A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
![]() A log of our magnificent journey. |
Mary, Mary, standing there in your tie dye underwear demonstrates your fashion flair on cultural balance sheet. Squeezing into Spandex pants for night of trendy dance, ignoring ignorant rants from those who cannot compete. Preparing for party gig, you must find a way to rig giant Dolly Parton wig to make impression complete. In any case, I'll be here to reassure you, my dear, that a stylish pioneer like you just cannot be beat. Notes on the Ochtfochlach form of poetry ▼ |
City skyscrapers obscure majestic sunrise with all its glory, and traffic shreds sanity. I wish we could escape to open spaces where majestic mountain skyline glorifies each day. Notes on the Oriental Octet form of poetry ▼ |
We send our young away to war across the sea to distant shore and test their mettle to the core with great concern. Our children lose their innocence when evil characters commence subverting moral precedents with brutal deeds. They put their lives in jeopardy, ignoring bloody savagery. We recognize their bravery with grand parades. Notes on the Ovi form of poetry ▼ |
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bKwRW0l-Qk Always helps me get away from the daily stress and served as inspiration for "Nautical Twilight" ![]() The beauty of being me derives from the tangy taste of a ripe sunrise, accompanied by the color crescendo of Beethoven's Fifth rising over yon horizon to herald another nautical adventure, as I sail the sea of life. Tacking against the wind, hauling the sheets as timbers gnash and groan when storms are brewing in the South, my vessel sways upon the ocean's gray rolling hills. Heave the lines, heave ho! When the tempest of foggy cataracts, thumping transmission, and debt distress finally subsides, a lemon drop ray of sunshine peeks through, and I shift the tiller of my little yawl to sail a reach before a following sea with forty feet of waterline making way nicely on a downhill run to forever. The albatross and the whale frolic alongside, as the golden orb continues its stroll across the sky and begins a descent to make way for the next phase in a glorious splash of purple, red and gold. The twilight, like the horizon, is nothing more than a gateway to the next adventure, where the moon and the stars commence their dance upon celestial stage, while ocean rhythms serenade my soul, and constellations mark the path to help me navigate the next leg of the cosmic journey that is the beauty of being me. |
The medial is numb to shame with camera and microphone to snare survivors' moan and groan. When drama is the horrid game, the media is numb to shame. With bloody wounds and broken bone amid the screaming overtone, victims are approached all the same. The media is numb to shame. With mental wounds as yet unknown, newsmongers shun the healing zone. The bitter truth remains the same: the media is numb to shame. Notes on the Desdansa form of poetry ▼ |