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Travelling is seeing.

Kikuyu proverbs
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I Made No Sound

deep in the thoughts I thought
I should be travelling
I should be travelling
travelling for long
but I made no sound

deep in my heart I knew
I should be travelling
I should be travelling
travelling far
but I made no sound

deep in the feet each move there moved
I should be travelling
I should be travelling
travelling forever
but I made no sound

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Trvelling down the memory lane

Travelling down the memory lane
is not all black 'n white.
Travelling down the memory lane
is not all lacking light.

Travelling down the memory lane
is not eye filled with tears.
Travelling down the memory lane
brings fresh and soothing air.

Travelling down the memory lane
is college, fun and friend.
Travelling down the memory lane
is full of curves and bends.

Travelling down the memory lane
is a test of time and mind
Travelling down the memory lane
is a joy of it's kind.

Poet: Spandan Bhattacharyya

poem by Spandan Bhattacharyya
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Travelling Man

The lights of the motel shine on to me
This is the land of the brave, sad and the lonely
The last rides
Coming to me I can feel it
A new life
Screaming out and I cant miss it
Travelling man
Travelling man
You get away if you can
My bodys shaking, my bodys tired
Hookers to the left of me, killers on the inside
The last train
Left this station long ago
The headlights
Shine like diamonds in the snow
Like a travelling man
Im a travelling man
Run away if you can
Cruel world keeps turning Im dead on my feet
From the blue icy mountains to white city heat
Factory fire burns like a phoenix tonight
Spread your wings come on darling
And your eyes
Search for me but I cant see them
And your sweet mouth
It speaks to me but I cant hear it
And your - your sweet smile
Two thousand miles for your warm kisses
And your sweet child
I got one last chance and I cant miss it
No no no no
Travelling man
Like a travelling man
Well Im a travelling man
Written by : kerr/burchill/lipson reproduced without permission

song performed by Simple Minds
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Dream-March

'Wasn't it a funny dream!--perfectly bewild'rin'!--
Last night, and night before, and night before that,
Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children,
Marching to the robin's fife and cricket's rat-ta-tat!
Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon 'em,
On flashed the little army, as with sword and flame;
Like the buzz o' bumble-wings, with the honey on 'em,
Came an eerie, cheery chant, chiming as it came:--

_Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling_!
_Where go the children, travelling ahead_?
_Some go to kindergarten; some go to day-school_;
_Some go to night-school; and some go to bed_!

Smooth roads or rough roads, warm or winter weather,
On go the children, tow-head and brown,
Brave boys and brave girls, rank and file together,
Marching out of Morning-Land, over dale and down:

Some go a-gypsying out in country places--
Out through the orchards, with blossoms on the boughs
Wild, sweet, and pink and white as their own glad faces;
And some go, at evening, calling home the cows.

_Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling_!
_Where go the children, travelling ahead_?
_Some go to foreign wars, and camps by the firelight_--
_Some go to glory so; and some go to bed_!

Some go through grassy lanes leading to the city--
Thinner grow the green trees and thicker grows the dust;
Ever, though, to little people any path is pretty
So it leads to newer lands, as they know it must.
Some go to singing less; some go to list'ning;
Some go to thinking over ever-nobler themes;
Some go anhungered, but ever bravely whistling,
Turning never home again only in their dreams.

_Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling_!
_Where go the children, travelling ahead_?
_Some go to conquer things; some go to try them_;
_Some go to dream them; and some go to bed_!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Wasted Years

Wasted years been brainwashed by lies
Oh yes I have
Oh wasted years
Im talking about wasted years
Oh Im not seeing eye-to-eye
I just cant see the things I should see
Wasted years, baby
I was taking the wrong advice
I know you was, I know you was
And I was too
All alone Im travelling
Travelling through these wasted years
For so long, so long, so long I was
Oh, I must have gained some wisdom
Down through the years I did
Somewhere along the way
Oh yes, I did, oh yes I did
Thets why there cant be no more
No more
No more wasted years today
I got wise, I got wise to myself
Well baby the great sadness
Oh, youve got to let it all go
Oh yeah, oh yeah van
Live in the present
Live in the future john lee, aint that so
Oh, its a sad feeling, oh yeah
Oh, youve gotta find something
To carry you through, carry you through,
Carry you through
Ive learned my lesson
I aint gonna do it no more, yeah
Now van
Now john
Ive learned my lesson
I should have a long time ago
Thats right
All these wasted years, wasted years
I finally woke up and got wise
I aint gonna be, aint gonna be no fool no more
Now van, now van
Aint gonna be nobodys bodys fool no more
Sing the song van, sing it with me
Well all alone, all alone Ive been travelling
Yeah
Travelling all along through these wasted years
Dark, dark wasted years
So dark here
Dark, dark, dark, dark wasted years
I must have gained something

