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 |    A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
 A log of our magnificent journey. |
| 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 ▼ |
| On a cold winter day, aroma gives notice Grandma's baking gingerbread made with molasses and overflowing love, while children laugh and play with snowman in the yard, until their mom calls them in to trim the Christmas tree and savor scrumptious meal. Once again, we enjoy the magic of family gathered 'round the hearth. Mistletoe and moonlight stoke romantic embers to keep the family growing. |
| In the laboratory of life, I have come to the edge of my wits, overlooking the end of the world as we know it. My ancient ways now cause me strife, and computer programs give me fits-- so many topics now unfurled for the poet. |
| Good morning, Darling! How are you today? I eagerly await receipt of your most intimate thoughts, impressions, fantasies, doodles, giggles, fears, and tears. Please do not forget that I am always here to comfort and support. Have no doubt. Your deepest secrets are safe with me. 47 words |
 "Ruby Throats" - a painting by Sage Vaughn The battles rage with helicopters all around, as troops engage in bloody combat on the ground. In time of war, an island of serenity distracts from gore, preserving our humanity. |
| The dandelions make me gay. Their yellow blossoms brighten day among the cow pies on display in farmer's plot. They serve emotional buffet when gut's in knot. Some people label them a weed, but I afford such rot no heed, because the Man Upstairs decreed there is no skew. Equality is guaranteed within His view. Notes ▼ |
| Grandpa Pete looked to sky and wondered when the rain would come. For years, he fought this dusty regimen as mission's drum kept driving him to work the arid field. In fervent prayer, to God he appealed for some relief in his belief the land could bring a worthy yield. Last year, he finally gave up his stance and passed away, concluding perennial spirit dance he had each day with dilapidated barn, its roof caved in. The rotting walls remain through thick and thin for all to see in memory of Grandpa and his steadfast grin. Notes ▼ |
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