We are the vagabond,
We wander place to place
With derelict aplomb
And apogee of grace.
We are the vagabond,
We are what we are.
But soon again we drift along
And chase our endless star!
We are the vagabond,
And who are you to judge?
Our hate of higher echelon –
The venom of our grudge!
– 2012
Sometimes an idea just exhausts itself prematurely. Here are a few poems that started but lost their way at some point. Or maybe they’re as long as they need to be. No matter – just a couple of thoughts expunged from my frazzled brain.
Travel by train
Through fire and frost.
On rails of steel
Over lands long lost.
The morning is icy
And haunting to most;
With chilling cries
And echoes of ghost.
Twisted and bare
Is the branch of the trees.
Alone in the fields
Crows tangle and tease.
I shudder at the thought
Of isolation.
But the engine rolls on
With cyclic animation.
– 2009
Let me tell of a place in a country called Czech,
A proud Bohemian feast.
Cast your eyes high and crane your neck,
At the spires in Europe’s East.
Ancient roads on the river Vltava
Where artists, musicians can’t help but admire.
Compared, there’s no city in Europe they’d rather
And the hundred spires reach sky higher.
Castle up there, watch over the town.
A symbol of gothic, baroque with gold.
Stand grand on the hill, the jewel in the crown
And point ever higher, spires of old.
Stars and music light up the night.
To poets, romantics, their glow doth inspire.
Old master and muse, go forth and take flight,
Ascend in the way made clear by the spires.
– 2009
Fear Of Ghosts is a ghost story by P.S.Clinen. Below is the story in its entirety:Continue reading “Fear Of Ghosts”