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
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Strict Joy

To-day i felt as poor O’Brien did
When, turning from all else that was not his,
He took himself to that which was his own
— He took him to his verse — for other all he had not,
And (tho’ man will crave and seek)
Another all than this he did not need

So, pen in hand he tried to tell the whole tale of his woe
In rhyming; lodge the full weight of his grief in versing: and so did:
Then — when his poem had been conned and cared,
And all put in that should not be left out — did he not find and with astonishment,

That grief had been translated, or was come
Other and better than it first looked to be:
And that this happened, because all things transfer
From what they seem to what they truly are
When they are innocently brooded on
— And, so, The poet makes grief beautiful.

“Behold me now, with my back to the wall,
Playing music to empty pockets!”
So, Raferty, tuning a blind mans plight,
Could sing the cark of misery away:
And know, in blindness and in poverty,
That woe was not of him, nor kind to him.

And Egan Rahilly begins a verse —
“My heart is broken, and my mind is sad …”
‘Twas surely true when he began his song,
And was less true when he had finished it:
— Be sure, his heart was buoyant, and his grief
Drummed and trumpeted as grief was sung!

For, as he meditated misery
And cared it into song — Strict Care, Strict Joy!
Caring for grief he cared his grief away:
And those sad songs, tho’ woe be all the theme,
Do not make us grieve who read them now —
Because the poet makes grief beautiful.

And I, myself, conning a lonely heart
— Full lonely ’twas, and ’tis as lonely now
Turned me, by proper, to my natural,
And, now too long her vagrant, wooed my muse:
Then to her — let us look more close to these,
And, seeing, know; and, knowing, be at ease.

Seeing the sky o’ercast, and that the rain had
Plashed the window, and would plash again:
Seeing the summer lost, and the winter nigh:

[...] Read more

poem by James Stephens
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Saltbush Bill

Now is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey --
A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day;
But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood,
They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where the grass is good;
They camp, and they ravage the squatter's grass till never a blade remains.
Then they drift away as the white clouds drift on the edge of the saltbush plains:
From camp to camp and from run to run they battle it hand to hand
For a blade of grass and the right to pass on the track of the Overland.
For this is the law of the Great Stock Routes, 'tis written in white and black --
The man that goes with a travelling mob must keep to a half-mile track;
And the drovers keep to a half-mile track on the runs where the grass is dead,
But they spread their sheep on a well-grassed run till they go with a two-mile spread.
So the squatters hurry the drovers on from dawn till the fall of night,
And the squatters' dogs and the drovers' dogs get mixed in a deadly fight.
Yet the squatters' men, thought they haunt the mob, are willing the peace to keep,
For the drovers learn how to use their hands when they go with the travelling sheep;
But this is the tale of a Jackaroo that came from a foreign strand,
And the fight that he fought with Saltbush Bill, the King of the Overland.
Now Saltbush Bill was a drover tough as ever the country knew,
He had fought his way on the Great Stock Routes from the sea to the big Barcoo;
He could tell when he came to a friendly run that gave him a chance to spread,
And he knew where the hungry owners were that hurried his sheep ahead;
He was drifting down in the Eighty drought with a mob that could scarcely creep
(When the kangaroos by the thousand starve, it is rough on the travelling sheep),
And he camped one night at the crossing-place on the edge of the Wilga run;
"We must manage a feed for them here," he said, "or half of the mob are done!"
So he spread them out when they left the camp wherever they liked to go,
Till he grew aware of a Jackaroo with a station-hand in tow.
They set to work on the straggling sheep, and with many a stockwhip crack
The forced them in where the grass was dead in the space of the half-mile track;
And William prayed that the hand of Fate might suddenly strike him blue
But he'd get some grass for his starving sheep in the teeth of that Jackaroo.
So he turned and cursed the Jackaroo; he cursed him, alive or dead,
From the soles of his great unwieldly feet to the crown of his ugly head,
With an extra curse on the moke he rode and the cur at his heels that ran,
Till the Jackaroo from his horse got down and went for the drover-man;
With the station-hand for his picker-up, though the sheep ran loose the while,
They battled it out on the well-grassed plain in the regular prize-ring style.

