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When the traveler goes alone he gets acquainted with himself.

quote by Liberty Hyde Bailey
Added by Lucian Velea
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Universal Traveler

Universal Traveler - Air
(Talkie Walkie; Trans. by Tish)
I know so many
Places in the world
I follow the sun
In my silver plane
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
If you have a look
Outside on the sea
Everything is white
It's so wonderful
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
So far
So far
So far away
I met so many
People in my life
I've got many friends
Who can care for me
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Trust fills everywhere ?
And tomorrow
Is a brand new day
Let's go somewhere else
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away

song performed by Air
Added by Lucian Velea
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Emmaline Conner room 101(contest winner writing.com)

Lids slowly closing, aged eyes rimmed with red
Blue veined hands clutching sheets to her chin
Fond memories, old boyfriends, gaily dance in her head
A Time traveler, scanning archives, sequestered within

My knock brings her back to this time, here and now
With a start she awakens, closes softly memory’s door
With a smile I approach, place a hand on her brow
Gently bringing her back to the present once more

Tucking a bib beneath her chin like an infant
Huge Breakfast tray pulled close to her breast
Eyes mockingly wide in jesting amazement
Solemnly promises to give it her best

I sit by her side, uncapping and helping
With the soft pureed breakfast I provided
A few birdlike bites, her resolve quickly melting
She’s really quite full now, she’s decided

Chiding her gently to eat some more food
she jokingly tells me she’s watching her weight
And with age earned authority it’s to be understood
At a fat eighty pounds, it’s already too late

I remove the tray, knowing when I’m beaten
By a wisp of a woman who grows more wispy each day
Each day of each week less food is eaten
Not much more time in this bed will she stay

diaper changing endured with lady-like grace
bed bath accepted with placid aplomb
Grey hair brushed back and tied with white lace
Wizened face a portrait of complacent calm

Dear friend, earnest student, strong right hand for her mother
Many persons this fine lady has played
Big sister for small brother, to strong passionate lover
Roles without end and with deep love portrayed

As I place the call button close to her hands
She dreamily places withered hands over mine
Be sure to come back here for lunch, she demands
And this time be sure to bring wine

Eyes slowly closing, drifting off into slumber
I gently pull sheets to her chin
Once more a time traveler, to memories without number
She travels back to the past once again

[...] Read more

poem by David Whalen
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Lonely Traveler...

I see the lonely traveler,
Why is he so quiet?
Maybe he's in passion,
Maybe he's in fear,
Maybe sheer happiness,
Something to control in silence,
Without telling anyone...

To walk through the jungle trees,
Stare, climb and then sing,
A song, one happy, scary, so heartfelt,
I started to cry,
A mixture of feelings,
Something to divine to share,
Only with the invisible shadows,
That travel with him...

But I followed him,
For no real reason at all,
His gentle side as well as fierce side,
All in one,
All in control,
But still he walks alone,
Never to be confronted,
The Highwaymen fear him,
And those people are fearless,
Stealing money, for that you have to be...

But still, people kept away,
From this man, who sang his heart out,
Fear, despair, the quality of happiness,
This lonely traveler meant,
He spoke in a gentle voice,
When taken aback he changed his tone,
Rapidly to say,
He played his guitar on and off,
Sang to it, played to it,
Until he once met a cat,
No ordinary cat though,
A cat like him,
With feelings...

He understood,
Placed his loneliness away,
For he then took the cat,
Stroked it, Matured it, made it Free,
From the bounds of its old master,
He now only had his bag,
His guitar and many other
Instruments he picked up along the way,

[...] Read more

poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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Armadillo Streets

The dust has just begun to settle
Forming crop circles in the carpet
Oil marks kiss the walls
Where pleasure moments hung before
Spin me around one last time
Disappear with the walking sun

Look down that road lonely traveler
Before you pack your things
Vagabond shoes have lead you nowhere
But further away from home
Look down that road lonely traveler
Before you turn to leave
Just a tumbleweed blowing aimlessly
Along armadillo streets

Count the days as they barely move
Denying you didn't stop you from coming
Consumed under the trance of the moon
Enter Casanova
As ransom notes fall from your lips
Lies espoused, digested through a hungry mouth
Defense falls paper thin, until
I loose all inhibitions

Look down that road lonely traveler
Before you pack your things
Vagabond shoes have lead you nowhere
But further away from home
Look down that road lonely traveler
Before you turn to leave
Just a tumbleweed blowing aimlessly
Along armadillo streets

The residue of another late nate rendevous
Greets me with the morning light
Half smoked cigarettes, a bottle of gin
A post card signed, 'See you next time'
I trace your silohette into the heels of your mirage
But I never did plan to understand
What happened after dark

Look down that road lonely traveler
Before you turn to leave
Just a tumbleweed blowing aimlessly
Along armadillo streets

poem by Kay Gardner
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Little Jack Janitor

And there, in that ripe Summer-night, once more
A wintry coolness through the open door
And window seemed to touch each glowing face
Refreshingly; and, for a fleeting space,
The quickened fancy, through the fragrant air,
Saw snowflakes whirling where the roseleaves were,
And sounds of veriest jingling bells again
Were heard in tinkling spoons and glasses then.

