I am sure that no traveler seeing things through author spectacles can see them as they are.
quote by Harriet Martineau
Submitted 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 by Air
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Dad's Spectacles
Thick frame, thin glasses,
An old spectacles,
A keep sake,
An inheritance rarest
From my dad dearest.
Crises, tensions, frustrations…..
Struggles, triumphs, delights…..
On my dad’s spectacles
Life its imprints left,
Which often I felt alone left.
Betrayed never;
Guided ever;
Mate of eyes;
Nothing could part,
Except an attack on heart.
Once, he saw me,
Now, him I see,
All through the same spectacles,
Black and white,
A buttress to sight.
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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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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Report Of An Adjudged Case
Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So the Tongue was the Lawyer and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning,
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find,
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind.
Then holding the spectacles up to the court, -
Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, in short,
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
('Tis a case that has happened and may be again),
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,
Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then?
On the whole it appears, and my argument shows
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes,
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise.
So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without on if or but, -
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight - Eyes should be shut.
poem by William Cowper
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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 by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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The Story Of The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles
This is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles.
Owl loved to rest quietly whilst no one was watching. sitting on a
Fence one day, he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close
By.
Now this may not seem strange, but when owl overheard kangaroo whisper
To no one in particular, ''the hare has lost his spectacles, well, he
Began to wonder.
Presently, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and there, lying on
The grass was hare. in the stream that flowed by the grass -- a
Newt. and sitting astride a twig of a bush -- a bee.
Ostensibly motionless, the hare was trembling with excitement, for
Without his spectacles he was completely helpless. where were his
Spectacles? could someone have stolen them? had he mislaid them? what
Was he to do?
Bee wanted to help, and thinking he had the answer began: ''you
Probably ate them thinking they were a carrot.
''no! interrupted owl, who was wise. ''i have good eye-sight, insight,
And foresight. how could an intelligent hare make such a silly
Mistake? but all this time, owl had been sitting on the fence,
Scowling!
Kangaroo were hopping mad at this sort of talk. she thought herself
Far superior in intelligence to the others. she was their leader;
Their guru. she had the answer: ''hare, you must go in search of the
Optician.
But then she realized that hare was completely helpless without his
Spectacles. and so, kangaroo loudly proclaimed, ''i cant send hare in
Search of anything!
''you can guru, you can! shouted newt. ''you can send him with owl.
But owl had gone to sleep. newt knew too much to be stopped by so
Small a problem -- ''you can take him in your pouch. but alas, hare
Was much too big to fit into kangaroos pouch.
All this time, it had been quite plain to hare that the others knew
Nothing about spectacles.
As for all their tempting ideas, well hare didnt care.
The lost spectacles were his own affair.
And after all, hare did have a spare a-pair.
A-pair.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lavender Bassman
Listen to my bassman, he is lavender
His woman is his bass and he is loving her, loving her
Listen to the sounds hes giving
As he is living
True to lavender
Listen to the things my friend is saying now
A poetry of notes as he is playing now, playing now
Listen to the tales hes telling
Magic bass compelling
Lavender
Listen to my bass man, he is lavender
His fingerboards a highway, hes a traveler, traveler
Listen to his fingers making music
Hear his soul embarking
Lavender
Listen to my bass man, he is lavender
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Pathos Of Applause
The greeting of the company throughout
Was like a jubilee,--the children's shout
And fusillading hand-claps, with great guns
And detonations of the older ones,
Raged to such tumult of tempestuous joy,
It even more alarmed than pleased the boy;
Till, with a sudden twitching lip, he slid
Down to the floor and dodged across and hid
His face against his mother as she raised
Him to the shelter of her heart, and praised
His story in low whisperings, and smoothed
The 'amber-colored hair,' and kissed, and soothed
And lulled him back to sweet tranquillity--
'And 'ats a sign 'at you're the Ma fer me!'
He lisped, with gurgling ecstasy, and drew
Her closer, with shut eyes; and feeling, too,
If he could only _purr_ now like a cat,
He would undoubtedly be doing that!
'And now'--the serious host said, lifting there
A hand entreating silence;--'now, aware
Of the good promise of our Traveler guest
To add some story with and for the rest,
I think I favor you, and him as well,
Asking a story I have heard him tell,
And know its truth,in each minute detail:'
Then leaning on his guest's chair, with a hale
Hand-pat by way of full indorsement, he
Said, 'Yes--the Free-Slave story--certainly.'
