agoniste of the loose footed

Its all great the going off & having adventures
peering here, there at the whole wide world
taking time with tribes, moments with other nomads
& then you return to the place you were born
those spaces you struggled growing up
where you felt you were forced to leave
‘cos pretty nothing much happened
the faces you used to know have aged
maybe by troubles, that of hard work or deaths
while you hold your own still & flat to hear
words in litany of the tragedies that loving & living
bring to those who stay & get on with what is in front of them
they will tell you of the better things later but first
it is the bitter pills of reality of friends gone & you not there
to bear witness to their going to the whatever next
you who listened to alien wise men in silence
must now be quiet & hear how your childhood best friend
in the agonies of their end wondered where you were
is this is why you really left to exercise that loose foot
to avoid these sadness’s, these sharper doses of reality
escaping to a world where all is in front, nothing behind
& now rather than the steady tick tock of time bringing bad news
you have this large parcel of tears & pain all at once
& the itch begins to gnaw the bones of your unfettered foot
spare me the dark ordinary you cry inside
I must be away over the hill once more
but first you must be here be present be patient & be told
for they are pleased to see you these settlers, they have stories to tell
though it is plain to them you are the errant son who once more must go
it will not be long before you reach your unspoken accord
they will be sad to see your leave if but pleased you will not stay
your presence amongst them is unsettling as much if not more
than yours of being held in place by their bound to soil ways
you have touched your earth once more & are free now to wander
they may think of you at times on the face of the world once more
but now you know in certainty that the longer you stay away
the fewer will be the happy tired faces on your return
such is the agony of the loose footed you cannot remain
are always forced to follow the compass to neither home
but away

Fifteen hundred miles

hardly a word spoken
in my mother tongue
just me & birds of prey
watching the road
good coffee
bad coffee
is just a place to stop
a drink & a pee
then back out again
aware that very probably
I stink
more than I normally do
learning again
distance reduces issues
do I really want
to be going where I am going
will they want me there
when I arrive
or must I change destinations?
& after a while
you find your own company
the you
that exists
out of any constraints
of others
social constructs
the you that others
don’t get to see
& you make friends again
see how you’ve changed
by being in a group
& you notice too
how this changes
when a stranger
greets with a smile
a good natural hello
how it lifts the day
& you remember again
what it is
about your loved ones
you are missing most

marco polo’s edit

You meet them


hail fellow

well met


share a bottle

sage meal

of whatever is local



you are forever







you must tell

a good tale

in this company

or be lost

in the flicker flame

of poor story

thin fare

nothing learnt


these were

also on the road

lost in


marco polos