Thus Uncle Mart's old poem sounded young
And crisp and fresh and clear as when first sung,
Away back in the wakening of Spring
When his rhyme and the robin, chorusing,
Rumored, in duo-fanfare, of the soon
Invading johnny-jump-ups, with platoon
On platoon of sweet-williams, marshaled fine
To bloomed blarings of the trumpet-vine.

The poet turned to whisperingly confer
A moment with 'The Noted Traveler.'
Then left the room, tripped up the stairs, and then
An instant later reappeared again,
Bearing a little, lacquered box, or chest,
Which, as all marked with curious interest,
He gave to the old Traveler, who in
One hand upheld it, pulling back his thin
Black lustre coat-sleeves, saying he had sent
Up for his 'Magic Box,' and that he meant
To test it there--especially to show
_The Children_. 'It is _empty now_, you know.'--
He humped it with his knuckles, so they heard
The hollow sound--'But lest it be inferred
It is not _really_ empty, I will ask
_Little Jack Janitor_, whose pleasant task
It is to keep it ship-shape.'

Then he tried
And rapped the little drawer in the side,
And called out sharply 'Are you in there, Jack?'
And then a little, squeaky voice came back,--
'_Of course I'm in here--ain't you got the key
Turned on me!_'

Then the Traveler leisurely
Felt through his pockets, and at last took out
The smallest key they ever heard about!--
It,wasn't any longer than a pin:
And this at last he managed to fit in
The little keyhole, turned it, and then cried,
'Is everything swept out clean there inside?'

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Acquainted with the Night

shut your eyes and dream
for that is where paradise is
the world is not
as good as a dream, daylight
at least for many
you see them
all over the morning papers
crimes that came out
of the nights
the husband who
in his rage
against a runaway wife
hanged all three children
and himself
terrorising readers
a wayward son
that beat mom to death
for a little money
to spend at the club
the old spinster
who fell to her death
as the snatch thief
used all his might
for her bag
the court trial
of a murdered woman
that heard of sperm stains
on ceiling
and a deputy prime minister
who allegedly groped with men
a whole mattress taken
to examine for lascivious stains
an artist former husband
who spewed terrible secrets
about wife that
ran away with a musician
carrying her children along with her
never allowing him to see his hearts
in three long years
or the shark money loaner
who forced weedkiller
down his debtor throat
a national top school achiever
denied entry to university
all because of her wrong race
i have been one acquainted
with the night
and as i walked down
the town alleyway
i cross path with

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Unknown Traveler

(Music: DirkschneiderKaufmannGianola - Words: DirkschneiderKaufmann)
I've passed the lonely gates of Babylon
I've touched the ancient pyramids
I've seen the golden face of Taj Mahal
I've felt the sea of Atlantis
I've counted bricks along the China Wall
I've rode the Slopes Of Kathmandu
I've tasted all the rocks of Everest
To the mountains of the moon
I've seen it all
Through time and matter
No more retreat and no more defeat
So hear the call
The final battle
I'm under attack - I want to come back
I am the unknown traveler - always on the move
I am the unknown traveler
I am the unknown traveler - always on the move
I am the unknown traveler
I've joined the table back in Camelot
Looked for the wood for Merlin's wand
I've traveled places I've been everywhere
I've traveled times so on and on
[Bridge]
[Chorus]

song performed by U. D. O.
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Dream As A Traveller

I have a beautiful dream,
A dream As a lone traveler,
For being a lonely traveler

To see many beautiful places,
To see many beautiful scenery,
To see lakes, rivers, ocean and mountains.

Travelling is my Passion,
To experience other country's culture,
food and traditions

To meet beautiful and friendly people,
To make friends around,
Just Like you and me

Travelling is my life
Just Love the travel freedom
To see the world alone
As back packer

Dream of a traveler
To write and share my travelling story
As a lone traveler.

To travel around the world
To go to the most remote places on earth
Give me the best excitement and amazement
Good for my soul and life experience.

