The Lone Wanderer,
is he a result of success?
Or is he a result of sadness?

The Lone Wanderer
walks against the twilight,
leaving only a shadow.

Will you take him as the proud?
Or will you take him as the depressed?
Will you take him as the optimistic?
Or will you take him as a man who accepted destiny and fate.

Is He looking into the future?
Or is He looking into the past?

Is He thinking of something happy?
Or is He thinking of something He regrets?

Every man is a Lone Wanderer,
His duty to find his place in the world,

But how will others interpret him?
How will others accept him?
Or must he continue to wonder alone?
The wanderer had travelled for at least a day
Weary and tired looked for somewhere to stay
After walking for miles, just wandering around
She came across a perculiar little town
No signposts of entry to welcome her in
Simply a man who asked "Are you insane"?
The wanderer thought this was strange question
and instead asked the way to the inn
the man said insane we have no houses or businesses
as we are all insane
the wanderer thought this too was strange
and instead asked where she was
the man replied you are insane
I am insane
everybody in this town is insane
the wanderer she wondered if she too was insane as the man had said
the wanderer was determined not to stay insane
and ran of as fast as she could
the man watched her run and thought it strange
"They all do that, don't they, why does no one want to be in our wonderful town of Sane
The town's name was Sane so all that entered it were considered "Insane"
sunflower Jul 2018
A mind of a wanderer,
a peaceful place.
On earth it screams,
in here, it's sound asleep.
Breathing the air,
of the darkest night.
With all these stars,
shining bright.

A mind of a wanderer,
a surreal surrounding.
On earth it cries,
in here, it's drowning deep.
Into the ocean,
of the ancient history.
With beautiful mermaids,
singing lullaby.

A mind of a wanderer,
a high, high mountain.
On earth it lays low,
In here, it's standing still.
Walks a hundred steps,
on a steep pathway,
it even reaches the peak,
in time for the sunset.

A mind of a wanderer,
it stays here.
In a space,
which no one could trespass.
it is okay to be on your own, you don't have to travel around the world (in this context; having a big group of people knowing you) if you ended up feeling trapped and lonely. Everyone should just sit down and start wandering around their mind (in this context; enjoying warm company by a small group of friend)

ㅡn.s
The good thing about being a gypsy
is its wild sativa;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its tamed alcoholic.

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its endless freedom;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its slavery to freedom.

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its philosophic heart;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its down-regulation of joy.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is its search for silence;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is its capacity for noise.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is the free meal;
the worst thing about being a wander
is the free meal.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is the love of night;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the love of day.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is the wandering heart;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the gypsy heart.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is its magic book;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its accumulated curse.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is its varied muse;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its lack of one.
Thomas David Feb 2019
The little wanderer looked to the skies
And, dreaming of planets to roam
Glanced momentarily into my eyes
To ask what it’s like far from home.
“When I first taste of the flowing old sand,
Of minds that are not near my own,
How can I judge in so foreign a land,
The things that from them can be known?”

“Oh little wanderer, look to the clay,
Away from the glittering lights:
And find there realness above what we say:
A realness that’s felt not by sight.
In this taste, this touch, you know what it is
For your broken nails to be stained.
In seeing those stains on hands that are his,
You find that knowledge is gained.”

The little wanderer was satisfied,
Planting and playing in the muck,
But after a time, his eyes opened wide,
As another question had stuck.
“In seeing the stains, it cannot be found
That from the same source they align.
How do I know that in feeling their ground,
I’m not merely thinking of mine?”

“Oh little wanderer, why is it bad
That you can’t escape from your skin?
The beauty is gone when thoughts are not clad,
In the hues of intuition.
Digging your toes in the glittering pools
Of their alien, distant shores
You find that your home is another jewel:
Adorning the real with what’s yours.”

The little wanderer swam in the lake,
And chased little tadpoles around,
But from blurry eyes, new questions will break
As they look in water so browned.
“But what if the truth could be much more clear,
By clearing the image of dust?
Why through a lens must I vaguely peer
And on my experience trust?”

