Saturday, February 20, 2021

The Wanderer, A Poem

I've always written poetry, something I dabbled with in elementary school where I had a notebook filled with them. I looked forward to our English and reading assignments that involved haikus or writing a lyrical poem and I would store them into my notebook. I even took photo with my work for school contests. Cue the embarrassing photos which can be seen here from a previous post.

My poetry continued in high school, college and adulthood (I wrote a poem for my goddaughter's wedding in 2014 in Cape Code. ) I began keeping the poems in journals. Many, many journals.

As I took an afternoon stroll today and felt the cool gentle Miami breezes tickle my face, I remembered this poem that I wrote when I was about 21 at F.I.U. in Miami I remember sharing it with a reporter whom looked up to and he said how amazing it was. (That meant a lot to me because I had a crush on him and his writing.) 

The poem was inspired by late night walks in South Beach with different buddies after hitting a club. I would wander around and take in the bright lights of the hotels and closed shops as we talked about whom we thought was cute and who hooked up with whom. I kept the poem all these years and even found a great spot to slip it into my third novel, Miami Manhunt. So now I present you a poetry throwback, The Wanderer. 

He walks alone amid the shadows and lights, 
Wanders aimlessly around town. 
A half moon is in sight.
He rounds a corner to find a soul to harbor him for a night. 

He passes closed shops, 
Crosses wet-dewed streets. 
Crowds flock. 
People walk. 
Simmering stars so high. 
Another night he had to lie.

Passersby stare. 
Marveling his chiseled profile. 
A deep loneliness he tries to hide. 
Through his bashful smile. 
His innocent eyes. 
Good looking, shy.

He continues his journey. 
Not knowing where to go. 
Can't figure out the present. 
He just doesn't know. 
Looks to the past. 
Forgets the future. 
He hopes the nights will always last.

He thinks of a chum.
So smart and nice.
He's cute and cool.
He envies his life.
So masculine and straight.
Nothing like me,
a gay, people hate.

Fear brews inside.
Hope is sometimes near.
Innocence fades away.
The soul remains young,
The face gets older.
Tormented, alone, afraid.
Life's getting colder.

He slinks into a club.
Eyes meet his.
An octopus of hands reaches out
They try to grab, to hold, and to touch him.

He dances away into a world he knows.
Where he forgets the future, the past.
The life he loathes.

He sways to the left.
Swirls, sweats, alive.
Beats pulsate inside.
Sounds resonate.
Life feels right.
No pain, pure fun.
No feelings to fight.

Alone he continues to wander.
The shadows are gone.
Thoughts still brood.
The night has turned to day.
It's another episode being
Unhappy, young and gay.


  1. Wonderful to read a new post after so long (November!). No, the photographs are not embarrassing but adorable, typical of male looks at that age! And I enjoyed the poem. Hope you are fully recovered, Roderick

  2. Thanks Roderick! I appreciate it. I will write another post soon. Between all the breaking news I write at work, sometimes I just take a break from my creative writing and focus on reading, running and taking walks.