• Destinations

18 Poems About Travel to Inspire Your Traveler’s Soul to See the World

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Within the depths of every adventurous spirit lies a yearning for exploration, a longing to traverse the far reaches of the Earth, and a desire to witness the wonders that lie beyond our familiar horizons.

The world is a tapestry of enchanting landscapes, vibrant cultures, and hidden treasures, inviting us to venture forth and embrace its splendor.

Through the evocative power of poetry, let us embark on a journey of inspiration and discovery , as these poems transport us to distant lands, stoke the flames of wanderlust, and awaken the traveler within. So pack your bags, open your heart to the allure of the unknown, and let these verses guide you to see the world with new eyes. Welcome to poems about travel to inspire your traveler’s soul.

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  • 1. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
  • 2. Against the Shore by Atticus
  • 3. The Opportune Moment by Sheenagh Pugh
  • 4. A Prayer for Travelers by Anon
  • 5. Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman
  • 6. Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay
  • 7. On the World by Francis Quarles
  • 8. Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros
  • 9. If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field
  • 10. The Moment by Margaret Atwood
  • 11. Freedom by Olive Runner
  • 12. Poem About Travel by Drewniverses
  • 13. Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed
  • 14. P.S. I Love You by H. Jackson Brown
  • 15. For the Traveler by John O’Donohue
  • 16. Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown
  • 17. Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson
  • 18. Night Traveler by Deepa Thomas

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

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Poems About Travel

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost  / Poems About Travel 

Against the Shore by Atticus

against the shore,

restless like

for any adventure,

that blew along her way

Poems About Travel

Against the Shore by Atticus / Poems About Travel

The Opportune Moment by Sheenagh Pugh

When you go ashore in that town,

take neither a camera nor a notebook.

However many photographs you upload

of that street, the smell of almond paste

will be missing; the harbour will not sound

of wind slapping on chains. You will read

notes like “Sami church”, later, and know

you saw nothing, never put it where

you could find it again, were never

really there. When you go ashore

in the small port with the rusty trawlers,

there will be fur hawkers who all look

like Genghis Khan on a market stall,

crumbling pavements, roses frozen in bud,

an altar with wool hangings, vessels

like canal ware, a Madonna

with a Russian doll face. When you go

ashore, take nothing but the knowledge

that where you are, you never will be again.

Poems About Travel

The Opportune Moment by Sheenagh Pugh /  Poems About Travel Journeys

A Prayer for Travelers by Anon

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Poems About Travel

A Prayer for Travelers by Anon / Travel Poetry 

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

Poems About Travel

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman / Poems About Traveling Through Life

Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away,

And the day is loud with voices speaking,

Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day

But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by,

Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,

But I see its cinders red on the sky,

And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with the friends I make,

And better friends I’ll not be knowing;

Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,

No matter where it’s going.

Poems About Travel

Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay / Poems About Travel

On the World by Francis Quarles

The world’s an inn; and I her guest.

I eat; I drink; I take my rest.

My hostess, nature, does deny me

Nothing, wherewith she can supply me;

Where, having stayed a while, I pay

Her lavish bills, and go my way.

Poems About Travel

On the World by Francis Quarles / Poems About Traveling the World

Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros

He who becomes the slave of habit,

who follows the same routes every day,

who never changes pace,

who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,

who does not speak and does not experience,

dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,

who prefers black on white,

dotting ones i’s rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,

that turn a yawn into a smile,

that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,

who is unhappy at work,

who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,

to thus follow a dream,

those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,

die slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read,

who does not listen to music,

who does not find grace in himself,

she who does not find grace in herself,

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,

who does not allow himself to be helped,

who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,

He or she who abandons a project before starting it, who fails to ask questions on subjects he doesn’t know, he or she who doesn’t reply when they are asked something they do know,

Let’s try and avoid death in small doses,

reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.

Only a burning patience will lead

to the attainment of a splendid happiness

Poems About Travel

Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros / Poems About Why You Need to Travel 

If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field

If once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same;

You may look as you looked the day before

And go by the same old name,

You may bustle about in street and shop;

You may sit at home and sew,

But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls

Wherever your feet may go.

You may chat with the neighbors of this and that

And close to your fire keep,

But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell

And tides beat through your sleep.

Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how

Such change upon you came,

But – once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same!

Poems About Travel

If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field / Poems About Travel And How It Changes Us

The Moment by Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years

of hard work and a long voyage

you stand in the centre of your room,

house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,

knowing at last how you got there,

and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose

their soft arms from around you,

the birds take back their language,

the cliffs fissure and collapse,

the air moves back from you like a wave

and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.

You were a visitor, time after time

climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belonged to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way round.

Poems About Travel

The Moment by Margaret Atwood / Famous Travel Poems

Freedom by Olive Runner

Give me the long, straight road before me,

A clear, cold day with a nipping air,

Tall, bare trees to run on beside me,

A heart that is light and free from care.

Then let me go! – I care not whither

My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be

Free as the brook that flows to the river,

Free as the river that flows to the sea.

Poems About Travel

Freedom by Olive Runner / Poems About Travel

Poem About Travel by Drewniverses

You are not a tree. You are not bound

to the ground you walk on. You have

wings and dreams and a heart full of

wonder. So pick up your feet and go.

Spread kindness like a wildflower

wherever you go. Fall in love with the

life you live, and always leave people

better than you found them.

Poems About Travel

Poem About Travel by Drewniverses / Poems About Travel

Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed

be insecure

allow yourself lowness.

know that it is

the way to who you are.

Poems About Travel

Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed / Poems About Travel and Adventure

P.S. I Love You by H. Jackson Brown

Twenty years from now

You’ll be more disappointed

By the things you didn’t do

Than by the ones you did do.

So throw off the bowlines.

Sail away from the harbor.

Catch the trade winds in your sails.

Poems About Travel

P.S. I Love You by H. Jackson Brown / Poems About Travel Why You Need to Travel the World

For the Traveler by John O’Donohue

Every time you leave home,

Another road takes you

Into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await.

New places that have never seen you

Will startle a little at your entry.

Old places that know you well

Will pretend nothing

Changed since your last visit.

When you travel, you find yourself

Alone in a different way,

More attentive now

To the self you bring along,

Your more subtle eye watching

You abroad; and how what meets you

Touches that part of the heart

That lies low at home:

How you unexpectedly attune

To the timbre in some voice,

Opening in conversation

You want to take in

To where your longing

Has pressed hard enough

Inward, on some unsaid dark,

To create a crystal of insight

You could not have known

To illuminate

When you travel,

A new silence

Goes with you,

And if you listen,

You will hear

What your heart would

Love to say.

A journey can become a sacred thing:

Make sure, before you go,

To take the time

To bless your going forth,

To free your heart of ballast

So that the compass of your soul

Might direct you toward

The territories of spirit

Where you will discover

More of your hidden life,

And the urgencies

That deserve to claim you.

May you travel in an awakened way,

Gathered wisely into your inner ground;

That you may not waste the invitations

Which wait along the way to transform you.

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed,

And live your time away to its fullest;

Return home more enriched, and free

To balance the gift of days which call you.

Poems About Travel

For the Traveler by John O’Donohue / Poems About Travel and How It Changes Us

Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown

It is on the road that my inner voice speaks the loudest and my heart beats the strongest.

It is on the road that I take extra pride in my wooly hair, full features and lineage.

It is on the road that I develop extra senses and the hairs on my arms stand up and say “Sana, don’t go there”, and I listen.

It’s when I safety pin my money to my underclothes and count it a million times before I go to sleep,

It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius.

It’s on the road that I am fearless and unstoppable and if necessary ball up my fist and fight back.

It is on the road that I talk to my deceased parents and they speak back

It’s on the road that I reprimand myself, and set new goals, refuel, stop and begin again.

It is on the road that I experience what freedom truly is.

It is my travel that has transformed me making me a citizen of the world. When my humanness, compassion and affection are raised to a new level and I share unconditionally.

Poems About Travel

Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown / Poems About Travel

Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson

I should like to rise and go

Where the golden apples grow;—

Where below another sky

Parrot islands anchored lie,

And, watched by cockatoos and goats,

Lonely Crusoes building boats;—

Where in sunshine reaching out

Eastern cities, miles about,

Are with mosque and minaret

Among sandy gardens set,

And the rich goods from near and far

Hang for sale in the bazaar,—

Where the Great Wall round China goes,

And on one side the desert blows,

And with bell and voice and drum

Cities on the other hum;—

Where are forests, hot as fire,

Wide as England, tall as a spire,

Full of apes and cocoa-nuts

And the negro hunters’ huts;—

Where the knotty crocodile

Lies and blinks in the Nile,

And the red flamingo flies

Hunting fish before his eyes;—

Where in jungles, near and far,

Man-devouring tigers are,

Lying close and giving ear

Lest the hunt be drawing near,

Or a comer-by be seen

Swinging in a palanquin;—

Where among the desert sands

Some deserted city stands,

All its children, sweep and prince,

Grown to manhood ages since,

Not a foot in street or house,

Not a stir of child or mouse,

And when kindly falls the night,

In all the town no spark of light.

There I’ll come when I’m a man

With a camel caravan;

Light a fire in the gloom

Of some dusty dining-room;

See the pictures on the walls,

Heroes, fights and festivals;

And in a corner find the toys

Of the old Egyptian boys.

Poems About Travel

Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson / Poems About Travel

Night Traveler by Deepa Thomas

I am a night traveler

Travel all through the night

And my bed is a sailing boat

I reach for my bed every night

And take a trip places far away

To see new things and people

I travel past the harbors

Full of anchored boats

I travel past the beaches

With swaying coconut trees

I watch the waves

Embracing the shore

I watch the kids playing

And reach out my arms

Then I touch my own bed

Here comes a flash

And my boat is back

And I am back in bed

My boat sails every night

And reach home with morning light

Never did it anchor once

Still traveling every day

Hoping to reach

That unknown destination

Poems About Travel

Night Travel by Deepa Thomas / Poems About Travel

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Please let me know and I will add it to the list!

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Litbug

I am Tourist | Summary and Analysis

Analysis of i am tourist by adrian mitchell.

 I am Tourist by Adrian Mitchell is a poem that takes a modern take on the definition of a “tourist”, focusing on the self-centred, petty, and ignorant nature of tourists who don’t appreciate foreign cultures. The tourist in this poem travels far away but he fails to connect with the culture and people of the foreign land. In this poem, Mitchell is highlighting how some western people have poor opinions about Asian/African countries. Imagery is used to call attention to the tourist’s intolerant mindset and arrogant attitude.