Now, the new chum fought for his honour's sake and the pride of the English race,
But the drover fought for his daily bread with a smile on his bearded face;
So he shifted ground, and he sparred for wind, and he made it a lengthy mill,
And from time to time as his scouts came in they whispered to Saltbush Bill --
"We have spread the sheep with a two-mile spread, and the grass it is something grand;
You must stick to him, Bill, for another round for the pride of the Overland."
The new chum made it a rushing fight, though never a blow got home,
Till the sun rode high in the cloudless sky and glared on the brick-red loam,
Till the sheep drew in to the shelter-trees and settled them down to rest;
Then the drover said he would fight no more, and gave his opponent best.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Seeing Things

I find it hard to shed a tear
You brought it all on yourself my dear
Wrong, yes I may be
Dont leave a light on for me
cause I aint comin home
It hurts me baby to be alone
Yes, it hurts me baby
A hundred years will never ease
Hearing things I wont believe
I saw it with my own two eyes
All the pain that I cant hide
And this pain starts in my heart
And this love tears us apart
You wont find me bent down on my knees
Aint bendin over backwards baby
Not to please
cause Im seeing things for the first time
Im seeing things for the first time, oh yeah
Im seeing things for the first time
In my life, in my life
I used to dream
Of better days that never came
Sorry aint nothin to me
Im gone and thats the way it must be
So please Ive done my time
Lovin you is such a crime
You wont fine me down on, on my knees
Wont fine me over backwards baby
Just to please
cause Im seeing things for the first time
Im seeing things for the first time
Seeing things for the first time
Oh Im seeing things for the first time
Yeah, seeing things for the first time
Im seeing things for the first time
Yeah, Im seeing things for the first time
In my life, in my life

song performed by Black Crowes
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I'm seeing

I'm seeing many people dying
I'm seeing people getting old
I'm seeing my own life unfold.

I'm seeing my children growing up
I'm seeing progress come in many ways
I'm seeing people I love, having shorter days

I'm seeing my own life getting shorter
I'm seeing a change in me
I'm seeing life clearly now, with glee.

poem by Jim Foulk
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Goodbye Little Columbus

The plane is waiting, you must to go
goodbye Im gonna miss you
And all the things you say at a leaving
Ah just turn your head and walk away
Goodbye little columbus
Goodbye, Ill see you one day
Goodbye little columbus
Travelling, just travelling
That certain moment, the final call
And that desperate search for cest la vie
Oh what youd give to hear of a slight delay
Ah just turn your head and walk away
Walk away, just walk away
Goodbye little columbus
Goodbye, Ill see you one day
Goodbye little columbus
Travelling, just travelling
Youve made up your mind
And youve got to go

song performed by Chris Rea
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This Fire Burns Tonight

White lines on the highway
Rolling out into the night
Got no bag to slow us down
Were travelling light, travelling light tonight
Feel the wheels roll away
How many miles have I been gone
Listen girl you never knew
The road goes on all night long
*this fire burns tonight
The streets are alight
Out on this town we are bursting
This fire burns tonight
The streets are alight
(and) out on this town we are bursting
Now me and my partners are moving
We run on from town to town
And this here road surface
Is setting them up rolling them down
Theres girls out in the neon
Singing blues every night
And you that theyll never love you
Theyre travelling light, travelling light
(repeat* 3 times)

song performed by Ufo
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Traveller

Traveller
Where did you come from?
Where are you going?
What do you have in your pack?

Traveller
Who are you travelling with?
Who is your enemy?
Who is your ally?

Traveller
Are you not tired?
Are you not lonely?
Are you not giving up?

Traveller
Can you tell me
where the dangerous roads are?
Can you tell me
where the safe roads are?
Can you tell me
where the harvests are?
Can you tell me
where the springs are?

Traveller
Up to where
will you be travelling?
Untill when
will you be travelling?
For whom
are you travelling?

Traveller
Who are you? ...