“Oh little wanderer, remember this:
That from planets all things are grown
Planting a tree outside of what is,
Is sowing what cannot be sown.
But binding all planets is common Word
Who refuses to blend the hues,
Creating instead a pattern absurd
To them who for clarity fuse.”
Sarah Spang Jun 2014
She is a solemn wanderer,
A daughter of the road
The crunch of moving gravel
Is like balm upon her soul.

Each rambling, easy footstep,
Within each languid stride,
Keeps the poison thoughts
From taking root inside her mind.

Each footstep is a triumph
That pushes her along
Each gasping breath that fuels her
Is a lyric to her song.

At times she is a vagrant
When there is no place to go
When nothing feels familiar but
The stone that coats the road.

At times she is a traveler
That thirsts for foreign lands
Her mind drifts off to mountain sides,
Or golden sprawling sands.

And most times she’s a dreamer
Thinking of the day
She’ll let her restless, resolute legs
Take her far away.

In all, she is a wanderer,
A daughter of the road
Putting space between her thoughts
Upon the open road.
st64 Feb 2014
“I know you're tired but come, this is the way...

In your light, I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you,
but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”*        ― Rumi


1.
“You and I have spoken all these words, but for the way we have to go, words are no preparation. I have one small drop of knowing in my soul.
Let it dissolve in your ocean.

A mountain keeps an echo deep inside. That's how I hold your voice.”
― Rumi


2.
“Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you.
Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion.

Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames.”   ― Rumi


3.
“The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there
is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.”                          ― Rumi


4.
“The morning wind spreads its fresh smell. We must get up and take that in, that wind that lets us live. Breathe before it's gone.

Sorrow prepares you for joy.
It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow.
Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their
place.”                                     ― Rumi


5.
“You are so weak. Give up to grace.
The ocean takes care of each wave till it gets to shore.
You need more help than you know.

Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone's soul heal.
Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi


6.
“You think you are alive
because you breathe air?
Shame on you,
that you are alive in such a limited way.
Don't be without Love,
so you won't feel dead.
Die in Love
and stay alive forever.

I want to see you.
Know your voice.

Recognise you when you
first come 'round the corner.

Sense your scent when I come
into a room you've just left.

Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.

Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.

I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
“more”...                                                       ­     ― Rumi


7.
“When you go through a hard period,
When everything seems to oppose you,
... When you feel you cannot even bear one more minute,
NEVER GIVE UP!
Because it is the time and place that the course will divert!

The cure for pain is in the pain.
In Silence, there is eloquence. Stop weaving and see how the pattern improves.

The truth was a mirror in the hands of God. It fell, and broke into pieces. Everybody took a piece of it, and they looked at it and thought they had the truth.”                                       ― Rumi


8.
“Study me as much as you like, you will not know me, for I differ in a hundred ways from what you see me to be. Put yourself behind my eyes and see me as I see myself, for I have chosen to dwell in a place you cannot see.

Moonlight floods the whole sky from horizon to horizon;
How much it can fill your room depends on its windows.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi


9.
“Keep walking, though there's no place to get to.
Don't try to see through the distances.
That's not for human beings. Move within,
But don't move the way fear makes you move.

If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?

Start a huge, foolish project, like Noah…it makes absolutely no difference what people think of you.”   ― Rumi


10.
“Do you know what you are?
You are a manuscript oƒ a divine letter.
You are a mirror reflecting a noble face.
This universe is not outside of you.
Look inside yourself;
everything that you want,
you are already that.”
― Rumi, Hush, Don't Say Anything to God: Passionate Poems of Rumi



11.
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing, there is a field.
I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.

What you seek, is seeking you.”                             ― Rumi


12.
“The lion is most handsome when looking for food.

Pain is a treasure, for it contains mercies.
Love comes with a knife, not some shy question, and not with fears for its reputation!

I am your moon and your moonlight too
I am your flower garden and your water too
I have come all this way, eager for you
Without shoes or shawl
I want you to laugh
To **** all your worries
To love you
To nourish you.”                                          ― Rumi


13.
“I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.”                        ― Rumi


14.
“Suffering is a gift. In it is hidden mercy.

Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair.. come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.

But listen to me. For one moment - quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
around you.

I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways.”
― Rumi


15.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!