I am Tourist |  Summary and Analysis

I am tourist |  analysis, lines 1-7.

“I am Tourist I fly across the seas with a cold glass in my hand Watching Burt Reynolds movies I am Tourist  With my chocolate-coloured spectacles And my blue travellers chequetacles And my video camera purring at the Sights”

The poem is written in the first-person narrative where the poet is trying to show the  point of view of a modern tourist . The characteristics of a tourist defined here are flying across seas in airplanes with a drink in hand, watching Burt Reynolds movies, wearing sunglasses, traveller’s  chequetacles  and a video camera. The tourist is living a  comfortable flashy life , obviously with a lot of money. The use of first-person narrative helps the readers see the mindset of the tourist. The poet uses  “my”  several times to emphasize the tourist’s  self-centred  attitude.

I am Tourist |  Analysis, Lines 8-12

“I am Tourist With my Tourist Wife We live the full and beautiful Tourist Life We are taken to a hill tribe”

The tourist is travelling with his wife and they have  “the   full and beautiful tourist life” . Meaning they are living a  luxurious and stylish lifestyle . During their travel, their guide takes them to a local  tribe village . Some countries have native cultures that are displayed as tourist spots. He says  “we are taken”  as if he has no interest to go to that place. For him, there’s  no appeal  in the native culture. There’s a sense of  hypocrisy  as while describing himself and his wife as  “tourists”  he  fails to show   enthusiasm and interest  like a tourist as we learn about it later in the poem. 

I am Tourist |  Analysis, Lines 13 -18

“They live on a hill They sell us many boxes Painted green and grey They are ugly boxes but very inexpensive Then they put on hairy masks And scarlet knickerbockers”

The tribe people live on a hill and they sell materials to the tourists. They sell boxes painted in different colours. The tourist finds the  boxes ugly and inexpensive . He’s  ignorant and dismissive  of the native culture. He does not have any respect for their efforts. The painted boxes are  unique  to that place’s culture and they are beautiful in their authentic way but by calling them  “inexpensive”  the tourist fails to embrace the beauty of that place. He says that the tribe people wear  “hairy masks and scarlet knickerbockers” . He doesn’t care to know the actual names of those masks and garments and has  no interest  in finding out their purpose. 

I am Tourist |  Analysis, Lines 19-22

“They bang their stomachs and circle round us Is it a wedding? Is it a funeral? Whatever it is we video it all And it is picturesque but it is not inexpensive”

The tribe people  dance around  the tourist. He’s confused about whether it’s a wedding or a funeral but he still  records it  anyway. He shows a  lack of interest  in the native culture and he again uses a dismissive tone. He finds it all  “picturesque”  meaning he’s amused but he doesn’t care at all what it means. He says the recording was  “not inexpensive”  which shows that he has a  materialistic attitude . He is fixated on his priorities and he is  judgmental  about things based on their appearance.

I am Tourist |  Analysis, Lines 23-27

“On the way back to the hotel I tell our Guide No more painted boxes No more picturesque ceremonies No more hill tribes”

On their way back he demands the guide to  not show any more of the native culture . His tone is  disrespectful and arrogant  while saying this. His ignorance is an  insult to the culture  of that particular tribe of people living on the hill. The way he commands the guide reflects the tourist’s narcissistic character.

I am Tourist |  Analysis, Lines 28-31

“I want a mattress And a pool and a bar Just like back home I am Tourist”

The tourist wants a mattress, a pool and a bar – all similar to what he has at home. He  fails to appreciate  the new surrounding and its culture. He wants to feel at  “home”  which completely  contradicts the whole point of travelling  so far to a foreign land. It’s as if travelling to a foreign land is just something he can show off. He has  no regard  for the people there. The poet uses  “I am Tourist”  several times in the poem and ends the poem with it to show that all these negative attributes are associated with the tourist only.

The purpose of a tourist is to  explore new places , visit new sights and learn about different traditions and architecture. However,  ironically  the Tourist in this poem  fails to show any interest  in the foreign place he visits. He is  ignorant and narrow-minded , he views the native culture of that place as an annoyance. His views toward the natives are disrespectful and he  lacks the zeal  that every tourist must possess. The tourist has  no enthusiasm, urge and happiness  usually associated with a tourist while visiting new places. Instead, he  lacks the ability to connect  with the native people and their culture. He found them  ugly and nonsensical . His  priorities are set differently ; he wants to feel at home despite getting a chance to explore a new place.

Since most African and Asian countries have tribes, it can be assumed that the  culture  mentioned in this poem is  African or Asian . The luxurious lifestyle (pool, drinks, planes and bar) of the tourist implies that he is definitely from a western country with a more  “developed”  atmosphere. The point the poet is trying to make here is that western people  never appreciate  the cultures of  “less developed”  societies, for them these cultures are like  a show for amusement . They  fail to understand the value and beauty  of these cultures and often disrespect them as the tourist does in this poem. 

The poet uses  uneven sentences  and doesn’t create any stanzas, this may be done in order to show the tourist’s view that the place he visited  wasn’t significant for him ; it did not have much value in his eyes. The poetry technique used here is  imagery , to help guide the readers to see what the tourist sees. Mitchell was greatly influenced by  William Blake  who was well known for using imagery in his poems.

I am Tourist |  About the Author

Adrian Mitchell (1932-2008) was an English writer. He has penned a great number of plays, poems and novels. He wrote his first play at the age of ten. He was also a journalist, screenwriter for films and television and also the chairman of the University Poetry Society at Oxford. Mitchell was the first to publish an interview with the Beatles.

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i am a tourist poem

Passport To Eden

10 Beautiful Travel Poems For The Adventurer In You

i am a tourist poem

Travel poems breathe wanderlust into words. Here are ten beautiful travel poems for the adventurer in you.

Disclosure:   Heads up, this post contains affiliate links, which means Passport To Eden may get a commission (at no extra cost to you) if you make an online purchase. Don’t feel pressured to buy anything. We still love that you’re here, reading our content (side note: we suggest getting a coffee or tea first because our blog posts tend to be long). You can read our full affiliate disclosure here to find out more.

Table of Contents

A Travel Poem For The Girl With Itchy Feet

i am a tourist poem

against the shore,

restless like

for any adventure,

that blew along her way

– Atticus

A Travel Poem For The One On A Journey. Any Journey.

i am a tourist poem

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose,

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

– Walt Whitman, from Song of the Open Road

A Travel Poem That Sums Up Adventure In Four Gorgeous Lines

i am a tourist poem

My heart is warm with the friends I make,

And better friends I’ll not be knowing,

Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,

No matter where it’s going.

– Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Travel

A Travel Poem From Margaret Atwood Because She Never Disappoints

i am a tourist poem

No, they whisper. You own nothing.

You were a visitor, time after time

climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belong to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way around.

– Margaret Atwood, from The Moment

This Travel Poem Is Just Everything

i am a tourist poem

You are not a tree. You are not bound

to the ground you walk on. You have

wings and dreams and a heart full of

wonder. So pick up your feet and go.

Spread kindness like a wildflower

wherever you go. Fall in love with the

life you live, and always leave people

better than you found them.

– Drewniverses, from Tumblr

This 19th Century Travel Poem Is Just. So. Good.

i am a tourist poem

Half across the world from me

Lie the lands I’ll never see- I, whose longing lives and dies Where a ship has sailed away; I, that never close my eyes But to look upon Cathay.

Things I may not know nor tell Wait, where older waters swell; Ways that flowered at Sappho’s tread, Winds that sighed in Homer’s strings, Vibrant with the singing dead, Golden with the dust of wings.

Under deeper skies than mine, Quiet valleys dip and shine. Where their tender grasses heal Ancient scars of trench and tomb I shall never walk: nor kneel Where the bones of poets bloom.

If I seek a lovelier part, Where I travel goes my heart; Where I stray my thought must go; With me wanders my desire. Best to sit and watch the snow, Turn the lock, and poke the fire.

– Dorothy Parker, from Hearthside

If Only I Could Swallow This Modern Travel Poem

i am a tourist poem

be insecure

allow yourself lowness.

know that it is

the way to who you are.

– Nayyirah Waheed, from Traveling

Then, There’s This Transcendent Travel Poem

i am a tourist poem

my eyes will remember

how to love the world

under changing skies.

when the light changes,

so does the view.

– Lindsay O’Connell

And This One

i am a tourist poem

Somedays, I grow tired of life,

and long, for the next great adventure.

Finally, If You’re Waiting To Pack Your Bags And Go…

i am a tourist poem

Twenty years from now

You’ll be more disappointed

By the things you didn’t do

Than by the ones you did do.

So throw off the bowlines.

Sail away from the harbor.

Catch the trade winds in your sails.

– H. Jackson Brown, from P.S. I Love You (well, sort of. It’s a quote from his mother).

Did you enjoy these travel poems? Let me know in the comments below which one of these travel poems was your favorite! Mine is definitely #5, but I love them all!

FOR THOSE WHO LOVE POETRY

i am a tourist poem

PENGUIN CLASSICS

Complete Poems

Dorothy Parker’s poem is our favorite on this list. If you loved it as much as we did, here’s a complete collection of her works

i am a tourist poem

APPLEWOOD BOOKS

Song Of The Open Road

a hardcover edition of Walt Whitman’s poem about journeying, adventure, and finding yourself

i am a tourist poem

ATRIA BOOKS

The Dark Between Stars

for those who devoured Milk & Honey and Pillow Thoughts and want to read Atticus’ contribution to the Insta-popular poetry format

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Editor-In-Chief

Anshula grew up with a love of stories and places. Thirty-five states and 100 bookstores later, she's made her hobbit home in Middle Tennessee. Her Tookish side still takes over and leaves her chasing window seats, literary destinations, adventure books, sunrise coffee, and indie bookshops. She's appeared as a travel source on HuffPost, Reader's Digest, and MSN.

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I love Atticus.

How beautiful, Anshula! These are so inspiring.

Dee ~ Vanilla Papers

I love these, thanks. Time to share to my friends on FB!

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i am a tourist poem

16 Best Poems About Travel and Life

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December 17, 2021 by Tracey Nesbitt

We have compiled some of the best poems about travel into one post. They represent a wide variety of views and are taken from different time periods. They raise questions, share the joys of travel, and remind us to not take it for granted. Enjoy!

i am a tourist poem

Table of Contents

If You Were in Cairo by Simon Constam

Members of the Solo Traveler Insiders , our premium membership program, were treated to a reading of this poem by the author at a recent virtual event.

