And perhaps it is, or did that not occur to you

And good for the bowels

Thank you dear lady

Liked it, in fact really enjoyed reading it.

Great story. Saddle a fresh horse and find new trails. You never
know what you may find or who you might meet.
R

ILLusions

Amazing things illusions , in my mind, and perhaps yours? I describe
them as posh " B�****S**T'��, foisted on oneself and others, but that maybe
a bit harsh as often they keep us alive and sane. I'��ve found the trick is
to get yourself to believe them even if others don'��t.
On the other hand it can be dangerous to believe in your own B***S**T!
So take a "��moment"��, and heed the warning

I often delude myself into doing something better or enjoying myself.
Watch children immersed in a game or playing with their favourite toys.
Experts in the art of creating and living an illusion, total belief, but I'��m
not that good anymore, although , my grandson, on occasion drags me
through the wardrobe, and I get to that wonderful land.

I'��ve heard it called being in the "��zone"��, where effortless performance is
the norm. Anything is possible, a thought and its done.
Often it happens without even conscious effort and you stand back in
wonder, taken by surprise, like a spectator to what has occurred.

But have a care for there are those who can'��t exist in this land, and can
recognised by how they pride themselves on telling it like it is, no matter
who gets hurt. Some like us don'��t survive the encounter or are never the
same again. The illusions that creates our self esteem swept away. .

Now I'��ve often noted that people whose illusions make them feel good
about themselves really stand out in a crowd of minds.
So guard your illusions and treat them well. They may actually help you
do some amazing things, and even feel well adjusted in this crazy world.

R

Tough Guys

A little laugh a little cry? Come on now
who'��s fooling who. Both our hearts are
breaking, yet look how differently we deal
with it. '�� A bit of a laugh, A little weep.'��

One of a Kind

Maybe you'��ll find them just wandering and
Almost certainly they will be by themselves.
Not alone you understand. No, loneliness
Never leaves them alone.

When someone thinks they'��re one of a kind,
They will be lonely wherever they are, no matter
How hard they try to hear the call of their race.
They travel to and fro but never feel they'��re going
Or coming home.

No welcoming light, no friendly face waiting in the
Window. Those things are for other people. The
Sad old room empty of hope, lacking in warmth,
Not cold, no, just desolate.

Someone is only one of a kind in their own mind.
But sadly they can'��t outrun their own thoughts.
At the time when they believe they'��re finished.
That will be the beginning.

Beating about the Bush

There are times we do or say things when you wonder would
It not be easier just to, "��Get it right."��
They say to err is human, and that may be the problem right
smack bang there. What is human, especially when you look
around and see what'��s going on in the world?

But I'��m beating about the bush. I really meant between you and
me. It'��s quite hard to do, just come out with what you mean.
I suppose the "��beating about the bush,�� is the hiding from the
truth, yes and no I suppose, but my humanity won't let me tell
the exact truth, will it now?

Who am I

Perhaps the gentle breeze,
a zephyr, carrying the smell of wood smoke
on a winter'��s morn. The whisper of tyres on a distant road.

The break of dawn,
bringing the first warmth and light.
The rush of melt water tumbling down a mountain stream.

The great blue sky,
echoing with the greeting cries of aerial hunters;
gladdening your ears, smiling your lips, lighting your eyes.

Maybe that distant,
Indistinct figure who raises a friendly hand
as we, ploughing our lonely furrow, pass like ships at sea.

A taste of red,
enjoyed while being fascinated by mesmeric
dancing flames of a log fire, in a Grande Maison. Ah, "��La belle..."��

I may not be,
any of these things, but I am the sum of all that
I'��ve been, and joining you in a conspiratorial feeling of oneness,
"��This is who I would be."��


Riley

On the Trail

There is a place I'��m looking for, somewhere
I know I belong.
Not that I've forgotten you understand, just
can'��t remember where.

I know I'��m going to find it, in good time or
the next.
I'��m always looking around me, perhaps to catch
a glimpse.

Maybe i'��ll just keep wandering along this stony
winding track, .
It might look as though I'��m lost, but they say I
know the way, and It feels as If I'��m close.

The past is not my future, and I know there'��s no
going back.
Perhaps I will take a rest, look for a clue among
the twinkling stars that brighten the night.

Wanted to tell them how I felt, put things right so
to speak,
but It'��s time to forgive myself and move on, can'��t
ignore the call, got to travel to the future.

But maybe before I do, I'��ll take that little rest, and
listen to
the quiet murmurings of my consciousness. .

Thank you and me too!

Enemies

Anyone can make enemies and the worst kind
are those that masquerade as your friend.

The hurt, has hurt and I could say brave things about it.
But it does bloody well hurt.
Turn the other cheek?, "��My A.. I will."�� Although I still have
some cheeks left. The other ones on my bum and the one I'��m
using to write this.

Thank you Lass

Thanks Tommy , The river is the Tyne, and you can walk that pathway right down to the sea.

Flotsam & Jetsam

I walked the riverside pathway. The one that goes
down to the sea. Flotsam and Jetsam, swept up
by the tide. Castaways, men overboard, "��and me."��

Flotsam and Jetsam, a waste of humanity, or
humanity'��s waste? Scattered leaves, broken
branch; burned log, worn out tyres, "��and me."��

Brought in on the rising. Flotsam and Jetsam no
longer to ebb, to flow, with the rhythm of the sea.
Beached at last, "��Just like me."��

Cheers

On the day of reckoning, when you judge yourself
that is when you will need God to plead your case

Now gently beats this heart of mine for I am tranquil.
I have wandered far and learned little, and yet I have
sat and thought and perceived much.
Often about the journeys I traveled blinded by haste,
although now I feet the pipe and slippers beckoning.
But what is that wondering in my mind and that itch in
my feet to go there and back again?