The old man, with his waddy notebook out,
And glittering spectacles, glanced round about
The expectant circle, and still firmer drew
His hat on, with a nervous cough or two:
And, save at times the big hard words, and tone
Of gathering passion--all the speaker's own,--
The tale that set each childish heart astir
Was thus told by 'The Noted Traveler.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Old Town Types No. 9 - Long John, The Snob
Long John McDougal, the wax-end and leather man,
Solon of the main street, full of curious lore,
Keen-eyed and frugal, politician, weather man,
Pegging there, or stitching by his shop front door;
Keen-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal
Talked as he toiled there, or harked to others' woes,
With his tousled old grey head and steel-rimmed spectacles,
His old steel spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John the leather man: boots, bridles any a thing
Fashioned out of leather, could his wise hands mend.
'Cease your foolish blether, man! For I have cobbled many a thing
Cobbled it and cured it wi' me strong wax-end.
Cease your foolish blether, man. 'Tis Long John, the leather man
Has shod the feet of half the town, an' no complaints from those.'
And his old head would waggle and his steel-rimmed spectacles
His smeared old spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John, the cobbler, sets aside his sowing owl,
Sets aside his apron and gives his hands a rub,
And trots off for his nobbler, just as he has been going all
These long years for his whisky at the Railway pub.
Long John, the cobbler, calling for his nobbler:
One I'll tak', or two I'll tak', but I'm content wi' those.'
And he gazes e'er so wisely thro' his steel-rimmed spectacles
His bent old spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
Long John McDougal sat to have a crack there,
Just within his shop door the day I left the town,
Keen-eyed and frugal. And if I ever went back there
I know I'd find him fadeless, his wise law laying down
Kind-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal,
Spouting weather prophesies, downing fiscal foes,
Peering, with his head back, thro' grime-dimmed spectacles
His old steel spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I'm a commercial writer, not an author. Margaret Mitchell was an author. She wrote one book.
quote by Mickey Spillane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes ""sight-seeing.""
quote by Daniel J. Boorstin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The one man who should never attempt an explanation of a poem is its author. If the poem can be improved by it's author's explanations it never should have been published, and if the poem cannot be improved by its author's explanations the explanations are scarcely worth reading.
quote by Archibald MacLeish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To M.L. Lozinsky
I feel the undefeated fear,
In presence of the misty heights;
I'm glad that swallows fly here
And I enjoy the belfry's flight!
The ancient traveler is going, I suppose,
Above the gulf on bending footway's planks,
The snow ball continues in its growth,
And great eternity on clocks of stone strikes.
But I am not that traveler at all,
That flashes on the dry and faded leaves,
And really in me the sadness calls;
Indeed, the avalanche among the highlands lives!
A ring of bells my own soul fills -
But music cannot save from devastating falls!
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Criticize
Most people criticize
what they do not understand.
They tear things up
if it is something new
and does not conform
to what they believe
is the only way to do things.
If it does not conform,
then it is no good
and sometimes all of us
feel the same way
with things we do not understand.
With writing it is up to the author,
not the critic whom
soils it with his incantations.
28 July 2012
poem by David Harris
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Blind
I cast my spectacles away with my hand,
I refused all sensible help to adjust my life;
The using of books was against the issue
For running along the lines became hard
And futile, and boring.
The task was listed in the newspaper,
To suspend a real job, to strike.
If eyes were for seeing then sight is good,
For we love the spectacles that keep us trim,
Grimacing in the heat of the day.
They will not listen, we see and deserve the reading
Of the newspaper, a sane expression of our will.
We, we blind, are avalanched by words of the sane
Who see me grin at the feelings attached.
I only wanted faith in my glasses,
The sight is good, pleasant for one who is not blind.
poem by Naveed Akram
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New Mexico Welcome
New
to this Land of Enchantment state of mind?
Well, welcome home,
weary traveler, welcome home!
Here’s to feeling strange and wonderful –
Welcome home!
Here’s to feeling bewildered and happy –
Welcome home!
Here’s to feeling unlike you’ve ever felt before
Welcome home, welcome home, welcome home!
& here’s to nothing but beauty
Welcome home, I say, welcome home!
& here’s to surrounded by nature
Welcome home, yes, again, welcome home!
For New Mexico is my most
welcome home,
the one I have sought all my life
And now that YOU’RE here,
you’ll understand in a heartbeat -
Welcome home,
Welcome home,
Dear traveler
welcome home!
(2006, Taos Valley, New Mexico)
poem by Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson
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