If You Were in Cairo

If you were in Cairo, and I in Kampala; if you took to Phoenix, and I to Havana; if you sojourned in Saigon, and I in Phnom Penh even that short distance would deeply offend. And seeing as how I’d want to stay close to you, I’d find every which way to stay in touch with you.

If you moved to Tuvalu, to live or to work, And email was stalled and the phones didn’t work. I’d train clever pigeons to soar up above, to faithfully reach you with my missives of love.

I’d vouchsafe a letter with a monk in a monastery. I’d entrust my love note to an Amazon missionary. I’d hire a Sherpa to mountain climb after you on Everest, on Lhotse, Nanga Parbat or K2…

I would do anything to keep myself close to you. I’d learn Swahili, Hindi, and even Urdu. No hurdle of language I’d have to confront, could ever deter my untiring want.

You can travel as far and as long as you like by plane, train, or boat, by car or by bike. I’d find a way, some way, to reach out to you, I’d even use snail mail if I absolutely had to.

If you flew supersonically out into the blue, I’d radio the pilot to tell you I love you. If you pined for space travel and lived in the shuttle, and our back and forth was a quite public muddle, and officials below and your crewmates above had all grown quite tired of such raging, unending, fulsome, embarrassing love,

no matter the trouble I’d have surely incurred, I’d carry on calling, could not be deterred by pleading from NASA, complaints or protests, they’d have to come get me, put me under arrest.

If not-talking was something that you took a vow for, I’d read to you, sing to you, whatever you’d need me to. I’d learn to lip read and learn to sign too There’s really no end to what I would do.

I’d follow you through darkness. I’d follow you through rain. My daily attention might drive you insane.

Have I made my point clear? You have nothing to fear I’m resourceful enough to keep loving you.

So great is my love, I am indefatigable . When it comes to you, love, I can’t stop loving you!

i am a tourist poem

Viaggiate by Gio Evan

I recently came across this poem when a friend shared it on Facebook. From what I can piece together (most information I could find about him is written in Italian, so I am at the mercy of Google Translate) Gio Evan spent about eight years traveling around India, South America, and Europe by bike. Perhaps the inspiration for this piece came from his journey. His website describes him as a “multifaceted artist, writer and poet, philosopher, humorist, performer, songwriter and street artist.”

New poems about travel don't come along every day, so this one is a nice surprise. Evan encourages us to travel for learning and personal growth, greater understanding and acceptance, and a feeling of connection to the world.

As I was unable to find an official English translation, I have posted the poem in the original Italian, straight from Evan's Facebook page, alongside the English version I first read online.

Travel/Viaggiate

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Consolation by Billy Collins

This poem, by former US Poet Laureate Billy Collins, who was the first recipient of the Mark Twain Prize for Humor in Poetry, celebrates the time we spend at home. It encourages us to appreciate our time not traveling as much as our time traveling. It takes on a slightly different meaning now, at a time when none of us can travel

Consolation

How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer, wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns. How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets, fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots. There are no abbeys here, no crumbling frescoes or famous domes and there is no need to memorize a succession of kings or tour the dripping corners of a dungeon. No need to stand around a sarcophagus, see Napoleon's little bed on Elba, or view the bones of a saint under glass. How much better to command the simple precinct of home than be dwarfed by pillar, arch, and basilica. Why hide my head in phrase books and wrinkled maps? Why feed scenery into a hungry, one-eyes camera eager to eat the world one monument at a time? Instead of slouching in a café ignorant of the word for ice, I will head down to the coffee shop and the waitress known as Dot. I will slide into the flow of the morning paper, all language barriers down, rivers of idiom running freely, eggs over easy on the way. And after breakfast, I will not have to find someone willing to photograph me with my arm around the owner. I will not puzzle over the bill or record in a journal what I had to eat and how the sun came in the window. It is enough to climb back into the car as if it were the great car of English itself and sounding my loud vernacular horn, speed off down a road that will never lead to Rome, not even Bologna.

simon constam, poems about travel

Dislocation by Simon Constam

People who don't travel a lot don't always understand how hard it can be. They often mistake traveling for taking a holiday. But they are very different things. Traveling, especially long term, challenges and stretches one in many ways. Time constraints on short trips can cause you to explore from morning to night, returning at the end exhausted yet ready to do it again the next day.

Dislocation

I envy those who envy me for traveling. Sometimes I sit on a foreign street in a busy cafe, imagining you wishing you were here, feeling for the first time the thrilling flush of wanting to be elsewhere, the frisson of happiness that wishes bring. And so I sit quietly knowing that now it’s time to figure out just what it is I meant to do here.

Of this poem about travel, Simon says: “I wrote Dislocation back when I was 19, in the middle of my round-the-world trip. The meaning and purpose of travel is not always evident. To build confidence, some would say. To open one's eyes, say others. And some would say to realize their destinies. I would often sit at an outdoor cafe wondering what it was exactly I was doing while the wheels and gears of everyday were spinning relentlessly at home.”

You can follow Simon on Instagram @dailyferocity where he publishes a new aphorism every day, or sign up to receive them by email .

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i am a tourist poem

Learning to Travel by Julene Tripp Weaver

Traveling long-term allows you to travel slowly. In fact, it demands that you travel slowly. And what are the benefits of that? It's about learning the language, cooking with an old woman, having children knock on your door when something exciting is happening. How wonderful.

But then, in this poem by Julene Tripp Weaver, the circus comes to town. New opportunities arise. And the traveler picks up and follows the opportunities “beneath the throw of the knife”. They ignore the risk of leaving what is comfortable and explore new horizons.

Learning to Travel

She will learn French, enough to greet and shop become known. A French baker befriends her. After a long summer she stays on into the fall writes poems, picks wild herbs. An old woman cooks with her. They sit in silence while the sun sets. In the evening she lights candles, when hungry they share bread and cheese. A circus comes to town, young children knock on her door to watch elephants parade in the street. Tents are raised. A knife thrower invites her for his act. The wind of flying knives pulses dreams of moving on with the circus until there is no question. She will go. She pulls together a bag says goodbye to the old woman to the baker, to the children, moves to the next town beneath the throw of the knife.

i am a tourist poem

Majorca by John Cooper Clarke

Instead of treating travel with reverence, this poem offers another truth about travel which is not quite, well, reverential. As Clarke says in his intro, it's about holiday packages. Love them or hate them, most of us can relate to this poem in one way or another.

Don't miss hearing Clarke perform this piece himself by scrolling to the bottom of the poem.

fasten your seatbelts says a voice inside the plane you can't hear no noise engines made by rolls royce take your choice …make mine majorca check out the parachutes can't be found alert those passengers they'll be drowned a friendly mug says “settle down” when i came round i was gagged and bound …for Majorca and the eyes caress the neat hostess her unapproachable flip finesse i found the meaning of the word excess they've got little bags if you wanna make a mess i fancied Cuba but it cost me less …to Majorca (Whose blonde sand fondly kisses the cool fathoms of the blue mediteranean) they packed us into the white hotel you could still smell the polycell wet white paint in the air-conditioned cells the waiter smelled of fake Chanel Gaulois… Garlic as well says if i like… i can call him “Miguel” …well really i got drunk with another fella who'd just brought up a previous paella he wanted a fight but said they were yella' …in Majorca the guitars rang and the castinets clicked the dancer's stamped and the dancer's kicked it's likely if you sang in the street you'd be nicked the double diamond flowed like sick mother's pride, tortilla and chips pneumatic drills when you try to kip …in Majorca a stomach infection put me in the shade must have been something in the lemonade but by the balls of franco i paid had to pawn my bucket and spade next year I'll take the international brigade …to Majorca

i am a tourist poem

Questions of Travel by Elizabeth Bishop

Why do we travel?  Is it, as Elizabeth Bishop suggests, a lack of imagination?

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) is considered one of the great American poets of the 20th century. Enjoy this beautiful poem about travel.

Questions of Travel

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams hurry too rapidly down to the sea, and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion, turning to waterfalls under our very eyes. –For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains, aren't waterfalls yet, in a quick age or so, as ages go here, they probably will be. But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling, the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships, slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? Where should we be today? Is it right to be watching strangers in a play in this strangest of theatres? What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around? The tiniest green hummingbird in the world? To stare at some inexplicable old stonework, inexplicable and impenetrable, at any view, instantly seen and always, always delightful? Oh, must we dream our dreams and have them, too? And have we room for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity not to have seen the trees along this road, really exaggerated in their beauty, not to have seen them gesturing like noble pantomimists, robed in pink. –Not to have had to stop for gas and heard the sad, two-noted, wooden tune of disparate wooden clogs carelessly clacking over a grease-stained filling-station floor. (In another country the clogs would all be tested. Each pair there would have identical pitch.) –A pity not to have heard the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird who sings above the broken gasoline pump in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque: three towers, five silver crosses. –Yes, a pity not to have pondered, blurr'dly and inconclusively, on what connection can exist for centuries between the crudest wooden footwear and, careful and finicky, the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear and, careful and finicky, the whittled fantasies of wooden cages. –Never to have studied history in the weak calligraphy of songbirds' cages. –And never to have had to listen to rain so much like politicians' speeches: two hours of unrelenting oratory and then a sudden golden silence in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come to imagined places, not just stay at home? Or could Pascal have been not entirely right about just sitting quietly in one's room?

Continent, city, country, society: the choice is never wide and never free. And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home, wherever that may be?”

i am a tourist poem

For the Traveler by John O’Donohue

Aren't poetry and travel simply two different modes of exploring the world? Of learning who we are, what we believe, and how it all fits together?

When we are surrounded by family and friends, we are subject to their expectations of us. Our behavior, even our thoughts, are circumscribed by a desire for acceptance. Traveling solo you have time to discover who you are, what's really in your heart, when no one is looking.

John O'Donohue was born in 1956 and died in 2008. An Irish scholar, philosopher, priest, and poet, his first published work was “Anam Cara” which holds a wonderful quote for solo travelers:

“When you cease to fear your solitude, a new creativity awakens in you. Your forgotten or neglected wealth begins to reveal itself. You come home to yourself and learn to rest within. Thoughts are our inner senses. Infused with silence and solitude, they bring out the mystery of inner landscape.”