These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi



16.
“Like a sculptor, if necessary,
carve a friend out of stone.
Realise that your inner sight is blind
and try to see a treasure in everyone.”                    ― Rumi


17.
“Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absent-minded. Someone sober will worry about things going badly. Let the lover be.

There are lovers content with longing.
I’m not one of them.”    ― Rumi, The Essential Rumi


18.
“There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope.
The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don't.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly.”          ― Rumi


19.
“Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious.

Inside you, there’s an artist you don’t know about… say yes quickly, if you know, if you’ve known it from before the beginning of the universe.”
― Rumi


20.
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.”     ― Rumi





"On a day
when the wind is perfect,
the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty.
Today is such a day.”
                                               ― Rumi






S T – 25 feb 14
Rumi - born to native Persian speaking parents in 1207.
Died 1273 AD.
Rumi (an evolutionary thinker) believed passionately in the use of music, poetry and dance as a path for reaching God.
Lydia Jun 2012
And into the black
The wanderer goes
Farther
Farther still

Back to the lonesome dreams
To the memories of low esteem

For the wanderer
Returning home
Is never easy

Dust covered boots
And worn ragged cape
Contain him

His life

Who he is
Amounts not to where he has been
Or what he has seen
But to the redemption
Of all that has come before
To
Every desperate step
Every windswept
Weather worn scar



Footfall
By footfall
Straining muscle
And disenchanted breath
The wanderer comes upon
Ever so slowly
The cancer of his heart
The rot of his bones
The disease of his skin





Despite the distance  
The salvation of time
As if like a mountain side
Or deep jagged canyon bluffs
Shaped by ceaseless wind
And pounding rain

The wanderer
Wears away
Jason Cole May 2015
riding the shadowless night
in search of his darkest day
more or less there's Hell to pay
and this is the way of The Wanderer

rocky is the path of mossless stones
and where it leads is less than known
nevertheless 'tis where he roams
and this is the way of The Wanderer

much pity there should not be
as he has visited much pain upon others
passing like a wraith through their friendly hearts
leaving nothing real or true in his wake

nothing could be so bold as a lost soul
unafraid of what is unknown
afoot the rocky path of mossless stones
all alone

and this is the way of i
i am The Wanderer
*Note: Recently I've been posting some poems and songs from an earlier time in my life. The message I now want to convey is that it's never too late to turn to Christ. I am a born again Christian. I went the way of The Prodigal Son, utterly falling away, only to be restored by the grace of God. It's all about Him.
void Dec 2018
All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams
Destitute and resigned to his solitude
No one to miss him or care that he’s gone

Immortalized with the mark of Sloan
He thrives amongst forgotten gravestones
To restore their legacy is why he intrudes
For systemic erasure he believes society must atone

All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams
Destitute and resigned to his solitude
No one to miss him or care that he’s gone

Empathy drives this misguided untomb
Generations of oppressors he seeks to dethrone
Reality remains an unfamiliar interlude
For to delusion The Wanderer is prone

All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams
Destitute and resigned to his solitude
No one to miss him or care that he’s gone

All alone with no place to call home
A hero called The Wanderer roams
Complacent in his intrepid pursuit
Unfaltering ‘till the world sees glory of Arawn
D Awanis Oct 2016
As for her,

She might has forgotten
where the home is in the world

For she's always everywhere—
in every countries she crossed
on every streets she wandered
at every motels she spent the night
above the sand and ocean breeze
below the tallest buildings and crowded bridges..

But you,

You make her feel like
the closest thing to feeling that again
Lei Dias Dec 2018
I was wanderer,
Wandering in the land of death and despair;
Blows and bruises were my food
Blood and tears, my drink.

I was a wanderer,
Wandering in the desert of solitude;
The sands were of broken promises
The sun was my life's Judas.

I was a wanderer,
Wandering in the forest of fear;
The trees were all overpowering and bullying
The animals were all predators.

