Wanderer Poems - Poems about Wanderer

Survive or submit. It hits differently than it once did. When to submit simply meant to yield now but life to fight again. When to survive was waking up. That's it. No need for titles and ownership. No deeds to the bits and pieces chipped from the spoils of everyone else's grit. Such a sweet-seeking world has left holes in our teeth. I wander....

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In tranquil depths, the sea turtle glides, Ancient traveler where the ocean hides. With a shell like armor, so strong and wise, She dances through currents, beneath the wide skies. A journey of miles, through coral and foam, In the heart of the sea, she finds her home. Graceful and patient,...

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Wanderer Life Live like a wanderer is a gift from Life A noble award and merit from wildlife Our fortune is our sad fate, one kind We want life, not the destruction of war We want air, not pollution and grime We want nature, not dead ground dust … and we needed love Almost all the wanderers live without love This is a reason...

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Old Friend Yesterday taken a walk in Fryent Country Park, a heart of nature Landscapes, ponds, trees, bushes, fields, forests, great shoots My camera cried with joy, I often wiped the lenses, wide-angle Yes, the winter weather was so friendly, the fresh air gave me thoughts Just walk and walk, the wonder of nature here always changes me New ideas, and...

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The Wanderer, Part III The wise man contemplates these ruins, considers this dark life soberly, remembers the blood spilled here in multitudes of battles, then says: “Where is the horse now? Where, its riders? Where, the givers of gifts & treasure, the gold-friend? Where, the banquet-seats? Where, the mead-halls’ friendly uproars? Gone, the bright cup! Gone, the mailed warrior! Gone, the glory of princes!...

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The Wanderer, Part II Awakening, the friendless man confronts the murky waves, the seabirds bathing, broadening out their feathers, the hoar-frost, harrowing hail & snow eternally falling… Then his heart’s wounds seem all the heavier for the loss of his beloved lord. Thus his sorrow is renewed, remembrance of his lost kinsmen troubles his mind, & he greets their ghosts with exclamations...

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The Wyrdes were like the Fates, controlling human destinies. The Wanderer ancient Anglo-Saxon poem translation by Michael R. Burch “The one who wanders alone longs for mercy, longs for grace, knowing he must yet traverse the whale-path’s rime-cold waters, stirring the waves with his hands & oars, heartsick & troubled in spirit, always bending his back to his exile-ways.” “Fate is inexorable.” Thus spoke the wanderer, mindful...

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a restless heart untethered and free wanders the world seeking its true love with every beat it longs to find the key to unlock the passion it’s dreaming of it drifts through cities and barren lands searching for someone to understand the depth of its ache the tremble in hands the pull of desire like sinking quicksand one day it meets a kindred...

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The true wanderer walks to the four corners and doesn't even feel time passing...could he be time itself...? ...

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Why do many dreamers owe large debts grasping the dreams with such grip more education, new debt slip still dreaming; debt still not paid yet ideas flow for promising projects learning systems are no real help rigged; leaving parents to yelp no longer dreaming like prospects.. Why do wanderers end up homeless knowing everything not as seem truth we all living in a dream without materials,...

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Gefunden (“Found”) by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Into the woodlands, alone, I went. Seeking nothing, my sole intent. But I saw a flower deep in the shade gleaming like starlight in a still glade. I reached down to pluck it when it shyly asked: “Why would you snap me so cruelly in half?” So I dug up the flower, by the roots and all, then planted...

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Beyond thoughts and forms, I find myself as a wanderer on the streets of my inner Ia?i, where desires and wills are dreams of imaginary characters, nature's dance is an illusion, a script penned by the unseen hand of fate, and in my search, I've found myself as a lost heteronym within my own identity, an essence of melancholy,...

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Suitcase packed Going on a journey No fixed plan nor agenda Through the shady woods A bonfire in the night To a riverside camp Angling by a stream On a mountain trail Where the snow capped peaks Touch the sky Soaking up the sun On a sandy beach Listening to the billowy waves Crashing on the shore Gazing at a glorious...

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Mark The earth turns its face from you as if ashamed. You who tilled the soil, now marked by what the soil received. Your brother's blood— how it murmurs, how it screams. Deafness would be a mercy. Wanderer At Babel, you watch them build their tongues a discordance of hope. You know better. The tower falls. Always, things fall. In Athens, questions hang in the air like ripe fruit....

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Drifting through the woods Look up trees above my head Mesmerizes me....

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