For the Traveler

Every time you leave home, Another road takes you Into a world you were never in. New strangers on other paths await. New places that have never seen you Will startle a little at your entry. Old places that know you well Will pretend nothing Changed since your last visit. When you travel, you find yourself Alone in a different way, More attentive now To the self you bring along, Your more subtle eye watching You abroad; and how what meets you Touches that part of the heart That lies low at home: How you unexpectedly attune To the timbre in some voice, Opening in conversation You want to take in To where your longing Has pressed hard enough Inward, on some unsaid dark, To create a crystal of insight You could not have known You needed To illuminate Your way. When you travel, A new silence Goes with you, And if you listen, You will hear What your heart would Love to say. A journey can become a sacred thing: Make sure, before you go, To take the time To bless your going forth, To free your heart of ballast So that the compass of your soul Might direct you toward The territories of spirit Where you will discover More of your hidden life, And the urgencies That deserve to claim you. May you travel in an awakened way, Gathered wisely into your inner ground; That you may not waste the invitations Which wait along the way to transform you. May you travel safely, arrive refreshed, And live your time away to its fullest; Return home more enriched, and free To balance the gift of days which call you.

joy

The Lady in 38C by Lori Jakiela

Traveling on a regular basis, flight attendants have a chance to see the world. Serving hundreds of people every day from different cultures, different economic classes, genders, ages, and every other attribute that contributes to making individuals unique, they are positioned to observe and appreciate the human condition. 

Poet Lori Jakiela worked for Delta Air Lines for six years. She is now a professor at The University of Pittsburgh-Greensburg.

This poem is about unadulterated joy. Using her experience as a flight attendant, Jakiela focuses us on how we often miss the joy that life has to offer.

The Lady in 38C

The Lady in 38 C gets confused. She thinks I'm her nurse. “Nurse!” she yells. “My finger!” So I bring her a band-aid and put it on even though she's fine. “Oh thank you nurse!” she yells. “You're a good one.” She winks and smiles and the woman next to her glares into her computer. I think the old lady's charming. She's 86, still pretty. Her eyes are blue. Her hair is a cloud. She looks exactly like what's outside. She's the only air in this cabin, the only light. “Nurse!” she yells, and I look back over the sad heads, eggs in a carton, faces pressed against the mite-ridden blankets and pillows they fought for, and there she is, beaming. “Nurse,” she says. “Where are we?” I take her hand and look out the window. I scratch my head, smile and say, “Somewhere over Idunno.” She's the only passenger who's ever gotten that joke. Up here, nearly everyone is miserable. I count on small joys to get by. The woman in 38C says, “Oh, Nurse!” and the woman next to her who probably thinks we're somewhere over Idaho, that wonderland of Hemingway and golden potatoes, rolls her eyes and bangs the computer keys until the seatbelt sign goes on and the captain says, “We'll be experiencing weather.” which is what people say instead of scary things like storm and turbulence and pretty soon the plane is bouncing and the woman with the computer grips her armrest while the old lady throws her arms up like she's on a roller coaster and yells, “They should charge extra for this!”

i am a tourist poem

The World Won’t Miss You for a While by Kathryn Simmonds

Perhaps the world will continue turning if you take a break now and then. And, just maybe, on your return you’ll make a better contribution to it.

In this poem, Kathryn Simmonds, a British poet born in 1972 illustrates that stepping off the planet is not just for busy Type A personalities. It is for Hare Krishnas, sous chefs, and apprentice pharmacists. It is for everyone.

The World Won’t Miss You for a While

Lie down with me you hillwalkers and rest, untie your boots and separate your toes, ignore the compass wavering north/north west. Quit trailing through the overcrowded streets with tinkling bells, you child of Hare Krishna. Hush. Unfurl your saffron robes. How sweet the grass. And you, photographer of wars, lie down and cap your lens. Ambassador, take off your dancing shoes. There are no laws by which you must abide oh blushing boy with Stanley knife, no county magistrates are waiting here to dress you down: employ yourself with cutting up these wild flowers as you like. Sous chef with baby guinea fowl to stuff, surveillance officer with hours to fill, and anorexic weighing up a meal, lie down. Girl riding to an interview, turn back before they force you to reveal your hidey holes. Apprentice pharmacist, leave carousels of second generation happy pills. The long term sad. And journalist with dreams, forget the man from Lancashire who lost his tongue, the youth who found it, kept it quivering in a matchbox for a year.

i am a tourist poem

3 Poems About Travel by Sheenagh Pugh

Ah, if the roads we take every day could offer us the surprises, even on occasion, that travel delivers.

In this first poem about travel by Sheenagh Pugh, a British poet (originally from Wales) who says in her biography “I have been accused of being ‘populist’ and ‘too accessible,’ both of which I hope are true,” we are offered a road to explore what we don't know. To see what could be. What could happen.

Travel cannot always be on our agenda but we can still look around blind corners for new discoveries.  

What If This Road

What if this road, that has held no surprises these many years, decided not to go home after all; what if it could turn left or right with no more ado than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin were like a long, supple bolt of cloth, that is shaken and rolled out, and takes a new shape from the contours beneath? And if it chose to lay itself down in a new way; around a blind corner, across hills you must climb without knowing what's on the other side; who would not hanker to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know a story's end, or where a road will go?

Many of us spend too much time documenting our travels rather than experiencing them.

We could live more fully in the moment. We could savor the experience to learn more deeply and remember more clearly.

In this second poem by Sheenagh Pugh, we are advised that notes and images offer little upon our return.

The Opportune Moment

If you were waiting for the opportune moment, that was it” – Capt Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl When you go ashore in that town, take neither a camera nor a notebook. However many photographs you upload of that street, the smell of almond paste will be missing; the harbour will not sound of wind slapping on chains. You will read notes like “Sami church”, later, and know you saw nothing, never put it where you could find it again, were never really there. When you go ashore in the small port with the rusty trawlers, there will be fur hawkers who all look like Genghis Khan on a market stall, crumbling pavements, roses frozen in bud, an altar with wool hangings, vessels like canal ware, a Madonna with a Russian doll face. When you go ashore, take nothing but the knowledge that where you are, you never will be again

There are two parts to this final poem about travel by Sheenagh Pugh. The first projects a future when our travel is not around the world but to Earth. It muses on a time when we have ruined our planet to the point that we no longer live here and it has become a destination suitable only for the “young and fit”. Do our travels contribute to this potential future?

The second part urges the reader to take it all in deeply, with all your senses. This applies equally to today's travelers as tomorrow’s. It explores the possible ways of experiencing a new place. It is gorgeous.

Do You Think We’ll Ever Get to See Earth, Sir?

I hear they're hoping to run trips one day, for the young and fit, of course. I don't see much use in it myself; there'll be any number of places you can't land, because they're still toxic, and even in the relatively safe bits you won't see what it was; what it could be. I can't fancy a tour through the ruins of my home with a party of twenty-five and a guide to tell me what to see. But if you should see some beautiful thing, some leaf, say, damascened with frost, some iridescence on a pigeon's neck, some stone, some curve, some clear water; look at it as if you were made of eyes, as if you were nothing but an eye, lidless and tender, to be probed and scorched by extreme light. Look at it with your skin, with the small hairs on the back of your neck. If it is well-shaped, look at it with your hands; if it has fragrance, breathe it into yourself; if it tastes sweet, put your tongue to it. Look at it as a happening, a moment; let nothing of it go unrecorded, map it as if it were already passing. Look at it with the inside of your head, look at it for later, look at it for ever, and look at it once for me.

walt whitman, poems about travel

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

The open road holds the pleasures of solitude as well as surprising adventures.

Walt Whitman (American poet, essayist, and journalist, 1819-1892) wrote his “Song of the Open Road” long before the automobile was invented. But somehow, that notion of the open road was already present in the American psyche. This is a massive poem, epic in nature.

Song of the Open Road

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.) 2 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here. Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate person, are not denied; The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town, They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me. 3 You air that serves me with breath to speak! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape! You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined side! you distant ships! You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd facades! you roofs! You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards! You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much! You doors and ascending steps! you arches! You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. 4 The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me? Do you say Venture not–if you leave me you are lost? Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me? O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, You express me better than I can express myself, You shall be more to me than my poem. I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me, I think whoever I see must be happy. 5 From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness. All seems beautiful to me, can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you, I will recruit for myself and you as I go, I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them, Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me, Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me. 6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. Here a great personal deed has room, (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.) Here is the test of wisdom, Wisdom is not finally tested in schools, Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content, Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things; Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul. Now I re-examine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents. Here is realization, Here is a man tallied–he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love–if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them. Only the kernel of every object nourishes; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me? Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is apropos; Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? 7 Here is the efflux of the soul, The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd gates, ever provoking questions, These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they? Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank? Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause? What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good-will? what gives them to be free to mine? 8 The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged. Here rises the fluid and attaching character, The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman, (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.) Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. 9 Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! Traveling with me you find what never tires. The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. Allons! we must not stop here, However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here, However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here, However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while. 10 Allons! the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail. Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; Allons! from all formules! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests. The stale cadaver blocks up the passage–the burial waits no longer. Allons! yet take warning! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, Only those may come who come in sweet and determin'd bodies, No diseas'd person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.) 11 Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call'd riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call'd by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd hands toward you. 12 Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! They too are on the road–they are the swift and majestic men–they are the greatest women, Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, Habitues of many distant countries, habitues of far-distant dwellings, Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain'd manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content, Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. 13 Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you, To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither, To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it, To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts, To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls. All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments–all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best–toward something great. Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you. Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it. Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere, Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, Speaking of any thing else but never of itself. 14 Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. Have the past struggles succeeded? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? Now understand me well–it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm'd, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. 15 Allons! the road is before us! It is safe–I have tried it–my own feet have tried it well–be not detain'd! Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd! Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd! Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law. Camerado, I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourselp. will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

i am a tourist poem

Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown

It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius

Traveling solo provides an opportunity to explore that aspect of your life which may be overshadowed by responsibilities and the expectations of others. It is an opportunity to live as a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, or whatever role you would, in a perfect world, take on. In doing so you will be that much closer to a well-earned label of genius.

We’ve been unable to confirm the author of this poem about travel. Perhaps Sana Musama or Musasama, but we can’t be certain. Regardless, it's a beautiful and significant piece of writing. If you have more details on the poet, please let us know so we can properly acknowledge them.

Why do I travel?

