Sunday, November 13, 2011


to dream
to challenge
to go
to journey
to face fear and wrap it around as a cloak
to walk with it and push through the gravel to wonder
to a wrinkled face to a stranger whose every dream is crinkled like a fan outside the eyelids
 to capture the dusty coat
 the one eye,
 the barefoot,
 the dog lover,
 the misty-eyed angel
 warriors of the road -
 forever immortal, infamous, inglorious, the forgotten -
yet who lived among a spirit
 a feeling
to have shared and been a player in that wanderlust that will forever endure
 to have been a part of that song
 part of that twang 
 to have left your light tread on the uncharted waters -
the footprint before a frothing wave
 to know and feel solidarity with those other souls who threaded the miles alone
 part of an age
 of a generation
of a  tribe that spans centuries
 to look at that same gypsy moon
to know that others danced and etched their blood on the walls of that cave to the glow of the spectral embers
to sit where others sat
  so insignificant, so unobtrusive, like a dancing feather or pondering ant
 like a small quiet pebble or the splash of a fish
 here one one remembers your name....
 the road, did it matter?
 but it did. it does.
 in that moment.
  it did to dream,
to know that other dreamers have left home with stars in their eyes and hunger as their lantern
 to see a canyon or stand on a rock in the dashing sea
pilgrim voyager gypsy charleton gravestone bleached pile of glorious bones hippie bohemian evangelist artist savant entrepreneur rubber tramp leather tramp road warrior motorcycle king tourist anthropologist archeologist seeker seeker wanderer tumble weed
 to belong to the pioneer
 to tumble into the void -
 to see and touch and wrap your heart around all things human.
 when your down and tired and fading light and crumpled bills and linty coins and laundromat and old magazine and dirty newspapers cling to tattood brick
 to see a face a smile a person
 to hear their story
 to marvel at a laugh
 to share a look a meal
 a sardonic wink
 to find that pair of eyes and you know at once the things they have seen because you have seen the too
 strangers and you know you know they know
  why your backpack is your soul
 to leave love
 to leave comfort
 to walk into the arms of terror
to rise to meet suffering
 to open your eyes unblinking to ugliness
 to love beauty
 to crave it to starve for it
 to seek it
to welcome questions
the fog
the corner
forever cursed
forever blessed
always to wander
always to wonder
to go
 why does that word
 2 letters
 1 syllable
how has it  mercilessly held such corrosive  and creative power,
 how has it shaped kingdoms and colonies and fiefdoms
 how has it created heroes and villains
 how it is fodder and fire for every ballad and every dirge
 how has it broken homes and liberated captives.
 the urge
the dream
 the itch
 the need
the fire
 to explore
 to seek
 what up Columbus
 Sacajawea you were one tough chick -
Japhy Ryder and Jesse James
Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet
 Eminem and Joan Jett-
 to change to challenge
 to see
 the bering sea
the english moors
the african plains
 to the one who sailed to see if the earth was round
 who died in a bus
 or froze in the artic
 to all who lived an idea
who layed realism and cultural and societal trappings on the line
 to all those who dared
to all those who climbed
when they could not see the mountain
 to Daniel to David Korn
 to Doom who went to Hawaii
 to the flamboyant tourist
to the photographer 
to the captain
to the motorcycle
 to the covered wagon
to the prospector
to the cowboy
to the missionary
to the pirate
 to all those who decided to march frantic and insane
to jump off cliffs
to dive in murky waters
to trade the substantial for the hoped for
to trade the answers for questions
to trade the walls for sky
to trade the roof for stars
to trade the routine for the challenge
to trade the buried dream for the final journey
for all those who listened
who heard
who answered
who followed
the pied piper
of the word called go.

1 comment:

  1. i have read this poem many times now.

    the first time i began to read it, i felt like you were describing the crux of my life.
    hunger as my starve for mentioned my heroes, the ones who have guided me with their journeys. then tears came when i saw my name.