I am still a wanderer,
Wandering in the infinite land, desert and forest;
In search of a home to where I belong
In a quest to find solace in the stillness.
alcohol goddess Jul 2015
I am a gypsy wanderer.
The only home
I have ever known
Is my body.
And I destroy it.
Those like me
Can never have a home.
So I fill my lungs
With cigarette smoke,
My skin with scars
And my blood with *****.
Ramir Mar 2015
Hi wanderer.

are you lost?
Or are you searching?
Searching for something to give you meaning.
Have you been found?
Or is waiting to be?
You could share me your stories
Id share mine to thee.
Are you looking for love?
Are you for fun?
Im not here to waste time.
Please do not waste mine.
Wanderer.. you might've been searching
you've might have been found..
you've might've seen your meaning
you've might have seen through mine.
Or you dont.
whatever might this bring.
I'm glad you've dropped by.
You've never wasted time here.
Every little thing you've done.
Is worthwhile.
Are you lost??
AAYARA ZAYN Jul 2018
I A WANDERER
VISIT DIFFERENT PLACES
TO BECOME A FOLLOWER
OF THE NATURE
AND IT'S LOVELY ADVENTURE
I SEE HILLS   AND CLIFFS
THAT SAY
"DARE TO TRY ME OUT"
I SEE LAKE AND RIVERS
THAT  SAYS
"I AM LIKE FLOWING TIME"
AND I SEE MOTHER NATURE
CRYING FOR HELP
BECAUSE HER BODY IS DEPLETING
I SEE ANIMALS THAT
NEED MY HELP
LOVE,AFFECTION
I SEE INSECTS
THAT TRY TO HARM ME
AND INSECTS
WHO HELPS  ME
I SEE HUMAN
LARGE CITY PEOPLE
DIFFERENT RACES OF PEOPLE
I SEE SAD AND HOMELESS PEOPLE
BEGGARS AND RICH PEOPLE
THEN I SEE MYSELF
AND
MY LIFE AS
AS A WANDERER
AND I DO NOT KNOW WHAT
I WILL BE IN NEXT LIFE
THEN I SEE
THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD
LOOKING CALM
AND SEEING  ALL OUR  REACTION
BUT HAS NOTHING TO SAY
THEN I  WANDER
AROUND THE WORLD
I SEE PLANTS , FLOWER AND
TREES
BEING DESTROYED
I SEE ANIMALS
VANISHING INTO THIN AIR
AND SLOWLY AS MY WANDERING
PERIOD COMES TO END
I SEE HUMANS
OLD, WEAK
HELPLESS
WITHOUT MOTHER NATURE
AND HER LOVELY  CHILDREN
EVERYONE KILLED BY HUMANS
AND I FEEL THE PEOPLE
THE PEOPLE HAUNTING  ME
LIKE I AM THEIR FOOD
SLOWLY I SEE THEY LOOK EACH OTHER AS
FOODS
AND FINALLY WHEN MY LIFE COMES
TO A END
I FEEL
THE  MOTHER NATURE DYING ALONG SIDE ME
India Chilton Jan 2012
The wanderer takes a bow at sunset as if it were his own creation,
The darkening wisps of light and color painted across the sky by the brush tucked behind his ear,
The paths twisting through the trees below him a manifesto wrought from his tired mind,
The nightingale’s twilight salute a symphony played to his ears alone.


Night comes, and he lets the hours slip through his fingers
as he searches for the secrets buried at the bottom of the bottle clutched so tightly between them.


He watches the moon travel across the sky,
Wishing he could travel at its speed,
God’s speed,
A speed that would set him apart from every other man with a pair of boots and a lonely heart.


His mind is a poem unspoken,
When he breathes he sees the wind as if it were filling the lungs of the earth,
Giving life where there was none,
Bringing words to the back of his throat where they shimmer and shake and disappear,
Leaving their watery reflection in eyes that dance with a youth lost to the tired lids that close over them.


He watches water crawl across stone
Boring holes in the sides of mountains
Yet his feet leave no trace behind him as he travels
Though he feels them burst with the power he wishes his heart contained


In a world measured in centuries he is the ghost of a moment passed,
The remnants of a smile still tattooed on his blistered cheeks.
He has long since buried his morals alive in the coffin of society,
Hammering in the nails like offerings to a dead king.