It is on the road that my inner voice speaks the loudest and my heart beats the strongest. It is on the road that I take extra pride in my wooly hair, full features and lineage. It is on the road that I develop extra senses and the hairs on my arms stand up and say “Sana, don't go there”, and I listen. It's when I safety pin my money to my underclothes and count it a million times before I go to sleep, It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius. It's on the road that I am fearless and unstoppable and if necessary ball up my fist and fight back. It is on the road that I talk to my deceased parents and they speak back It's on the road that I reprimand myself, and set new goals, refuel, stop and begin again. It is on the road that I experience what freedom truly is. It is my travel that has transformed me making me a citizen of the world. When my humanness, compassion and affection are raised to a new level and I share unconditionally.

i am a tourist poem

The Return by Geneen Marie Haugen 

Single people are frequently the butt of jokes and jibes about “getting lucky”. But this term takes on a whole new meaning through solo travel, as it does in this poem. Here, one gets lucky when they return from travel “trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon”.

Not everyone understands the need to travel and fewer still understand the need of solo travelers to head out on their own. By traveling solo, you can connect more deeply with a place and its people than when you are distracted by a companion. You get close to the ground, to the “musk of the earth”. You will be more affected by travel.

The poet, Geneen Marie Haugen is a writer, wilderness wanderer, and scholar.  

Some day, if you are lucky, you'll return from a thunderous journey trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon. Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change and you, too, will wonder if your skin shows traces of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest of your hair, if Andromeda burns from your eyes. Do not be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own possibility, who barely dream. If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wild cry, a howl, you will reassure them. We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all, just this frantic waiting to die. And yet, they tremble, mute, afraid you've returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language to teach them, without a compass bearing to a forgotten border where no one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies and granite and bone. They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear your secret is dangerous, shattering, and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they — like you — must disintegrate before unfolding tremulous wings.

i am a tourist poem

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

This may be one of the most well known poems about travel.

In travel, in life, is the road less traveled more courageous? Is it better? Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever course you take it will make all the difference.

The Road Not Taken

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 Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I marked the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

i am a tourist poem

Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros

This poem delivers a most positive outlook on life from the most negative angle possible.

Solo travel helps you flip on its head all that Martha Medeiros says contributes to a slow death. It causes you to change routines in your own rhythm, challenge yourself, build self-esteem, ask questions, explore with curiosity, and expand your world.

We all deserve splendid happiness. I hope you find yours.

He who becomes the slave of habit, who follows the same routes every day, who never changes pace, who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who does not speak and does not experience, dies slowly. He or she who shuns passion, who prefers black on white, dotting ones i's rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings, dies slowly. He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy, who is unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for uncertainty, to thus follow a dream, those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives, die slowly. He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly. He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, dies slowly. He or she who abandons a project before starting it, who fails to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who doesn't reply when they are asked something they do know, dies slowly. Let's try and avoid death in small doses, reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness

What are your favorite poems about travel? Tell us about them and their meaning for you in the comments section below.

Thinking about hitting the open road? Check out our Solo Road Trip category . Do you have a solo travel story to tell? Share your photos and the story of your trip here.

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i am a tourist poem

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Home » Budget Travel » 25 Inspiring Poems about Adventure

25 Inspiring Poems about Adventure

Travel has always had the power to stir the soul and inspire works of great artistry. The feeling of freedom exploring offers us has inspired humans to create moving artworks, from paintings and songs to epic poems.

Great poets like Whitman and Tennyson have penned profound poems about adventure that have stood the test of time.

We’ve gathered this list of some of the best-known adventure poems, and some lesser-known but no less impactful poems to ignite your wanderlust. They capture the feeling of being out in the world immersing in new places.

i am a tourist poem

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1. The Road Not Taken –  Robert Frost

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“I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

Robert Frost, regarded by many as one of America’s greatest poets, wrote this adventure poem which has no doubt inspired more travels than we could ever know. It’s a call to courage, to face the unknown, and to break from the crowd and follow your own path wherever it may lead. 

2. Song of the Open Road –  Walt Whitman

“Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,  Healthy, free, the world before me,  The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.  Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,  Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,  Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,  Strong and content I travel the open road.”

Song of the Open Road – Walt Whitman

3. Freedom –  Olive Runner

“Give me the long, straight road before me, A clear, cold day with a nipping air, Tall, bare trees to run on beside me, A heart that is light and free from care. Then let me go!-I care not whither My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be Free as the brook that flows to the river, Free as the river that flows to the sea.”

Oliver Runner’s poem about adventure captures so much of what drives every traveler. The sense of untethered wandering, free to go where the road may lead. As long as we’re treading new ground and experiencing new places, we’re at our happiest. 

4. For the Traveller –  John O’Donohue

“When you travel, you find yourself Alone in a different way, More attentive now To the self you bring along, Your more subtle eye watching You abroad; and how what meets you Touches that part of the heart That lies low at home: 

How you unexpectedly attune To the timbre in some voice, Opening in conversation You want to take in To where your longing Has pressed hard enough Inward, on some unsaid dark, To create a crystal of insight You could not have known.”

When it comes to poems about adventure, this one by John O’Donohue does well to explain the changes that occur within us when we travel. We may see new horizons every day, and we may meet new people around each corner, but the thing that changes the most is the heart and mind of the traveler. 

5. If Once You’ve Slept on an Island –  Rachel Field

“If once you have slept on an island  You’ll never be quite the same;  You may look as you looked the day before  And go by the same old name,  You may bustle about in street and shop  You may sit at home and sew,  But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls  Wherever your feet may go.  You may chat with the neighbors of this and that  And close to your fire keep,  But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell  And tides beat through your sleep.  Oh! you won’t know why and you can’t say how  Such a change upon you came,  But once you have slept on an island,  You’ll never be quite the same.”

If Once You’ve Slept on an Island – Rachel Field

6. Travel –  Robert Louis Stevenson

“I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats;— Where in sunshine reaching out Eastern cities, miles about, Are with mosque and minaret Among sandy gardens set, And the rich goods from near and far Hang for sale in the bazaar,— Where the Great Wall round China goes, And on one side the desert blows, And with bell and voice and drum Cities on the other hum;—”

7. Die Slowly –  Martha Medeiros

“He who does not travel, who does not read, who can not hear music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, dies slowly.”

Die Slowly – Martha Mederios

The title of this adventure poem may seem dark, and not much about adventure at all, but it’s really about living. Living so fully and so well that death seems to take its time arriving. We know that we all die one day, but we can make so much of our time, that once is enough. 

Reducing our days on earth into an endless stream of items on a to-do list, fulfilling responsibilities, and going through the motions is not a way to get the most out of it. 

8. Oh the Places You’ll Go –  Dr. Seuss

“You’re off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting, So… get on your way!” 

Oh the Places You’ll Go – Dr. Suess

This is the greatest poem about adventure that inspires both adults and children. At its heart, this poem is a call to adventure, encouraging readers to head off into the world with bravery, courage, and curiosity for the things that await to be seen and discovered. 

9. Questions of Travel –  Elizabeth Bishop

“Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? Where should we be today?”

“But surely it would have been a pity not to have seen the trees along this road, really exaggerated in their beauty, not to have seen them gesturing like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.”

10. Over the Hills and Far Away –  William Ernest Henley

“Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade  On desolate sea and lonely sand,  Out of the silence and the shade  What is the voice of strange command  Calling you still, as friend calls friend  With love that cannot brook delay,  To rise and follow the ways that wend  Over the hills and far away? “

Over the Hills and Far Away – William Ernest Henley

11. O to Sail –  Walt Whitman

“O to sail in a ship,  To leave this steady unendurable land,  To leave this tiresome sameness of streets,  the sidewalks and the houses,  To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and entering the ship,  To sail and sail and sail!”

12. Travel –  Edna St Vincent Millay

“The railroad track is miles away, And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by, Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky, And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I’ll not be knowing; Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, No matter where it’s going.”

To the person with an adventurous heart, travel will call in many ways. The restlessness may wax and wane but it never leaves us entirely. The deep desire to explore will always be back to call us, to motion us onwards on our next journey. We can try to distract ourselves and live on regardless but the call will come again. It always does. 

13. The Land of Beyond –  Robert W Service

“Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond,  That dreams at the gates of the day?  Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,  And ever so far away;  Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls,  And ye of the trails overfond,  With saddle and pack, by paddle and track,  Let’s go to the Land of Beyond!” 

The Land of Beyond – Robert W Service

14. Prayer for Travellers –  Anon

“May the road rise up to meet you.  May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; The rains fall soft upon your fields.  And until we meet again,  May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”  

15. Ulysses –  Alfred Tennyson

“For always roaming with a hungry heart  Much have I seen and known; cities of men  And manners, climates, councils, governments,  Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;  And drunk delight of battle with my peers,  Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.  I am a part of all that I have met;  Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’  Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades  For ever and forever when I move.”

This epic adventure poem written by Tennyson tells of a life lived in pursuit of adventure. It’s told from the point of view of Ulysses, who is now old and unfulfilled by a sedentary life. Though his body has aged he still longs for adventure. The main theme is that as long as there are horizons to chase and strength in our bodies, we can always choose to set out and explore. We should use every day we’re given to its fullest, taking every morsel of adventure we can. 

16. I Want a Life Measured –  Tyler Knott Gregson

“I want a life measured in first steps on foreign soils and deep breaths in brand new seas I want a life measured in Welcome Signs, each stamped with a different name, borders marked with metal and paint. Show me the streets that don’t know the music of my meandering feet, and I will play their song upon them. Perfume me please in the smells of far away, I will never wash my hair if it promises to stay. I want a life measured in the places I haven’t gone, short sleeps on long flights, strange voices teaching me new words to describe the dawn.”

Tyler Knott Gregson’s poem enlists all the senses in describing the gifts that travel brings. We should measure our lives by the places we’ve been, and the experiences we’ve had in faraway places. The wanderer in us all can relate to this feeling of needing to fill our days with newness and unexplored places. 

i am a tourist poem

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17. Why Do I Travel – Unknown

“It is on the road that my inner voice speaks the loudest and my heart beats the strongest. It is on the road that I take extra pride in my wooly hair, full features and lineage. It is on the road that I develop extra senses and the hairs on my arms stand up and say “Sana, don’t go there”, and I listen. It’s when I safety pin my money to my underclothes and count it a million times before I go to sleep, It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius. It’s on the road that I am fearless and unstoppable and if necessary ball up my fist and fight back. It is on the road that I talk to my deceased parents and they speak back. It’s on the road that I reprimand myself, and set new goals, refuel, stop and begin again. It is on the road that I experience what freedom truly is. It is my travel that has transformed me making me a citizen of the world. When my humanness, compassion and affection are raised to a new level and I share unconditionally.”

