Usually, I like poetry that is written in a way that is straight forward and easy to grasp. I wouldn’t use either of those phrases to describe Anthony Robinson’s “Travel Poem,” yet I like this poem and enjoyed its playful tone.
This piece, full of (strange and random) advice for travelers, seems to ramble and wander, but I suppose that’s acceptable for a poem about rambling and wandering. Here is an excerpt:
“Loneliness is a lie. A man’s beard can be a hiding place for his finer things.
Sleep the sleep of restless Parisians. Avoid Canadians—they make frisky
If you hitchhike, don’t get picked up by men driving to Oslo.
It’s very cold there, and you’ll catch pneumonia.”
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