I met the wanderer once as my thoughts followed his well worn path to places neither of us would ever reach,
To the stars that gave birth to god in the hearts of men whose minds lied open like blank pages
waiting to be filled with words they were too frightened to call their own.


He walked into my mind as if into the arms of an old friend,
No more a stranger than I to the ebb and flow of my nocturnal being,
Nor to the stream of consciousness that runs like blood through its veins,
Twisting and turning and throwing itself into the night from which it came.


He stood on the lofty precipice of passion,
Searching for something to hold on to,
But the lantern that he held like a child in his arms cast shadow on that which he wished most to illuminate.


Morning came, and the wanderer took a bow at sunrise as if it were his own creation,
He turned his back,
Took with him the night,
(his sole companion),
And I, caught in the storm of his thundering wake, watched him go,
As he had come,
In silence.
Amitav Radiance May 2015
Undulating meadows
Glimpse of the horizon
Blue and green is a contrast
Deepening colors
Sun kissed grasses
And dewdrops sparkling
Trees sway in merriment
Romancing the wind
Birds give a clarion call
Into the heart of nature
It’s a realization of different kind
Hope springs in heart
This wanderer is not lost
Lord Reyna Feb 2015
I am but a soul roaming the treasured land for but another
aimless wanderer...

magnetizing myself to their connection
and they to mine...

a dreamer who thrives in thought of fantasy
understanding the true illusion of reality...

genuine to their sense of character,
in regards to the grandeur experience...

an amusing essence that will soothe
my soul with a tender touch of passion...

a timeless source who is willing to discover
with me rather then idlly slip and waste away...

to dance with the infinate energies
of attraction to precious beauty...

spiralling an endless motion of unified vision...
a learnerwho yeilds to all lessons
and walks away a wealthier person...

a parallel enhancment... my wanderer
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
Nathan Young Jul 2014
Wanderer with no name, intentions deemed unclear.
A purpose in life, near impossible to satisfy;
To stand tall amongst peers,
To wipe those faltered tears
and above all, find solace in all fears.

This drifter long forgot his name,
so dead set on his goal,
he locked away all inner conflicts,
forbidding the pleasures of being human that
even a ditch digger couldn't dig a bigger hole.

The Wanderer must be a beacon of hope
for those not strong to bear their weight,
he chose this selfless fate,
fully knowing no one else should,
but rather understanding he could.

To those who have cracked under pain:
blood, tears, mascara, any stain,
know that this drifter is coming for you
to pick you up off the dirt with a simple hand
and carrying you where you used to stand.

There will come a time when this drifter
shall sit down and tackle his own fears,
but in a world that needs guidance,
he cannot afford to lose sight
on ending the darkness with his light.

Wanderer, remember who you were and who you are.
For you have traveled for so long and so far.
Remove those dusty boots by the hearth and lay down
because your own name still has yet to be found.
amrutha May 2014
Eyes which hide a desperate soul
Wanting something which no human had hold
He bothers not but he does care
Accepting honesty which is just not fair
Like a magician out of thin air,
Art and himself, an undying bond they share.
His past was too eventful; I call it history
The present, tangled in deep deep mystery
The astronaut of his dreams, a fortunate trader
He chooses not the sound of 'grey', he uses 'silver'.
He is disappointment accompanied by gratitude
Everything beautiful is his soul's food
Blessed with the gift of true goodness,
An impartial admirer of undying passion and natural clue
He is the healer of his solitude,
He is the silence which married vacuum's mood.

Wherever his thoughts sail him to
Whichever land his heart chooses to move to
Whatever beauty his eyes seek to find
There,the wildest of the worlds his soul grew.
There is nothing which would trouble the wanderer
Yet, I see there is something too.
More than this world around him, he is stronger
The wanderer wails only because of the universe within,
The wanderer is used to wandering,
He walks blindly with pain inside, beauty beside,
Love on his mind, peace struggling with reality
He knows that he's the only person who can help him
Unlock the treasures of golden nature,
Shining shyly like dreamy drops of silver dew.
MS Lim Jan 2016
Everyone is a wanderer
so few find their hearts' desire
the winds their fury unleash
the sun burns like wild fire.

There's no resting place
only slippery rocks, sharp ascents and mire
but there's no turning back
though the prospect is dire.