While the author of this piece is unknown, it’s clear that this poem about adventure comes from the heart of an explorer. When we travel we change in ways we could never anticipate. We grow and we learn and we change, and we’re never the same again. With each adventure we take, we gain something and are forever transformed. 

18. A Call to Adventure –  John Mark Green

“Set fire to all your maps,  Forget how it’s always been.  We’re explorers of the heart,  Learning to dream again.  The adventure of a lifetime,  With love along as our guide.  Exotic places beyond imagination –  Ones we’ve longed for deep inside.” 

A Call to Adventure – John Mark Green

19. Returning –  Erin Hanson

“Perhaps we only leave So we can once again arrive, To get a bird’s eye view Of what it means to be alive. For there is beauty in returning, Oh how wonderful, how strange, To see that everything’s different But know it is only you who changed.”

By leaving, we gain a new perspective on the world. This change within us makes it impossible to go back to who we were before we left, and when we return we can’t see things the same way anymore. Coming back is not the same as having never left. 

20. Wanderlust –  Richard Avedon

“You must not think because my glance is quick To shift from this to that, from here to there, Because I am most usually where The way is strangest and the wonders thick, Because when wind is wildest and the bay Swoops madly upward and the gulls are few And I am doing as I want to do, Leaving the town to go my aimless way; You must not think because I am the kind Who always shunned security and such As bother the responsible of mind That I shall never total up to much; I know my drifting will not prove a loss, For mine is a rolling stone that has gathered moss.”

21. The Enchanted Traveler –  Bliss Carmen

“We travelled empty-handed With hearts all fear above, For we ate the bread of friendship, We drank the wine of love. Through many a wondrous autumn, Through many a magic spring, We hailed the scarlet banners, We heard the blue-bird sing. We looked on life and nature With the eager eyes of youth, And all we asked or cared for Was beauty, joy, and truth. We found no other wisdom, We learned no other way, Than the gladness of the morning, The glory of the day. So all our earthly treasure Shall go with us, my dears, Aboard the Shadow Liner, Across the sea of years.”

This is a simple and beautiful adventure poem about the joys of being free to wander. Our lives should be a series of adventures, through the seasons of our lives, and our treasure is the places we’ve been to and the people we’ve shared the journey with. 

22. The Farewell –  Khalil Gibran

“We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.  Even while the earth sleeps we travel.  We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.” 

The Farewell – Khalil Gibran

23. What if this Road –  Sheenagh Pugh

“What if this road, that has held no surprises these many years, decided not to go home after all; what if it could turn left or right with no more ado than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin were like a long, supple bolt of cloth, that is shaken and rolled out, and takes a new shape from the contours beneath? And if it chose to lay itself down in a new way, around a blind corner, across hills you must climb without knowing what’s on the other side, who would not hanker to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know a story’s end, or where a road will go?”

24. The Return –  Geneen Marie Haugen

“Some day, if you are lucky, you’ll return from a thunderous journey trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon. Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change and you, too, will wonder if your skin shows traces of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest of your hair, if Andromeda burns from your eyes.”

Geneen Marie Haugen talks about the lasting effect that travel has on us. When we return home to those who never left, we seem worlds apart. Do they envy us? Do they fear us for what we may know that they do not? We return changed and we can only hope that change inspires others to chase their adventures too.

25. On the World –  Francis Quarles

“The world’s an Inn; and I her guest.  I eat; I drink; I take my rest.  My hostess, nature, does deny me  Nothing, wherewith she can supply me;  Where, having stayed a while, I pay  Her lavish bills, and go my way. “

On the World

Final thoughts

There are so many more excellent poems about adventure out there to get your wanderlust juices flowing. These are just the tip of the iceberg for incredible adventure inspiration.

We hope these verses have ignited, or at least fanned the flames of exploration within you. Who knows, you might set off on an epic journey and be inspired to create your very own poem.

i am a tourist poem

Rose Wilson

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  •   The best poems on travel

The best poems on travel

Discover some of the best poems about travel including verses from thomas hardy, walt whitman and edgar allan poe..

i am a tourist poem

Here, we have gathered some of the greatest poems written about the allure of travel, and the wonders that can be discovered when we venture beyond our own doorsteps. 

Discover our edit of the best poetry books.

From  The Silverado Squatters 

There are no foreign lands. It is the traveller only who is foreign. 

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)

A Prayer for Travellers 

May the road rise up to meet you. 

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall soft upon your fields. 

And until we meet again, 

May God hold you in the palm of His hand. 

On the World 

The world’s an inn; and I her guest. 

I eat; I drink; I take my rest. 

My hostess, nature, does deny me 

Nothing, wherewith she can supply me; 

Where, having stayed a while, I pay 

Her lavish bills, and go my way. 

Francis Quarles (1592–1644)

If Once You Have Slept on an Island 

If once you have slept on an island 

You’ll never be quite the same; 

You may look as you looked the day before 

And go by the same old name, 

You may bustle about in street and shop; 

You may sit at home and sew, 

But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls 

Wherever your feet may go. 

You may chat with the neighbors of this and that 

And close to your fire keep, 

But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell 

And tides beat through your sleep. 

Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how 

Such change upon you came, 

But – once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same! 

Rachel Field (1894–1942)

Gaily bedight, 

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,

Had journeyed long, 

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado. 

But he grew old – 

This knight so bold – 

And o’er his heart a shadow 

Fell, as he found 

No spot of ground 

That looked like Eldorado. 

And, as his strength 

Failed him at length, 

He met a pilgrim shadow – 

‘Shadow,’ said he, 

‘Where can it be – 

This land of Eldorado?’ 

‘Over the Mountains 

Of the Moon,

 Down the Valley of the Shadow, 

Ride, boldly ride,’ 

The shade replied, 

‘If you seek for Eldorado!’ 

Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) 

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.

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)

A Strip of Blue 

I do not own an inch of land,     

But all I see is mine, – 

The orchard and the mowing fields, 

The lawns and gardens fine. 

The winds my tax-collectors are, 

They bring me tithes divine, – 

Wild scents and subtle essences, 

A tribute rare and free; 

And, more magnificent than all, 

My window keeps for me 

A glimpse of blue immensity, – 

A little strip of sea. 

Richer am I than he who owns 

Great fleets and argosies; 

I have a share in every ship 

Won by the inland breeze, 

To loiter on yon airy road 

Above the apple-trees, 

I freight them with my untold dreams; 

Each bears my own picked crew; 

And nobler cargoes wait for them 

Than ever India knew, – 

My ships that sail into the East 

Across that outlet blue. 

Sometimes they seem like living shapes, – 

The people of the sky, – 

Guests in white raiment coming down 

From heaven, which is close by; 

I call them by familiar names, 

As one by one draws nigh,

So white, so light, so spirit-like, 

From violet mists they bloom! 

The aching wastes of the unknown 

Are half reclaimed from gloom, 

Since on life’s hospitable sea 

All souls find sailing-room. 

The ocean grows a weariness 

With nothing else in sight; 

Its east and west, its north and south, 

Spread out from morn till night; 

We miss the warm, caressing shore, 

Its brooding shade and light. 

Lucy Larcom (1824–1893)

O to sail in a ship, 

To leave this steady unendurable land, 

To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, 

the sidewalks and the houses, 

To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and 

entering a ship, 

To sail and sail and sail! 

Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

Midnight on the Great Western 

In the third-class sat the journeying boy, 

And the roof-lamp’s oily flame 

Played down on his listless form and face, 

Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going, 

Or whence he came. 

In the band of his hat the journeying boy 

Had a ticket stuck; and a string 

Around his neck bore the key of his box, 

That twinkled gleams of the lamp’s sad beams 

Like a living thing. 

What past can be yours, O journeying boy,

Towards a world unknown, 

Who calmly, as if incurious quite

 On all at stake, can undertake 

This plunge alone?

Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy, 

Our rude realms far above, 

Whence with spacious vision you mark and mete 

This region of sin that you find you in

 But are not of? 

Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)

Give me the long, straight road before me, 

A clear, cold day with a nipping air, 

Tall, bare trees to run on beside me, 

A heart that is light and free from care. 

Then let me go! – I care not whither 

My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be 

Free as the brook that flows to the river, 

Free as the river that flows to the sea. 

Olive Runner

Poems for Travellers

Book cover for Poems for Travellers

Poems for Travellers is part of the Macmillan Collector’s Library, with an introduction from the esteemed travel writer Paul Theroux. From Walt Whitman to Christina Rossetti, this collection contains some of the finest poems ever written about travel.

You may also like

Clive james: writer, poet and broadcaster 1939-2019, our edit of the greatest american poets, twelve autumn poems.

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poems that'll inspire you to travel

Literary Travel , Travel Inspiration

10 travel poems that will inspire you to go.

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We all need beautiful travel poems.

Why? To inspire us to travel, embrace our inner bravery, and explore the world.

Take myself for instance. I love poetry. I also love travel. So it’s natural I’d write an entire post on poems that will inspire you to travel! But before I get too gushy, I have a confession to make:

It’s ironic that I love poetry so much.

When I attended college and decided to major in English, I enrolled in a poetry course for beginners, but dropped out once I learned the professor had rules against leaving the lecture to use the bathroom. (Ew).

I’ve also taken classes where poetry wasn’t open for student interpretation. Nope.

If you disagreed with the professor’s perspective, you were Dead Wrong and ought to feel sorry for bastardizing literature. So usually I’d zone out and think about my next meal, likely Wendys or a Fat Sandwich. Ahhh, memories.

travel poetry

Now, though, poetry inspires me. I know I probably sound like a huge nerd, but whatever, it’s the truth. I have a long list of favorite poems including travel-related ones. And what better place to share my love of travel poetry than on my blog?

Tuck in, readers! You’re in for a fun ride!

Now I hope these poems will inspire you to travel too!

Even if you hate poetry (I see you), still give these texts a fair chance. I know when I let these words flow through my mind I feel an urge to throw caution to the winds, step onto a plane, and enjoy the unknown.

Travel Poem 1: “I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud” – William Wordsworth

I’m a solo female traveler.  Sure, I’ll join friends and family on trips, but I’ve visited a lot of new places alone. Just me and my backpack. I don’t mind solo travel.

If anything, exploring the world on your own terms is very, very, very liberating. You meet new people, choose your own activities, wake up whenever you want, the whole nine yards.

Besides I looooooove when no one else is around to tell me what to do. I’m an independent boss like that.