Traveller
Will you take me...
with you?

poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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In the spirit of Shabistari - 1

When I was young, I dreamed all day of travel

When I was old enough, I spent all day travelling

When I had travelled much, I called myself a traveller

Now I sit here, still and silent on the cushions
while the roses release their perfume,
the peacock cries upon the wall,
and in the courtyard, the fountain plays;

and all my travel has returned to me,
all my travelling is within me,
travel, travelling and traveller are one;
and my mind travels to places I had never imagined
and I sense the world turning on its axis,
travelling around my self.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Saltbush Bill's Second Flight

The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large,
That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge,
Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh;
And the squatters swore when they heard the news, and wished they were well away:
For the name and the fame of Saltbush Bill were over the country-side
For the wonderful way that he fed his sheep, and the dodges and tricks he tried.
He would lose his way on a Main Stock Route, and stray to the squatters' grass;
He would come to a run with the boss away, and swear he had leave to pass;
And back of all and behind it all, as well the squatters knew,
If he had to fight, he would fight all day, so long as his sheep got through:
But this is the story of Stingy Smith, the owner of Hard Times Hill,
And the way that he chanced on a fighting man to reckon with Saltbush Bill.

'Twas Stingy Smith on his stockyard sat, and prayed for an early Spring,
When he started at sight of a clean-shaved tramp, who walked with a jaunty swing;
For a clean-shaved tramp with a jaunty walk a-swinging along the track
Is as rare a thing as a feathered frog on the desolate roads out back.
So the tramp he made for the travellers' hut, to ask could he camp the night;
But Stingy Smith had a bright idea, and called to him, "Can you fight?"
"Why, what's the game?" said the clean-shaved tramp, as he looked at him up and down;
"If you want a battle, get off that fence, and I'll kill you for half-a-crown!
But, Boss, you'd better not fight with me -- it wouldn't be fair nor right;
I'm Stiffener Joe, from the Rocks Brigade, and I killed a man in a fight:
I served two years for it, fair and square, and now I'm trampin' back,
To look for a peaceful quiet life away on the outside track."

"Oh, it's not myself, but a drover chap," said Stingy Smith with glee,
"A bullying fellow called Saltbush Bill, and you are the man for me.
He's on the road with his hungry sheep, and he's certain to raise a row,
For he's bullied the whole of the Castlereagh till he's got them under cow --
Just pick a quarrel and raise a fight, and leather him good and hard,
And I'll take good care that his wretched sheep don't wander a half a yard.
It's a five-pound job if you belt him well -- do anything short of kill,
For there isn't a beak on the Castlereagh will fine you for Saltbush Bill."

"I'll take the job," said the fighting man; "and, hot as this cove appears,
He'll stand no chance with a bloke like me, what's lived on the game for years;
For he's maybe learnt in a boxing school, and sparred for a round or so,
But I've fought all hands in a ten-foot ring each night in a travelling show;
They earned a pound if they stayed three rounds, and they tried for it every night.
In a ten-foot ring! Oh, that's the game that teaches a bloke to fight,
For they'd rush and clinch -- it was Dublin Rules, and we drew no colour line;
And they all tried hard for to earn the pound, but they got no pound of mine.
If I saw no chance in the opening round I'd slog at their wind, and wait
Till an opening came -- and it always came -- and I settled 'em, sure as fate;
Left on the ribs and right on the jaw -- and, when the chance comes, make sure!
And it's there a professional bloke like me gets home on an amateur:
For it's my experience every day, and I make no doubt it's yours,
That a third-class pro is an over-match for the best of the amateurs --"
"Oh, take your swag to the travellers' hut," said Smith, "for you waste your breath;

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Time Travel

Time Travel
Walking slowly quickly threw the desert looking
wanting water finding sand
finding sand but wanting water looking quickly
travelling in time
time travelling
making way to way of time
making tao to tao of time
day is gone nite is ici
cold is here to stay love is cold
and gone away
time travelling
travelling in time
finding sand but wanting water quickly looking
wanting water finding sand
Walking slowly quickly threw the desert looking
For ewe love.
Time.

poem by Charles Hice
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Orlando Furioso Canto 18

ARGUMENT
Gryphon is venged. Sir Mandricardo goes
In search of Argier's king. Charles wins the fight.
Marphisa Norandino's men o'erthrows.
Due pains Martano's cowardice requite.
A favouring wind Marphisa's gallery blows,
For France with Gryphon bound and many a knight.
The field Medoro and Cloridano tread,
And find their monarch Dardinello dead.