There's no food or water
for the hungry and thirsty wanderer
the night sky palely looks from asunder
the stars are weary and lose their glitter.

Everyone is a wanderer
destiny is the driver
but none wants to be a loser
this defines him in his perilous splendour.
inspired by WANDERING SOUL, a fellow-writer in HP
STLR Nov 2016
The wanderer walks more then he talks fished in a *** of emotions asteroid

torn by the fact that time is a plant
of which can't be regrown when grown on a slant
oh surface what is my purpose?
why am I here? what am I after?
what is my fear?

Stuck in a haze
of being afraid of the future

I'm the wanderer of night

The walker of the shadows

my feet glide lightly beneath the
street & it's gravel

I'm peeping at the living
within the holes of their hollows

Wondering if there lives are a cycle

Go to sleep, Go to work,
Go where ever the light glows

Follow the crowd, be a part of the now

Your past actions will only be known as a noun, I've figured it out, I've opened the spout

The opportunities are endless there just flowing about

the waters of remembrance are very shallow, and impact must be heavy to make a splash

Do what you love, and your passions will truly last

Don't be stuck in the past, instead,  thrive on what's here today

This message is retrospective
echoed in constant delay

As I walk deeper into the dark this is what I truly say....L...O...S...T

it's hard to stay on track when you've mentally lost perspective
When everything you've known turns unfamiliar within seconds

Is this good energy?

or the spread of an infection?

I need a tower of fortune cookies

to hold my lessons

For when that tower crashes

it will crumble into a message

Do I search for more? or do I stay inside the common section?

I'm searching for the uncommon and people of rarity

Who can explain the emotions

of human irregularity?

Will I sustain my vision of singularity

art crafted in loops

repetition brings recognition to patterns covered from clarity

This is just a turn of the leaf

roots of the past years die off

they become obsolete, as we drift deeper into forms of technology, we suddenly find people in the form of anomalies

Look outside your window and standing there I will be, a stranger in the night

Peeping through windows for company

Only searching for answers that all of us seem to seek

Who will I be today and the following week

Who will I meet today that will change who I want to be

These are thoughts of the wanderer waking amount the streets
saoirse Aug 2012
I am left to wander in the depths of my despair.
A dark place; no light, no hope.
Perpetually crippled by deathly demons.
The selfish satans seeking insuppressible sadness and pain.

I, the lone wanderer, musn't give in.
A direction is beginning to take shape.
The lone wanderer will find an escape.
Toni Seychelle Feb 2013
A shiver, a chill, a softly spoken whisper
The nights go on in their frosty manner
Spring won't arrive soon enough
A winter moon reveals all the night
She revels in the sky and swims with stars
She is always there, even when she is not
The grass crunches under the steps of a wanderer
The wandering mind is eager for warm rest
Warmth is found in the arms of a lover
And in the heart of the fighter
The night sky, bespeckled, is the only witness
To a passionate and desirous bliss
A shiver, a chill, a secret
The dreams continue in their wishful state
March won't arrive soon enough
The sun rises on a thick blanket of snow
He has the sky to himself, not a cloud to hide behind
He visits me every day and hugs me with his rays
The snow reveals the tracks of the wanderer
The wandering heart beats on
010813
Dante Nov 2018
Bright Wanderer,

Your heart beats to the tune
of a strange, strange song.
The world thinks you a devil;
ugly child, belonging in the night.

Horned thing, who are you?

A wanderer, a hermit,
fearful and small.
A wonderful fool
who cries when they fall.

Take your stick.
Tie your shoe.
The path to the forest will never close.

The trees are alive
sticks become swords.
Grasp it firmly, dear, fool with horns.

For great evil awaits you,
terrible things lie ahead
and only you can defeat them
only you can extinguish it.

Bring company, child
and speak much
for when you are with friends,
words turn into rhymes.

Sing with them,
whoever they may be,
and when the sun falls,
may you lull the them to sleep

with your strange, strange song.
Hashim ZK Feb 2015
For a while, I ride my life.
I reflect on my thoughts.
I wander into a different world.
I chase stars.