In the travel poem “I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud,” the speaker reflects on a beautiful daffodil field and all alone, he remembers their vibrant colors.

As a solo female traveler, I have a lot of memories that only I share. And yeah, I definitely reflect on those incredible times on miserable rainy NJ commutes.

Romanticism is a movement filled with travel poems of all shapes and sizes. Trust me, this isn’t the only travel poem of the era either.

Furthermore, Wordsworth wrote some of his finest poetry in the Lake District of England. I haven’t had the chance to visit (yet), but the pictures are spectacular, depicting green rolling hills and scenic lakes. No wonder he was so inspired.

poems that will inspire you to travel

Travel Poem 2. “Ulysses” – Alfred, Lord Tennyson

This travel poem is told from the perspective of Ulysses, the great ancient Greek hero of  Odyssey  fame. I wasn’t the biggest fan of the character when I read The Odyssey  (cheater!), but I felt some sympathy for him in this poem.

In Tennyson’s work, we’ve presented with an aging and utterly bored king. Even though he’s reached old age, Ulysses decides to leave his kingdom and make new discoveries.

He simply can’t stand sitting on the throne for the rest of his life. Ulysses vows to “never yield” or give up on his journey, meaning it’s likely that he won’t return home ever again.

As you already know, I angsted a lot about turning 30. Probably too much. I worry sometimes that I’m too “old” to daydream about future trips – international and domestic – and I should just focus on, uh, more “normal” goals. Like buying a house, finding a husband, and having kids. Yawn.

But, you know what, if an adventurous life is good enough for Ulysses, then it’s good enough for me.

Ulysses is a fine piece of travel poetry even if it’s a little depressing. The lines allude Ulysses will never return to this kingdom again.

poems that will inspire you to travel

Travel Poem 3. “Song of Myself” – Walt Whitman

“Song of Myself” is a celebration of oneself. The theme absolutely shows in the title. And, as someone who practices self-love , I appreciate a travel poem that cheers on the self.

We’re often told to act humble. Not brag. To let others enjoy the spotlight. To give to charity. To remember family and friends.

Okay, I understand the importance of giving. I’ve been told I’m quite generous with my time and money, and I believe this is a positive trait of mine.

So while you don’t want to turn into an arrogant sack of awfulness, too much humbleness leads to weaker self-esteem which then leads to undermining one’s own special accomplishments.

So drop the excessive humbleness. Drop it now!

Travel requires confidence. Many people decide to travel for personal reasons such as healing a broken heart, re-discovering themselves, uncovering their family’s history, restarting their lives, etc. etc, but regardless, you need confidence to break outside your comfort zone.

“Song of Myself” is motivational and definitely can be considered a travel poem. Why? Well. This poem makes you feel as if you can do anything even travel the world.

poems that will inspire you to travel

Travel Poem 4. “The Road Not Taken” – Robert Frost

Okay, I’m entering into “cliche territory” now, but I had to include Frost’s famous travel poem on this list. It just felt incomplete without it.

In Frost’s poem, the speaker comes across two diverging paths in the woods. S/he decides to take the path not trodden by millions of others. The lesser traveled path is scarier, but the speaker treks onwards and claims the decision made a meaningful difference.

As you can see, the poem is a gigantic metaphor for making unconventional choices to benefit your life.

Solo travel especially is seen as an unusual choice  but my trips have definitely molded me into the person who I am now, a stronger and more assured person. I don’t shudder at the idea of driving to new places, for example. I used to worry about getting lost all the time, but now I shrug, use my Waze app, and not worry too much.

Embark on the road not taken! You’d be surprised at what you discover on your journey.

poems that will inspire you to travel

Travel Poem 5. “Uphill” – Christina Rossetti

Eeeee, Christina Rossetti is one of my favorite Victorian poets! I’ll always hold a special place in my heart for “The Goblin Market.”

Meanwhile “Uphill” embodies all that is amazing and difficult about traveling.

The journey uphill takes the speaker the entire day, morning through night. Travel requires sleepless nights (argh, damn you, international flights), uncomfortable bus rides, and canceled train departures. I can’t count the number of times my transportation plans fell flat on its face.

Ultimately, the speaker is nervous about making it to the top of the hill. Understandable.

However, the inn at the top of the hill promises company and warm beds for all travelers. No one is ever turned away.

So, even if it’s physically and emotionally exhausting, travel also heals you beyond your wildest dreams. And the goodness of people? Wow. It still blows my mind. Both my lunch in Nazare and canceled Stockholm train prove kindness exists everywhere.

Travel Poem 6. “In a Station of the Metro” – Ezra Pound

This is one example of short travel poems. Actually, Pound’s “In a Station of the Metro”  is very, very, very short. My students were shocked it even counted as a poem!

This poem gives the reader an image of nameless faces at a metro station. As travelers, we all spend time using public transportation, such as buses or trains, and watch the people around us.

Come on. Who doesn’t do this? I’m at the point where I automatically connect a subway station to traveling in a brand new city, haha.

poems that will inspire you to travel

Travel Poem 7. “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” – W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats might have had a bit of a creepy personal life, but his travel poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” deeply speaks to me.

For instance, I love huge international cities, but it’s not exactly a secret that I’m not a fan of hustle and bustle. Which is why I wonder if New Jersey is a true “fit” for my lifestyle but that’s a whole other post.

Unlike my hurried daily life, travel forces me to slow down and soak up every single experience, however small and discreet.

In Yeats’s poem, the speaker mentally returns to a beautiful lake as he stares at a road on a regular ol’ day. This poem reminds us that our journeys aren’t finished when they come to an end.

The memories of dancing on a beach in Croatia or snorkeling in Iceland or paragliding in Slovenia last forever , even in the middle of a crazy day on the job. Embrace them.

Yeats certainly knew how to write a true traveling poem.

Travel Poem 8. “The Unexplorer” – Edna St. Vincent Millay

Okay, this travel poem is totally “tongue-in-cheek,” which is exactly why I love it so very much!

The speaker is a young girl who wishes to see the end of a lovely road outside her house. Her mother tells her that the road leads to the milkman’s door, and this boooooring revelation stops the girl from traveling at all. Sad, huh?

Now I’m a traveler and proudly identify as such, but I also love staying in my apartment and watching hours of television. Sometimes I can’t even be bothered to stroll five minutes down the street to buy a carton of milk.

Millay’s poem helps me feel less guilty if I have those lazy or disappointed moments at home or abroad. Score!

poems that will inspire you to travel

Travel Poem 9. “Hearthside” – Dorothy Parker

A vivid poem that describes a speaker poking at the flames, while thinking about all the beautiful places s/he will not see.

This is one of many poems that will inspire you to travel, because do you truly want to only imagine places and never see them?

Sure, “now” is never the best time to travel, but if you wait for the perfect opportunity, while twiddling your thumbs in the safety of your room, perhaps your time will never, ever come. Better to impulsively book that low cost flight to Milan than wait and regret it.

travel poems

Travel Poem 10. “Travel” – Robert Louis Stevenson

We’re all familiar with Robert Louis Stevenson, especially us literary nerds with a particular fondness for the Victorian Era. I mean, I read  The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde  when I was only sixteen and loved the creepy tale.

And now you’re telling me he wrote travel poems, too? How amazing is that?

Robert Louis Stevenson’s travel poem, simply called “Travel,” is packed with imagery of the Middle East, China, and Africa, making me want to push my comfort zone aside and branch out with my own adventures.

travel poems

Why Should We Read Travel Poems?

A lot of people have a hard time grasping why poetry is valuable. And, okay, I understand their reluctance. Although I am a proud literary traveler, poetry isn’t always easy to fully comprehend especially a poem heavy in devices such as irony and allusion.

But poetry is written specifically to convey emotion. We are unable to see and touch emotion.

Read travel poem to feel the words, to dig deep and think about your upcoming journeys. Use the time for peaceful reflection, even. We don’t get enough quiet moments in our busy world.

So curl up with a pile of travel poems and read. Read til your heart is content. Much love to you.

poems about travel

Tell me your favorite poems – especially poems that will inspire you to travel. And remember to subscribe everywhere! Haha. I’m off to read some touching travel poems now. Be still my heart.

literary travel | poetry | wanderlust | travel inspiration | strength | confidence | vacation | solo female travel

Rachel Elizabeth

At 22, I took my first overseas trip to Bermuda. Took a break to follow the "American Dream." Had my self-esteem broken. Embarked on my first solo trip to Scotland at 26. The travel bug dug its way under my skin. I now book multiple trips a year.

2 thoughts on “ 10 Travel Poems that will Inspire You to Go ”

Thanks for the poems, I hope to travel someday and encounter all the beautiful cornerstones of the earth.

Great post! So many poems to read and unpack!

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Interesting Literature

A Short Analysis of John Clare’s ‘I Am’

On Clare’s great poem about the self – analysed by Dr Oliver Tearle

‘I am—yet what I am none cares or knows’. As opening lines go, it teeters on the edge of self-pity, and it’s a brave poet who will risk that charge – and a fine poet who can pull the rest of his poem back from the brink of such self-indulgent wallowing that might be expected to follow.

i am a tourist poem

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes— They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems; Even the dearest that I loved the best Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

i am a tourist poem

The first thing to say about this poem is how that two-word title unfolds and subtly alters its meaning across the course of the poem. ‘I am’, opens the poem, only to be immediately followed by a dash, marking it as a self-sufficient statement about the self. Not ‘I am this ’ or ‘I am that ’: simply ‘I am’.

But then, once we reach the third line, ‘I am’ is being pressed into its more usual service: ‘I am the self-consumer of my woes’. Self-pity is self-destructive, no matter how good it sometimes (perversely) feels. Clare brilliantly captures this through the slightly double-edged hyphenation of ‘self-consumer’. It eats away at oneself: we consume our woes, but they consume us, are self-consuming.

Such doubling is also, curiously, present in John Clare’s collected works, which contain not one but two poems called ‘I Am’: a sonnet titled ‘I Am’, and the poem quoted above (often referred to as ‘Lines: I Am’ to distinguish it from the sonnet).

This other poem takes a somewhat more positive view of the poet’s sense of self, although it was composed at around the same time, in the 1840s when John Clare was incarcerated in the Northampton General Lunatic Asylum:

I feel I am — I only know I am, And plod upon the earth, as dull and void: Earth’s prison chilled my body with its dram Of dullness, and my soaring thoughts destroyed, I fled to solitudes from passions dream, But strife persued — I only know, I am. I was a being created in the race Of men disdaining bounds of place and time: A spirit that could travel o’er the space Of earth and heaven — like a thought sublime, Tracing creation, like my maker, free — A soul unshackled — like eternity, Spurning earth’s vain and soul debasing thrall But now I only know I am — that’s all.

i am a tourist poem

As with many great Romantic poems, the poet views childhood as an almost sacrosanct period of his life (compare Wordsworth’s ‘The child is father of the man’ ), but the twist here is that Clare is looking forward to death as a return to those days when he was ‘untroubled’.

