The Traveller

Sweet music drifts in through the open window

As he drifts in

The traveller.

Sits wearily down

Talks of all the drama, all the dreams

All the places he's been.

He's seen the frozen lakes,

The dolphins in the wild,

The bronzed mountains of Nepal

The string of precious pearls from the distant maldives.

Don't listen to him, they whisper,

He's a hypnotiser, a mesmeriser.

I know.

I know him from before.

But then my path was clear

The siren's song was fresh to hear,

The echo, calling, beckoning

With him towards the Stratosphere.


But now I see the open road through the window.

It's a road of sadness they say,

Especially with him to lead the way.

Winding, curving to  who knows where.

The curtain blows idly, so lazily

In the soft Autumn breeze

And the traveller's eyes settle on me.


When all the others have had their fill of his tales

And have crept away,

I return as he knew I would.

His heavily stamped passport open on the floor,

Like an invitation to a never ending dance,

Waltzing with the empty visa of my life.

I want to leave with you, I say,

I want to escape.


His face is more weather beaten than I remember.

I sit before him and I say,

Everything that makes me stay, makes me want to get away,

When daybreak comes, I'll be leaving with you.

The traveller laughs quietly to himself,

He's heard it all before,

All before . . . .



◄ The Mad Aunt Of Doolin

Strong Vulnerability ►


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mike booth

Sat 12th Jan 2019 22:16

a beautiful, lyrical poem... reminds me of:

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

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Frances Macaulay Forde

Wed 18th Oct 2017 04:11

"Everything that makes me stay, makes me want to get away,"

So relate-able...

patricia Hughes

Mon 9th Oct 2017 10:56


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lynn hahn

Mon 9th Oct 2017 02:41

I am so glad you left a comment my blog. I love your story telling style. Gonna spend some time reading more.

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Wolfgar Miere

Sat 30th Sep 2017 08:07

Its a very interesting piece to me Hannah because it highlights the weariness that both travel and the absence of change can bring.

Both characters appear to be prisoners of something, which I think is maybe the feeling you are looking for, or maybe not. Either way its a thoughtful poem.


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Raj Ferds

Sat 30th Sep 2017 07:33

'Everything that makes me stay, makes me want to get away'

Hannah, this line says it all. So pregnant with meaning.
I love the central theme of this poem and it flows ever so smoothly. Nicely composed and quite engaging.

More of this please!

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Harry Sheikh

Sat 30th Sep 2017 02:18

'Waltzing with the empty visa of my life' - love how this line flows

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