14 March 2012

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Road of life

Time is passing
the circle is shrinking
road is gloomy
traveler is muddled

sounds like dirges
sight of casket
randomizes the mind
the soul seems incomplete
traveler feels hollow

standing up with a will
efforts ending in smoke
rides, insane
traveler is fedup

ball keeps rolling
gets bigger and bigger on its way
isolation gave nothing but tears

poem by Syed Muhammad Furqan
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Four Lyrics from Dunhuang

Tune: “Eternal Longing”

1.
He was a traveler west of the river,
with wealth and eminence rare in this world.
All day long in vermilion towers
...dancing and singing songs.
The cup filled again and again, till he's drunk as mud;
lightly, lightly trading golden goblets,
wearing out the day tasting joys, pursuing pleasures—
Some people are rich and never go home.

2.
He was a traveler west of the river;
only he knew how lonely he was,
dust and dirt covering his face,
all day long being cheated by others.
Morning after morning standing by the west gate of the market,
the wind blowing the tears that came down in two streams,
gazing toward his native land so many roads away—
Some people are poor and never go home.

3.
He was a traveler west of the river,
then he took sick, lay an inch away from death.
Still he stayed on, looking for news,
though as time went by it seemed he'd have to depart.
The villagers dragged him to the west side of the road—
his father and mother knew nothing about it—
tied a tag on his body with his name written on it—
Some people die and never go home.

Tune: “Magpie on the Branch”

4.
I can't stand the wily magpie and all his extravagant stories!
He brings me good news, but what proof does he ever have?
One of these times when he flies by, I'll grab him, capture him live,
shut him up in a golden cage to put a stop to his chatter!
With the best of intentions I went to her, delivered my good news—
who'd have thought she'd shut me up in a golden cage?
I only hope her soldiering husband comes home soon
so she'll lift me up, turn me loose to head for the blue clouds!

poem by anonym
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Ozymandias Ever Rising through the Winds of Time

Ozymandias Ever Rising through the Winds of Time

I met a poet from an online site
who said: 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
stand in my mind, yet find description quite
inadequate, half sunk beneath time flown.'
I answered: 'He whose sneer rei[g]ned cold command,
his sculptor too, are both to Lethe blown,
his passions mocked by who'd today demand
a résumé for tourists who bemoan
a lack of facts to show their pseudo friends
to back up their vacation time well spent,
and yet, and yet, so similar their ends
whose works turn sand when's finished sojourn lent.'
He came, he ruled, time fooled and conquered him,
trunk packed away museumwards on whim.

Nosy man dies as day draws down dark night,
knows he has but a finite span to moan
upon this Earth until, denied the right
of an extension to his lifelong loan.
Foreclosure comes whatever cash on hand
must crash to dust, call harvested; seeds sown
perhaps survive, migrate to other land,
there to engender likeness, throwback clone.
Thus who’d seek Ozymandias’ tale lends
an ear to fable, tables on hints sent
through centuries whose key stones make amends
for missing trunk, lost headstone’s argument.
When dunes into oases are restored,
may reader find true answer mind may hoard.

1 February 2009
Parody Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe SHELLEY 1792_1822 shel1_0001

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Moon Fishing

When the moon was full they came to the water.
some with pitchforks, some with rakes,
some with sieves and ladles,
and one with a silver cup.

And they fished til a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
to catch the moon you must let your women
spread their hair on the water --
even the wily moon will leap to that bobbing
net of shimmering threads,
gasp and flop till its silver scales
lie black and still at your feet."

And they fished with the hair of their women
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
do you think the moon is caught lightly,
with glitter and silk threads?
You must cut out your hearts and bait your hooks
with those dark animals;
what matter you lose your hearts to reel in your dream?"

And they fished with their tight, hot hearts
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
what good is the moon to a heartless man?
Put back your hearts and get on your knees
and drink as you never have,
until your throats are coated with silver
and your voices ring like bells."

And they fished with their lips and tongues
until the water was gone
and the moon had slipped away
in the soft, bottomless mud.

poem by Lisel Mueller
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A Traveler's Petite Secret

I'm a traveler
I travel around the globe
With my sociable outlook
And designer garments
With my body concealed
My affectionate heart wishes

I'm a traveler
I travel around the globe
With my sociable outlook
I lock my heart in the refrigerate
This cost me worth the dollar
Just because I don't desire
My heart stolen by a stranger ….

I'm a traveler
I travel around the globe
With my sociable outlook
A stranger turns into a buddy
I chit chat my petite secret
Slight I didn't sense his spirit
Unlocked my heart from the refrigerate
And make me feel affection for him.

poem by Ezna Stephna
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If horses neigh to one another, they become acquainted, if people talk to one another, they become acquainted.