Since he struggled with madness and depression for much of his adult life, Clare knew what it was to be troubled. In 1864, he was granted the wish which ‘I Am’ so eloquently expresses.

i am a tourist poem

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3 thoughts on “A Short Analysis of John Clare’s ‘I Am’”

  • Pingback: 10 of the Best Poems about Identity and the Self | Interesting Literature

I have learned things from reading these short analyses of various poems. John Clare is fast becoming one of my new favorites. He has a unique sincerity and is certainly worth keeping him close as a point of reference about what it means to be human.

Thanks, Tim – it’s great researching these poems and discovering things about them I may not have known before, even about poems I’ve known and loved for years. Clare is fantastic, and an underrated Romantic. I plan to blog about him more in the future :)

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Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Travel agent poem - "i am a travel agent".

This makes me smile. I love sarcasm. POEM I am a travel agent.... Of course I remember the reservation you booked six years ago, even though you don't have a confirmation number and you think it was made under a last name that begins with a T. I am a travel agent.... Its no problem for me to give you seven connecting non-smoking poolside suites with 2 king beds and 4 roll aways in each, and yes it is my fault that the hotel does not have a helicopter pad. I am a travel agent.... I speak all languages and have visited EVERY destination. I am a travel agent.... Its obvious to me when you book your reservation for Friday, you really mean you arrive early Saturday morning and want a guaranteed early check in. I am a travel agent.... My Company has entrusted me with financial information, and yet I cant tell you why your hotel bill for March 1989 has a $50 phone call because, of course, you shouldn't have to pay for calls. I am a travel agent.... Yes, I am lying when I say there are no more seats left at the lowest price, or all the hotel rooms are fully booked. I am a travel agent.... No, its not a problem for me to quickly construct several more guest rooms at the hotel you want, and this time I will not forget the helicopter landing pad! I am a travel agent.... I am capable of checking fares for three people, taking five reservations and answering fifteen calls simultaneously. I am a travel agent.... I always know where to find the best vegetarian, kosher, and Mongolian barbecue restaurants in every city I am a travel agent.... I know exactly what to do in all cities without spending money I am a travel agent.... I take responsibility for airline food, traffic jams, rental car tire flats, weather, hotel locations and the national economy I am a travel agent.... Don't bother telling me any dates or cities since I am a mind reader and already have the reservation in my crystal ball before you can tell me

8 comments:

Hi I linked your poem to my official announcement in facebook that I am a certified Travel Agent.

I've never known a dog who doesn't wolf down anything food-related at the drop of a hat. He's clearly a very discerning gentleman!

I've always said - I don't fly the plane, I don't make the bed, I don't cook your food

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Rossetti. Poem 1. Song: When I am Dead my Dearest

Rossetti. Poem 1. Song: When I am Dead my Dearest

Subject: English

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4 July 2024

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COMMENTS

  1. 18 Poems About Travel to Inspire Your Traveler's Soul to See the World

    Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman. 6. Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay. 7. On the World by Francis Quarles. 8. Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros. 9. If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field.

  2. I am Tourist

    I am Tourist With my chocolate-coloured spectacles. And my blue travellers chequetacles. And my video camera purring at the Sights" The poem is written in the first-person narrative where the poet is trying to show the point of view of a modern tourist.The characteristics of a tourist defined here are flying across seas in airplanes with a drink in hand, watching Burt Reynolds movies ...

  3. Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

    Song of the Open Road. By Walt Whitman. 1. Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

  4. 10 Beautiful Travel Poems For The Adventurer In You

    10 beautiful travel poems you'll want to hang up on your dream board. A mix of modern and older poetry with a travel kick. 10 beautiful travel poems you'll want to hang up on your dream board. ... October 2, 2019 at 6:09 AM. How beautiful, Anshula! These are so inspiring. Dee ~ Vanilla Papers. Reply. Dan says: August 22, 2022 at 3:43 AM. I love ...

  5. 15+ Best Poems about Travel, Ranked by Poetry Experts

    The Dry Salvages. by T.S. Eliot. In 'The Dry Salvages,' Eliot contemplates life's complexities, merging human existence with cosmic forces, offering profound insights into the human soul's journey. This poem looks into travel as a metaphor for life's journey. The sea symbolizes the uncertain voyage of existence.

  6. 16 Best Poems About Travel and Life

    Consolation by Billy Collins. Dislocation by Simon Constam. Learning to Travel by Julene Tripp Weaver. Majorca by John Cooper Clarke. Questions of Travel by Elizabeth Bishop. For the Traveler by John O'Donohue. The Lady in 38C by Lori Jakiela. The World Won't Miss You for a While by Kathryn Simmonds.

  7. 25 Inspiring Poems about Adventure

    The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.". 3. Freedom - Olive Runner.

  8. I Am Tourist Poem Analysis

    1069 Words. 5 Pages. Open Document. Essay Sample Check Writing Quality. Show More. Adrian Mitchell's poem, "I Am Tourist", describes the modern definition of what it means to be a tourist. The Tourist is portrayed as an ignorant, materialistic, and thrifty individual who seemingly does not show any interest for foreign culture and tradition.

  9. I Am Tourist Poem Analysis

    I Am Tourist Poem Analysis. 1001 Words5 Pages. Adrian Mitchell explores the modern tourist, in particular their hypocrisy irony and attitude towards foreign cultures. He points out and criticises their superficial mindset, as well as their self-centered nature. The poem is written through the point of view of one of such mindless tourists, and ...

  10. The best poems on travel

    A clear, cold day with a nipping air, Tall, bare trees to run on beside me, A heart that is light and free from care. Then let me go! - I care not whither. My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be. Free as the brook that flows to the river, Free as the river that flows to the sea. Olive Runner.

  11. 10 Travel Poems that will Inspire You to Go

    Travel Poem 7. "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" - W. B. Yeats. W. B. Yeats might have had a bit of a creepy personal life, but his travel poem "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" deeply speaks to me. For instance, I love huge international cities, but it's not exactly a secret that I'm not a fan of hustle and bustle.

  12. 11 Travel-Themed Poems That Will Have You Packing Your Bags

    4. If You Get There Before I Do — Dick Allen (2003) Maybe it's just because Allen mentions Vermont a couple times, but "If You Get There Before I Do" makes me think of renting out a cabin somewhere in the woods in New England, an act I am certainly familiar with. 5. Travel — Robert Louis Stevenson (1885)

  13. I Am But a Traveler in This Land & Know Little of Its Ways

    So too the 19th and 20th were to be avoided. but the doctor coming to bleed you is the master. of the short story. After the kiss from whom. he will never know, the lieutenant, going home, touches a bush in which birds are singing. Dean Young, "I Am But a Traveler In This Land & Know Little of Its Ways" from Skid.

  14. A Short Analysis of John Clare's 'I Am'

    The first thing to say about this poem is how that two-word title unfolds and subtly alters its meaning across the course of the poem. 'I am', opens the poem, only to be immediately followed by a dash, marking it as a self-sufficient statement about the self. Not 'I am this ' or 'I am that ': simply 'I am'.

  15. I Am Tourist

    The poem 'I Am Tourist' deals with the meaning and significance of tourism; particularly focussing on the modern take on what is a tourist. Adrian Mitchell presents the point of a ignorant tourist, and shows their lack of connection to the foreign land through the use of various literacy techniques such as imagery. The poem's purpose is to let ...

  16. 'Tourist' poems

    The Tourist Who Isn't. September 8.17am Awake still not knowing The time or hour even of the day The light as bright as a new Clear sky intimates to me the Approximation of open shop time Even so the streets are quiet It is not open shop time until 8.30 There is time At 9.30 the open shop is no longer open Though all the street is busy The ...

  17. Tourist Poems

    Poems about Tourist at the world's largest poetry site. Ranked poetry on Tourist, by famous & modern poets. Learn how to write a poem about Tourist and share it! ... For ever I am obliged for few friends of France. France people fully enjoy free life in week ends. From core my praise goes for all France friends

  18. Summary Of The Poem I Am Tourist

    The poem " I Am Tourist" addresses the concept of a tourist during a holiday. This poem is read to be more personal to the reader as it is written in first person and we can all personally relate to this poem through past experiences as we have all either encountered a tourist of we have ventured on holiday as a tourist ourselves. In order ...

  19. Tourism Poems

    about the folks who built our land. They stand on lines with time to burn. and meet each other's family. The sightseers begin to learn. their country's hybrid history. The faces staring back from frames. are not the mirrors of themselves. A mixture of lineage, names, the treasury is walls not shelves.

  20. I am a tourist destination : r/poetry_critics

    Now I am ruined, a memory of the beauty I once held. Time is inevitable, And decay will someday come, But the thousands of visitors who come too test my solidity Increasingly erase my numbered pages. I tell them my history, secrets and all, Believing that they will rebuild my walls.

  21. "I Am" Poems

    I am from ( things you love doing) Ex: Crochet, reading, and traveling the world. I am from ( your favorite memories) Ex: My first lost tooth, being held by my grandmother, and being silly with my sister. I am from ( your hopes and dreams) Ex: A world where everyone gets what they need and everyone is cared for. Resource pack.

  22. Examples of I Am Poems

    Explore these examples of I am poems as a unique way of exploring your character and experience. Then, write your own following our templates.

  23. Travel Agent Poem

    POEM I am a travel agent.... Of course I remember the reservation you booked six years ago, even though you don't have a confirmation number and you think it was made under a last name that begins with a T. I am a travel agent.... Its no problem for me to give you seven connecting non-smoking poolside suites with 2 king beds and 4 roll aways in ...

  24. Rossetti. Poem 1. Song: When I am Dead my Dearest

    Christina Rossetti: Poem Lessons Bundle ***This bundle includes:*** * 15x poems * Context * Critics * Lessons that run in order, including starter/retrieval activities * Annotations of all poems - including technique and analysis * Context and critics summary sheet

  25. Biden facing intense scrutiny as campaign ramps up unscripted ...

    Biden ramps up unscripted events, travel and plans $50 million ad buy amid intense scrutiny