Really nice. I remember in my youth, tho time dims my memory.
The sharpness , no grey anywwhere

One of a Kind

Maybe you'��ll find him just wandering and
Almost certainly you will find him by himself.
Not alone you understand. No, loneliness
Never leaves him alone.

When a man thinks he'��s one of a kind, he will
Be lonely wherever he is, no matter how hard
He tries to hear the call of his race. He travels
to and fro but never feels he'��s going or coming
Home

No welcoming light, no friendly face in the
window. Those things are for other people.
The sad old room empty of hope, lacking in
Warmth, Not cold, no just desolate.

A man is only one of a kind in his own mind.
But sadly he can'��t outrun his own thoughts.
At the time when he believes he'��s finished.
That will be the beginning

Ever was it so

Ever was it so that we who have to tighten our belts,
Gnash our teeth, wail at the miseries and indignities
Inflicted upon us by political thieves and vagabonds.
Their watchwords misrule and chaos.

Corpulent clerics who empty churches and whose spiritual
Guardianship seems to be one of numbing our minds And
Stifling thought, their charge Betrayed.
Woe to the goodly who work among them, for they Labour
amidst vipers .

Great captains of industry who rape the "Mother," and leave
Her children wretched. Who lay down a success criteria that
Only they with their self seeking mindsets, would see as progress.
Be warned and careful of that which you wish for, lest you become
One of them!

But still let us find solace in the fact that while we suffer we gain
Insight into our humanity, turning today's pain into tomorrows
Information, experience, knowledge and wisdom, ergo expanding
The soul.
While those that exploit us to amass their earthly treasures,
Pile up a great debt, as they sell their souls for baubles!



.

The Cafe Compostella ( Field of Stars)

In the Pueblo of El Rocio, there'��s a little cafe from where you can see wild
Horses roaming freely on a marshy estuary.

An ancient arboreal colossus dominates a medieval courtyard, providing a
Shady ambience, Cooled by gentle zephyrs from the Ocean.

A place where two pilgrims in life'��s rich pageant , could shoot the breeze
While enjoying a little of what they fancy.

The sun setting over the estuary , is a prelude to the evenings deep purple
Skies , twinkling, With the lights from stars and galaxies.

The ��Universe,�� a sight to touch anyone'��s ��Butterfly.��

Thank you, muy amable

A Woman

Well rend and tear, gnash and wail for this man
Dares to look towards you! Not by stealth do I come,
but with a presence,
Not of arrogance or pride, and a Compelling
sense of purpose.

I have taken the hurt but bear my sadness with
Grace and humour, for they speak and tell of
Many things to those who have eyes to see.
Gentle beats this heart of mine for now I am
Tranquil.

My heart and courage faltered: displaced, set to fail,
Loneliness engulfing my being.
Then strengthened by your womanly aura ,
Gladness suffused me.

Banishing the past from devouring the future my
Hope returned. For in truth I had lost my way, and
Beyond reach of all and everything, yet despite this
Redeemed by A Woman.

Like it

Time

Last night I fell asleep.
This morning I arose awake.

The daily dally, just killing time,
Spending minutes that aren'��t mine,

A silent flow without any fuss
Quietly, insidiously, killing us!

The Puits de Mons

Walking down a rural lane in France I happened across the Cure'��s goat .
I usually found him sitting taking his ease in the shade of an old well.

His English was pretty good and we soon fell to talking. He said his name
was Billy, and I thought what a coincidence. Now I'��m good at acting the
goat as well as being an old one so naturally we got on well.

Then he started to tell me about the Puits de Mons. A magic well by his
account and that ��barmecide�� goat Billy said, that if I placed a silver coin
into its mystical waters I would be granted a wish.

I thought he was ��kidding,�� butt you never know with goats and who am I to
argue with a Frenchman in his own land.

It was then I spied a corpulent cleric approaching , I guessed it must be the
Cure��, after all Billy was his goat. I greeted the cleric, and told him what the
goat had said and asked if it were true.

A strange look came over his face and in heavily accented English, not as
good as the Billys, he asked how on earth I could have had a conversation
with a goat.

Well I must admit when you think about it, it is hard to believe, and I did feel
embarrassed, so quick as a flash I threw a coin into the well.

Now that I'��m home I must admit I do miss that goat and our conversations

The Apache

The Apache don'��t have a word for Love.
At the choosing, the squaw taking,
They say to each other, " Varlebena.��"
It means, Forever.
That'��s all they say.

Dogs barked at wolves at
My passing.
I howled at the moon,

Hopes and dreams flickered
Out touching
The lives of others.

Never learned to live with those lives,
Didn'��t know
How to love or be loved.

I'��ve not had the life I would have
Wished for.
I have lived the life I'��ve had.

Because of it, despite it, be dammed
By it
I am who I am.

looking Back, I did the only things possible,
Forgave myself,
And put a smile on it all!