03-13-2017, 10:00 AM
Hi tommyb
Sadly in this Magellan world we may often see every tittle has been spilled and wasted from a heart's messaged bottle of good intention into a crazy vast sea of surrealism. We beg victory as we survive over and over shipwrecks that wash us ashore on craggy rifts of human error. If only we were omniscient, but we are not & if we were, would that alone cause greater error? Sometimes our Raft will lead us to find our own broken containers, washed up on the sand, in beautiful hues of polished dusty pastel, beaten only by the beauty of the incessant pounding of Love's crashing waves. Waves wrought from a direction not found on a compass. We learn that even through the fate of littering error or even fumbling accident, that regardless, the rarity of sea glass may appear at any moment. Even though we may not be a collector, what a surprise when we are the one to find it, reach down and admire it. Thankfully, the power directing uncharted seas isn't limited to a cord. Sometimes we just wait and find the Wind's direction or the position of that Great Light in order to know where to go or what to do, hoping for that favorable joyful result.
The self-indulgence of daydreaming at night,
wondering if California Anchorman could ever fly.
Walking a lot by murk of evening
and sleeping.
And it broke me. Like the bullfight, and Brett and a bullfight,
and a soft name in a phone, and that perfect name in between. best part of poem that perfect name in between
And all I ever did was love her, he said,
but not me.
I think. it will be okay
When bombs don't go off,
little is rebuilt which is perhaps kinder I envision only an unseen City by clever design
though so much less helpful.
This world should end
sometime it's as if someone
is waiting for the okay
It could do with some sharpening
the poem resonates light and dark
love and hate
crashing waves, its own.
I hope the poet is fine & well.
Thank you so much for the read,
sorry for my novella of expression
over the read. Best wishes.
Sadly in this Magellan world we may often see every tittle has been spilled and wasted from a heart's messaged bottle of good intention into a crazy vast sea of surrealism. We beg victory as we survive over and over shipwrecks that wash us ashore on craggy rifts of human error. If only we were omniscient, but we are not & if we were, would that alone cause greater error? Sometimes our Raft will lead us to find our own broken containers, washed up on the sand, in beautiful hues of polished dusty pastel, beaten only by the beauty of the incessant pounding of Love's crashing waves. Waves wrought from a direction not found on a compass. We learn that even through the fate of littering error or even fumbling accident, that regardless, the rarity of sea glass may appear at any moment. Even though we may not be a collector, what a surprise when we are the one to find it, reach down and admire it. Thankfully, the power directing uncharted seas isn't limited to a cord. Sometimes we just wait and find the Wind's direction or the position of that Great Light in order to know where to go or what to do, hoping for that favorable joyful result.
The self-indulgence of daydreaming at night,
wondering if California Anchorman could ever fly.
Walking a lot by murk of evening
and sleeping.
And it broke me. Like the bullfight, and Brett and a bullfight,
and a soft name in a phone, and that perfect name in between. best part of poem that perfect name in between
And all I ever did was love her, he said,
but not me.
I think. it will be okay
When bombs don't go off,
little is rebuilt which is perhaps kinder I envision only an unseen City by clever design
though so much less helpful.
This world should end
sometime it's as if someone
is waiting for the okay
It could do with some sharpening
the poem resonates light and dark
love and hate
crashing waves, its own.
I hope the poet is fine & well.
Thank you so much for the read,
sorry for my novella of expression
over the read. Best wishes.
there's always a better reason to love