For a while, I own the dream.
I feel the warmth of the Sun.
I meander on the roads.
I feel the spell.

For a while, I chart my destiny.
I engineer my journey.
I flaunder with joy.
I race the winds.

For a while, I live.
On my wheels.
I'd recently been on a road trip to Goa (India) on Bike. It's around 700kms from where I live. And this came out just as I reached home and reflected on my journey. :)
1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th
A wanderer of the cycles of Faith. A simpleton made to follow in desperation the God creator of endless possibilities and the flow of time and it's ultimate fate. We are headed to our death my friend don't you try to get ahead of yourself. Remember Life moves on with each passing moment so no big deal make your trail of experiences give insight to the reader who ever it may be. Know that your words may be trash to some but more precious than Gold or Emeralds to others. Inspire this generation to get detoxified of the Demons, Satan drugs and depression. Defending my faith and relationship with Christ the begotten Son the Holy Lamb.

Know that my experience may be small and insignificant but I let you know that this words will not fall on deaf ears. Let it be what God wants it to be. I am sharing my poetic expression and experience of how I see Life and it's context. Don't know where all this sharing of poems and experiences will take me or lead me to but one thing am sure of I will be able to transform your train of thought even if it's to the smallest most insignificant degree I still will play a part on your decision making. Just look at my Life and myself see I am a mirror of you. Who I am truly for I am real and I am here to aid you with whatever you may be going thru due to the fact that I am a fellow human concern for my fellow neighbor. Therefore, we are not different the only thing that may change is your *** skin color and faith in something bigger than yourself or it may be nothing and you choose to live life as a Atheist.

Don't worry am not judging you...am simply conversating to your inner being. Come close let's share our lives with each other from all in all we come from the same source and the same God ...Creation. Seeking a soulmate to share my Life with I haven't found the Queen that will make my life complete. I been asking God to aid me on my quest but without success.

I won't give up I know there is someone out there in the endless sea of lost and saved souls 1 of them is the one holding the master key to my soul. Awaiting but am becoming  impatient  at times. Lord allow your wisdom and guidance to show me what I must do to ensure this trial.

Each of us are headed to Judgement and concealed within lies the eternity we shall endure when the your fate is decided by the Immortal One. Furthermore, if the Book of Life isn't a fairytale I pray that my name be in it. Still must struggle with the daily spiritual and carnal battle that rages on in each and every one of us...no one excluded from its tests and trials. Leave me a comment or a like or share my poem or even give it some sunlight for I will do the same for your work if it pleases the one who inspired you to create it.

Be brave have faith build your destiny on a happy belief system stay positive and optimistic. Just be YOU and if people don't or cannot accept you for who you are then they are to feeble minded to understand your perspectives and your outlook on how you view life and live and experience life.

Stay Strong. God Bless You. Thank you for reading.
©Franko The Christian Poet2016
Sharing my poetic expression and experience of my outlook on my latest trials in Life.
Jeff Gaines Apr 2018
Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback.

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!
Big, Biggest Love,
        Jeff Gaines
It is so sad to see someone change and then have to ponder whether this was them becoming someone else ... or if they were somehow fooling you all along and that now, you are seeing the real them for the first time.

ca·price
kəˈprēs
noun
noun: caprice; plural noun: caprices
1.
a sudden and unaccountable change of mood or behavior.
"her caprices had made his life impossible"
synonyms: whim, whimsy, vagary, fancy, fad, quirk, eccentricity, foible More
2.
MUSIC
another term for capriccio.
_____________________________________________

ca·pric·ci·o
kəˈprēCHēˌō
noun
noun: capriccio; plural noun: capriccios
a lively piece of music, typically one that is short and free in form.
a painting or other work of art representing a fantasy or a mixture of real and imaginary features.
Alexa Dec 2015
forlorn wanderer, lost soul
she drank the neck & shoulders from that bottle of whiskey
where do you travel with that tattered map
how do you know when you are home.

thick rolling clouds swell above the road
cumulonimbus
dark and tumultuous omens for a weary traveler
who doesn't recognize home.

forlorn wanderer, timid soul
she hid from a world that never made her whole
sweet child, why do you hide
what secret do you keep that can't be known.

a swelling tide tumbles waves upon the shore
noreaster
strong and dangerous for a tired heart
who can't bear to find shore.

forlorn wanderer, aching soul
she collapsed into her aching heart
what broke in you that keeps on beating
how can we mend your brittle core.
Alex Clarke Jun 2014
I have been away
for a while.
Too long, I think.
I was not lost.
No,
never lost.
Maybe
just wandering.
But I was always coming back.
Coming back to me.

