this isn't a blog. It's poetry and rather good at that. Did you quote someone at the end? I'd like to know who if you know. wesley

I don't write that well. istan

immure and demure
closed lids beneath saffron afternoon
mint tea on linen cloth and service
denote passages of being
the glory of the Now
from his hand and grace

the creation and gift
that all face
this terrible beauty
wakening
as the end draws to its beginning

the new passion
celeste

and the gift will be recieving
I find that maybe I having spent fifty years
almost through life will just be happiest
alone

the band of road peoples I travelled
with Not skills nor what one does for another
makes harmony and sunset endings in the Now
but something I ponder about

maybe my reward is just being here
not in the great Love I keep just imagining
I think I read too many storybooks
and live in my head

but I can still dream
I can still write
and this perhaps is a dream
this hope

eternal yes
one day

one day!!

then to be saddled and put duty and effort
there is a fire a call that strives in me
demands of me to keep looking
Keep writing
beleiving

so easy to join up with the bitter
to gossip and draw down the weak
how it burns in me that itch and how
I scratch it at times

I think there must be more then
the ferocity of tearing things down
an impossible effort in something
almost too impossible to imagine
in the fulfillment of dreams

of ideals towards good

Im just a poet
getting by out here
who is a dreamer
a rather ordinary looking one at that

but there is beauty
In works I read here

Thank You!