I
High minded lord! your actions evermore
I have with reason lauded, and still laud;
Though I with style inapt, and rustic lore,
You of large portion of your praise defraud:
But, of your many virtues, one before
All others I with heart and tongue applaud,
- That, if each man a gracious audience finds,
No easy faith your equal judgment blinds.

II
Often, to shield the absent one from blame,
I hear you this, or other, thing adduce;
Or him you let, at least, an audience claim,
Where still one ear is open to excuse:
And before dooming men to scaith and shame,
To see and hear them ever is your use;
And ere you judge another, many a day,
And month, and year, your sentence to delay.

III
Had Norandine been with your care endued,
What he by Gryphon did, he had not done.
Profit and fame have from your rule accrued:
A stain more black than pitch he cast upon
His name: through him, his people were pursued
And put to death by Olivero's son;
Who at ten cuts or thrusts, in fury made,
Some thirty dead about the waggon laid.

IV
Whither fear drives, in rout, the others all,
Some scattered here, some there, on every side,
Fill road and field; to gain the city-wall
Some strive, and smothered in the mighty tide,
One on another, in the gateway fall.
Gryphon, all thought of pity laid aside,
Threats not nor speaks, but whirls his sword about,
Well venging on the crowd their every flout.

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?"

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead.
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air
Bearing an eagle's nest: and thro' the tree
Rush'd ever a rainy wind, and thro' the wind
Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and tree
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest,
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck,
And all unscarr'd from beak or talon, brought
A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took,
Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms
Received, and after loved it tenderly,
And named it Nestling; so forgot herself
A moment, and her cares; till that young life
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold
Past from her; and in time the carcanet
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child:
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said,
"Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence,
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize."

To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."

"Would rather you had let them fall," she cried,
"Plunge and be lost--ill-fated as they were,
A bitterness to me!--ye look amazed,
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given--
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out
Above the river--that unhappy child
Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Last Tournament

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a withered leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, `Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?'

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead,
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,
Clutched at the crag, and started through mid air
Bearing an eagle's nest: and through the tree
Rushed ever a rainy wind, and through the wind
Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and tree
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest,
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck,
And all unscarred from beak or talon, brought
A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took,
Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms
Received, and after loved it tenderly,
And named it Nestling; so forgot herself
A moment, and her cares; till that young life
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold
Past from her; and in time the carcanet
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child:
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said,
`Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence,
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize.'

To whom the King, `Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear.'

`Would rather you had let them fall,' she cried,
`Plunge and be lost-ill-fated as they were,
A bitterness to me!-ye look amazed,
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given-
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out
Above the river-that unhappy child
Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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I'm Better Than That!

I know I'm not that...
Greedy.
I'm not,
Greedy a lot.

I know I'm better than just sleazy.
I'm not that,
Hopeless cat.

I know I'm not that...
Greedy.
I'm not,
Greedy a lot.

I know I'm better than just sleazy
I'm not that,
Hopeless cat.

So many pick up wrong meanings,
From what is perceived and...
Not known.

So many trip on just seeing,
What is believed and seen as shown.
What is believed and seen as shown.

I know I'm not that...
Greedy.
I'm not,
Greedy a lot.

I know I'm better than just sleazy
I'm not that hopeless cat.

I know I'm not that...
Greedy.
I'm not,
Greedy a lot.

I know I'm better than just sleazy
I'm not that,
Hopeless cat.
I'm better than that.

So many trip on just seeing,
What is believed and seen as shown.
What is believed and seen as shown.

I know I'm not that...
Greedy.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Walk this Night

Dark clouds will move
Light rays will come
Dark night will end
Bright day will start
But walk this night

Walk seeing its stars
Seeing its bright light
Seeing its white shine
It’s the beauty of night
So seen only in night

Walk seeing its moon
Seeing its moon light
Seeing its bright shine
It’s also beauty of night
So shines only in night

So walk this night
Walk seeing its light
And awake in light
Walk seeing its beauty
And awake in beauty

So walk this night
To wake in shine
If not the next day
It will be other day
For now walk this night

So move, said my heart

poem by Kranthi Pothineni
Added by Poetry Lover
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