And you will see me
and you will wonder
who she is,
this woman
with earthquakes in her bones
and stardust falling from her fingertips
like rain upon the desert.
And I will tell you.
I am me.
Without you.
As I was always
going to be.
The wanderer
has come home.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
A-Start the best part*
A-Healthy heart breakfast

Not so fast slow down of prayers
Just come and arrive
Sheer whispering Dress Aline
shapes of water are mine

The Green Gables sweeter lime
The twins whisper in doubles
The pink fur Hello Kitty
My best of the cattle in couples
Meet her friend the Furry Sable

The loud whisperers stealing hearts
Of sleepwalkers
They call her the wanderer
He whispers and she's the keynotes
"Her Real Estate' A-Steal for her estate diaries

But their children love to whisper

The crayons Highlights of the wonderland
Building more Ancient dreams

Stealing the grapes of whisper escapes
Like  A-dream planted to remain
A steal cannot take that away
Even if it's you're last meal

Walking with the one you love for miles
Come on baby light my fire
Whispering Morrison door to save
A dream to give the world peace
Like wishing well pulling the rope

Whisper could that be your prayer of hope?*
The guitar the invisible impossible star
And he steals another dream  
Whispering shadows pass like clouds

Australian Malamutes doing the salute *

Got strung along
And lost you

*A-STEAL for an eye for an eye
     HEART
  just give a life

Whispering over again wasn't
the way to play smart
Losing my voice
How to trust someone's words
So hard like the concrete
The abundance of food
Ala carte or Dente

A-Steal dream putting it
into your mind

Whispering Falltime Women in her
Acorn-SHOE* prime time
Walk-in closet Godly light
Like the Viking of swords
Knight

Where to go who will ever know
Not a pin drop of a slight whisper
Clasping or gasping for air
The Holy Water was left

For the delicate minds
of the deer
That light talk of resistance
Lips of acceptance

With her silken pillows
Tied their dreams
Sopping wet rain
The French soothing whispering rainfalls
Wearing her trenchcoat
Whispering her sugar words
He could find me peace
to my river
Like two peas in a pod to float
A Steal how love can tweed his coat
My difference is hearts like "
Owl Hoot"
Just feel you know what's real
Often told the end is truly the taste
to breathe
Even if you are deep inside her dream
To justify her means
Like the Queen to the Diplomat
The highest authority

You almost felt only your whisper the priority
The Aristocrat cleaning up your
bad dreams
*High beams a spoiled love
Like a *** for the Tat

Not the fairytale Dr. Seuss
Cat in the Hat- or the desperation
of one last whisper
Up the sunrise eyes are speechless
The Astral my Goddess
You are the creature of the night
Shining the light never ending the battle night

Smells of baked cake through your nostrils
Rocky mountains of Colorado dreamy caves

Hearing  sounds but living in the distance
The romance blinded like a ghost
winning out the odds

The Even lovers like the Gods whisper
Canadian waterfall talking love deeper

Doing Pilates what *Yogalates loving the
yodeling dreaming watching him the diver
Going dirt biking just love the dreamy feel of hiking

"Hearing Attention ****** in the Summertime"

All blue eyes what a dreamer
The good Earthly brown so worthy
The Cafe Eyes

A steal dream like a spilled milk
Our cat "Jade Eyes" did I hear you
correctly an heir?


Summer the Kings speech air
The assembly line
Good and the bad memories
The years getting away with ******
The law of attraction what a steal in order

Erasing someone's scent
A- million stars you found your truth
Looking outside of your dream
Was your *Godly
tent
Whispering has many advantages and its amazing to see someone in your dream like your lover the mountains hiking or dirt biking and the change of seasons to *******

— The End —