Altay proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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The First Line is the Deepest

I have been one acquainted with the spatula,
the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate,
acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket

and the dildo that goes by Tex,
and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,

in order to ruin
what love I was given,

and also I have measured out
my life in little pills—Zoloft,

Restoril, Celexa,
Xanax.

I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty
to know wherein lies the beauty

of this degraded body,
or maybe

it's the degradation in the beautiful body,
the ugly me

groping back to my desk to piss
on perfection, to lay my kiss

of mortal confusion
upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says
America is charged with the madness

of God. Sundays, too,
the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea.
Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

Why does one month have to be the cruelest,
can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best

gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through
the sewage-filled streets. Whose

world this is I think I know.

poem by Kim Addonizio
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Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

poem by Robert Frost
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Five Letters To My Mother

Good morning sweetheart.
Good morning my Saint of a sweetheart.
It has been two year mother
since the boy has sailed
on his mythical journey.
Since he hid within his luggage
the green morning of his homeland
and her stars, and her streams,
and all of her red poppy.
Since he hid in his cloths
bunches of mint and thyme,
and a Damascene Lilac.
*

I am alone.
The smoke of my cigarette is bored,
and even my seat of me is bored
My sorrows are like flocking birds looking for a grain field in season.
I became acquainted with the women of Europe,
I became acquainted with their tired civilization.
I toured India, and I toured China,
I toured the entire oriental world,
and nowhere I found,
a Lady to comb my golden hair.
A Lady that hides for me in her purse a sugar candy.
A lady that dresses me when I am naked,
and lifts me up when I fall.
Mother: I am that boy who sailed,
and still longes to that sugar candy.
So how come or how can I, Mother,
become a father and never grow up.

*
Good morning from Madrid.
How is the 'Fullah'?
I beg you to take care of her,
That baby of a baby.
She was the dearest love to Father.
He spoiled her like his daughter.
He used to invite her to his morning coffee.
He used to feed her and water her,
and cover her with his mercy.
And when he died,
She always dreamt about his return.
She looked for him in the corners of his room.
She asked about his robe,
and asked about his newspaper,
and asked, when the summer came,
about the blue color of his eyes,
so that she can throw within his palms,

[...] Read more

poem by Nizar Qabbani
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The Dawning

Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry,
'The bridegroom's coming,' fill the sky?
Shall it in the evening run,
When our words and works are dome?
Or will Thy all-surprising light
Break at midnight,
When either sleep or some dark pleasure
Possesseth mad man without measure?
Or shall these early fragrant hours
Unlock Thy bowers,
And with their blush of light descry
Thy locks crowned with eternity?
Indeed, it is the only time
That with Thy glory doth best chime;
Full hymns doth yield,
The whole creation shakes off night,
And for Thy shadow looks the light;
Stars now vanish without number,
The pursy clouds disband and scatter,
All expect some sudden matter;
Not one beam triumphs, but from far
That morning star.
Oh, at what time soever, Thou,
Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow,
And with Thy angels in the van
Descend to judge poor careless man,
Grant I may not like puddle lie
In a corrupt security,
Where, if a traveler water crave,
He finds it dead and in a grave;
But as this restless vocal spring
All day and night doth run and sing,
And though here born, yet is acquainted
Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted,
So let me all my busy age
In Thy free services engage;
And though while here of force I must
Have commerce sometimes with poor dust,
And in my flesh, though vile and low,
As this doth in her channel flow,
Yet let my course, my aim, my love,
And chief acquaintance be above;
So when that day and hour shall come
In which Thyself will be the sun,
Thou'lt find me dressed and on my way,
Watching the break of Thy great Day.

poem by Henry Vaughan
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Traveler

Traveler, Traveler
You've always been travelling forward
When do you come home

He says, I walk around the earth
after a loop
I'll be home

poem by Zhiqing Wei
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Lonely Is The Word

Lonely is the word
Its a long way to nowhere
And Im leaving very soon
On the way we pass so close
To the back side of the moon
Hey join the traveler if you got nowhere to go
Hang your head and take my hand
Its the only road I know
Oh! lonely is the word, yeah yeah yeah!
Ive been higher than stardust
Ive been seen upon the sun
I used to count in millions then
But now I only count in one
Come on, join the traveler
If you got nowhere to go
Hang your head and take my hand
Its the only road I know
Yeah, lonely is the word
Got to be the saddest song I ever heard
Yeah, lonely is the name
Maybe lifes a loosing game...

song performed by Black Sabbath
Added by Lucian Velea
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