Expressions
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I'm just gettin' started.
I'm just gettin' started.
Labels: art, expressions, life, photographs
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 2:57 AM
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
 moon phase info |
The Endless Saga
ImagesAbout Me
- Name: Sir James Eric Watkins
- Location: Far Side of Sanity
And the iguanas dance in the desert/a thousand miles away from this place/and this face: stoned immaculate.
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8 Comments:
Oh man, I, I LOVE it!
I LOVE it!
Wow, thank you James, you made my night so much brighter.
Big love, Lori
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! snort, heeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Okay, somethings messed up, I just read the most incredible poem in my blogline feeds, it was on your page, I'm sure you wrote it, it's marvelous, and why isn't it coming out on your page now?
Did you pull it?
I'm saving it in word, okay? xxx, Lori
I did indeed "pull it." Something’s out of place there, maybe the content in parentheses, perhaps?
What's say?
I might change it to say, "The search is most important in our exploration of human experience."
I really felt this one, right here, and the way you had written it didn't bother me at all.
xx
Oh Lord, didn't bother me, what am I saying? The piece is beautiful.
It was concisely about illusive questions and search quests in life. The first stance even, is relevant illusive,
"I wanted to write
a poem, but I forgot
what it was about."
I believe we forget, we forget our collective voice, and we search for the same meaning as before to infinity.
Nice one postuli!
xx
Thank you, my friend. Your insightful comments allow me to see that my intent came through nicely.
I have but one favor to ask: will you send me the text in question or just paste it in this thread?
As fitting (or as unfitting) as it is, I forgot.
Sure, my pleasure:
Searching for the Unfindable,
By Sir James E. Watkins
I Wander the Night
I wanted to write
a poem, but I forgot
what it was about.
Summer rain glistens
reflects from the streets of his mind
listens to the recollections of his drive
And the road glowed
painted with a thin layer of purple
light, the sun being chased from the sky by night
Beyond the threshold of normal perception
reason has no meaning
as the short-lived remains . . . infinitely
rippling its waves across a map of space and time
But our intellects search
~~~~~~~~~~~~ for the end of the line
for a truth we cannot find
because the answers
are not answers at all
. . . but states of being
(It is the search, though
that is of most importance
to our exploration of human experience.)
I wanted to write
a poem, but I forgot
what it was about.
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