I spill forth my intentions, Always mindful of the energy my words move. No matter where, on crowded bus, in workspaces shared with others of brilliant mind, In my own safe mental landscapes; I am perpetually and almost obsessively aware that even my quietest murmurings cause great stirs in the cycles of Universe and sky. …
I remember your lucidity like my name; I can never forget how full of moxie you once were… Now, a shell with traces of you deep within – I’m trying to find the her I know, She’s hiding from us, but so dearly do we all miss that quiet strength, that… beautiful energy that always …
My quiet lift settles onto me – a warm blanket that washes over and around me like a soothing bath… Energy whispers along my chakras; Mind settles, and then sleep – dreams coming to lift me higher.
You’ve given me such a great gift, and the best part is you don’t even know – funny how a word, a gesture, a kind or selfless act has the power to change a life. And yours, it’s changed mine – now I look at it differently. And one day, I’ll thank you, maybe even …
Like music we are, all of us – notes first here and then gone… Born of wayward inspiration, our legacy is our song. And here is where the music plays, there aren’t often many who listen. But here are the times when others sway… Captivating, powerful forces – elemental frisson. Instruments and voices, rise as …
Dreams are both perplexity and marvel, I’m still learning to understand how such wispy fragments of subconsciousness, subtle forces of will so intrepidly insert themselves into a memory or thought as though it actually happened, or…could. And how the mind so ably creates such vast space to transcend, to exist within, to unify with imagination. …
Every new year starts a bit belated for me, as has much in my life – including same. I shrug off resolution, impervious to the habitual regular refrains of strangers and peers… I’m hesitant to use the “promise” of (a) new year as excuse; An empty motivation toward what I neglected to attempt in the …
We never notice when the ice melts; And through feigned annoyance at the precipitation on the glass as the water mellows to meniscus; Somehow we miss the naked glory divine in the simple, prepense cycles of the life that we declare inane and eventually leave behind.
Evening, Ma’am, Sir. Evening walks to nowhere in particular and everywhere I’m going. Evening coffee, evening meal… Evening matinees awaken the sky, as sun sets horizon alight with gold and orange; rose and wine and blue. Evening – shadows. Moon is rising the wanes of Gibbous in half… Evening, crickets – how melodic your trill. …
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity
BUZZWEED QUIZZES
Art Studio Dumfriesshire
Kayfucius 