Travel Poems
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
......
The Mores
by John Clare
Far spread the moorey ground a level scene
Bespread with rush and one eternal green
That never felt the rage of blundering plough
Though centurys wreathed spring's blossoms on its brow
Still meeting plains that stretched them far away
In uncheckt shadows of green brown, and grey
Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene
Nor fence of ownership crept in between
To hide the prospect of the following eye
Its only bondage was the circling sky
......
Song Of The Trees
by Mary Colborne-Veel
1
WE are the Trees.
Our dark and leafy glade
Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries.
Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run:
In burning zones, we build against the sun
Long centuries of shade.
2
......
Still
by Wislawa Szymborska
In sealed box cars travel
names across the land,
and how far they will travel so,
and will they ever get out,
don't ask, I won't say, I don't know.
The name Nathan strikes fist against wall,
the name Isaac, demented, sings,
the name Sarah calls out for water for
the name Aaron that's dying of thirst.
......
On Trains - edit
by Scott Sowerby
The lights from the station platform
Flicker on the floor of the carriage
As the train pulls away into the dark
My fingers and toes counteract
The toing - froing, pushing
Hard into the floor and handrail
Under the my fingers white
Knuckled stoney eyed. I stare
......
On Trains - edit
by Scott Sowerby
The lights from the station platform
Flicker on the floor of the carriage
As the train pulls away into the dark
My fingers and toes counteract
The toing - froing, pushing
Hard into the floor and handrail
Under the my fingers white
Knuckled stoney eyed. I stare
......
Finding My Hemingway
by Jeffrey Pipes Guice
“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”
- Ernest Hemingway
I wanted to find my writing style
And I wanted to learn from the best
I figured I’d start with Hemingway
And from there, I would find all the rest
I followed him from Paris to Pamplona
To run head-on with Papa and the bulls
......
Running With the Bulls
by Jeffrey Pipes Guice
The Feast of San Fermín: July 6 - July 13
The encierro (Spanish for a bull run) begins with runners singing a benediction. It is sung three times, each time being sung both in Spanish and Basque. The blessing is a prayer given at a statue of Saint Fermín, patron of the festival and the city, to ask for the saint's protection and is translated into English as "We ask Saint Fermín, as our Patron, to guide us through the encierro and give us his blessing." The singers finish shouting, "¡Viva San Fermín! and Gora San Fermin! ('Long live Saint Fermin,' in Spanish and Basque, respectively). Most runners dress in the traditional clothing of the festival, which consists of a white shirt and trousers with a red waistband (faja) and neckerchief (pañuelo). Also, some hold the day's newspaper rolled to draw the bulls' attention to them if necessary.
A first rocket is set off at 8 a.m. to alert the runners that the corral gate is open. A second rocket signals that all six bulls have been released. The third and fourth rockets signal that the herd has entered the bullring and its corral, respectively, marking the end of the event. The average duration between the first rocket and the end of the encierro is two minutes and 30 seconds.
The encierro is usually composed of the six bulls to be fought in the afternoon, six steers that run in a herd with the bulls, and three more steers that follow the herd to encourage any reluctant bulls to continue along the route. The function of the steers, who run the course daily, is to guide the bulls to the bullring. The average speed of the herd is about 15 mph.
The length of the run is about 957 yards. It goes through four streets of the old part of the city (Santo Domingo, Ayuntamiento, Mercaderes, and Estafeta) via the Town Hall Square and just before entering into the bullring through its callejón (tunnel). The fastest part of the route is up Santo Domingo and across Town Hall Square, but the bulls often separate at the entrance to Estafeta Street as they slow down. One or more would slip going into the turn at Estafeta ("la curva"), resulting in the installation of anti-slip surfacing. Now, most bulls negotiate the turn onto Estafeta and are often ahead of the steers, resulting in a quicker run. Runners are not permitted in the first 50 meters of the encierro, an uphill grade where the bulls are much faster.
Every year, between 50 and 100 people are injured during the run. Not all injuries require taking the patients to hospital: in 2013, 50 people were taken by ambulance to Pamplona's hospital, nearly doubling in 2012. Goring is much less common but potentially life-threatening. In 2013, for example, six participants were gored along the festival; in 2012, only four runners were injured by the horns of the bulls, with precisely the same number of gored people in 2011, nine in 2010, and 10 in 2009, with one of these last killed. As most runners are male, only five women have been gored since 1974. Before that date, running was prohibited for women.
......
Fortuitous Journey
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
I was a prominent theoretical physicist, relying upon beautiful mathematics,
Like devout gardeners everywhere, rely on butterscotch sunshine dramatics.
Rose days were spent inventing theories, to address pure astral phenomena,
And testing the raw theories, such as what causes far-off, supernova trauma.
The indescribable thrill of discovery, imbued sunny, halcyon hours of delight,
Like the secret thrill of watching flocks of redbirds, rising up to golden flight.
My friends lolled on the lawn, in balmy, brighter days of spring and summer,
......
The Ocean at my Door
by Tyler Morello
When I drove out to the coast I found
The ocean at my door.
An open window
Above my pillow
Played white noise from there on the shore.
I walked across the rocks and sand
To the seafoam frosted border,
And reveled within
The salty seas wind
......
