Our Holy Grail

A myth we can't read.
Need our hands to knead.

Swiftly scour the pressed pages of epochal egos for bright stars only to find insipid crumbs rebaked in kilns of waning thoughts of sadness and madness striking souls no longer but downgraded to academic.

Need our hands to knead
A myth we can't write,
Need our young to bite.

Trepidly taint the leaves of overgrown trees in the burning of the midnight oil perchance these woefully wound words won't whittle with the dumbfounded desperation of prodigals seeking meaning offering meaning.

Need our young to bite
A myth we can't teach,
Need ourselves to breach.

Although the seductive splendour of the world taps at the stained-glass window of pretending pantheons faking clairvoyance of curious minds a wanton whisper beckons sighing cynicism at seeking our Holy Grail.

A myth.

inspire

choice

Swirl and Whirl Over the Sea.

Teeming, seeming, . . . reeling. I take it in; the sights I see in the vast world of humanity. More or less, ebb and flow, shape me, change me. . . until I grow. I just don't know. The wind blows through the trees, just as a ship sails the seas. I hear the wind howl, and contemplate what that means to me. How the wind can impact humanity. If wind is metaphorical, then it could be political, religious, or just plain viscious. Vicious winds create tornados, and the winds don't have to be real to create the same. Sands shift, rivers flow, and still along I go. Not knowing, hardly realizing that something great might be in store. If something is in store, it will change the direction of the wind, cause the seas to whip up into a frenzy. Maybe, or it might just make one lazy and kind of hazy. Keep going, keep going; is what the breeze keeps whispering. Never doubt, never give up. . . keep it up.
Does this affect the traveler or the dreamer? No. It might be something better than they ever wished for.

Traffik

stupid is as stupid does, but i say screw it and do it -"just cuz."



feeling the sun come around the corner of my window...and my mind leaves out the front door...why do i return and return and return and burn? Does it make sense to you when you're at the wheel and navigating those roots and routes? does it make better sense to close your eyes -grabbing the wheel and swerving wildly because that's what the inside says? Does it make more sense to wear sunglasses because you've come to love those lenses and like the lies? Does it make more sense to run those fingers along those locks and tell yourself it matters and that beauty is all in how you define it? and did you find it? What kind of crazy metal has you out there making what's mad feel sane and what's sane seem strange? do you follow? do you lead? do you even bother to signal? because i never saw any that made me aware. look left and right...look left....right? and don't forget that i had my moments too...that when you looked somewhere else...and my eyes turned to you...and they ended up watching....while you calmly took your exit...did you get where you thought you were going? did you ever check your mirrors and think about the way things go? I know you know. transitions are like offramps on the freeway...where did i hear that again? does it even matter....? transitions--and long days in between--long days with lots of warm sunshine and empty rooms--lots of hellos to strangers...hello stranger.



and by the way, did that iced half double decafienated half-hearted and triple whipped memory mean more to you than to me?

Friends.

Some of us don't realize how important our friends are until they are there in a time of need. I know that my friends mean the world to me, and without them I would lose something. The times that I realize how important my friends are is when they are there in a time of need. If I need someone to talk to they are there, and if I need a shoulder to lean on they're there. Or, if I just want to have some fun they are there. It takes times when you receive a setback to make you appreciate your friends. That should not be the case, they should always be appreciated and thanked for their steadfast friendship. So...Thanks to all of my friends (you know who you are).

Poetry.

What is poetry? I ask myself that question all of the time. Is it a summer breeze blowing through the trees? Very often poetry takes on a deeper meaning. One might read something by Keats and find the symbolism and profound meaning that written poetry can convey. However, not all poetry is written. Poetry can be present in motion, in nature, in the air, and on the page. The poetry present everywhere but on the page gives rise to feelings of appreciation for things beyond the busy tumult that is life. The printed text conveys meaning and feeling. Don't the other forms of poetry do the same? I can appreciate the breeze blowing through the trees just as I can appreciate Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven." Poetry in all its forms gives rise to enlightenment and the understanding of emotion. Just my two cents.