rambler
ramble ghost goes
looking for pretty things
diamonds, ruby, neat opal,
agate, silver, gold, ancient books, scription
careful digging here and up there
a notable nice man
historian
rambler
His soul alive when he rambled
Hours and hours upon end
Being alone with mother nature
His one and only true friend
Confined, suffocated between four walls
He needed to roam free
Through the mountainous hills and countryside
Of wildlife, rivers and trees
He was a loner by choice
A rambling spirit since a child
Innate to his whole being
His heart and home the wild
The local folk called him “The Rambler”
As no-one knew him or his name
Sometimes at dusk high on a hill
A distant silhouette is seen rambling the rugged terrain
He was roaming, rambler with no luggage,
Never quiescent, but work-less always.
He was loving, sparkling at all times;
But not devoted to what needed everyday;
In need of sheds he got amorous to shadows!
To finish he found light in some folded dimness
Who constantly feel ravenous in Bangladesh.
They were not ready wholeheartedly for a wise walker,
They were not that one at all, they were just starving
And suddenly had a vigorous and hearty vagrant in front
Who was away from all practitioner's competition.
More he was seduced, succumbed than loved so.
Approaching to perception, rather than consciousness
Again and again, sometimes in rage
He tried to root a new, necessary path; but
It was late, unsettled and uncommon,
In no time all his endeavor went worthless,
Because his last course was already certain in his blood,
Finally on an unkind old night
He went away with all his dream and destinations.
“Write me a Poem,” she said.
"Paint a Picture for me with words."
"I want to see, hear and smell what you write"
"You can choose the subject".
"But don’t make it sad."
“Write me a Poem,” she said.
"Don’t make it too long."
"Nor like a song."
“I want to be awake at its end.”
“I have a Cat.”
“Can you write about that?”
“On second thought, I’ll do it myself.”
My ’65 Rambler
in 1979
i learned to drive in a
1965 turquoise rambler
three on the tree
cracked, dusty leather
smelling like an old fisherman’s boot
the sun spotlighted that car
bouncing off of the irreverent turquoiseness
wherever I went
like a giant florescent highlighter
hanging above my head
most of the prayers in my life
were made fervently in that car…
Please, God
don’t let anyone see me in this heap
Until
One day
I discovered
Exactly what 365 horses
Could do…
And suddenly
I was cool
Faaaast and cool
And always
First.
i made my alliance's in the roar of the gunblast.
the battle had spilled out my head and into vile colour.
morning's no longer softly handle my shoulder.
they run ragedly round my hand's and feet like rat's.
my trademark walk had sauntered of with the devil.
along with my soul and serenity fled laughing.
i just lay waiting for death's welcome approach.
i wake in the sea choking and flapping.
my pupil's eclipse my sky blue eye's.
night after night i twitch like a drunk.
taxi's fly bye neon flashes.
are these the depth's to which i'v sunk