I don’t dare to dream beyond what I can do
It is foolish, craving to capture everything within view.
The world around is wondrously wide, a canvas vast
The more we try to grab, the more into agitation we’re cast.
Keep away from herculean schemes for tomorrow
Instead give today your best for a brighter morrow.
Focus on feasible things, let go, what’s beyond.
Take every step with caution, to simple needs respond.
It stings just a little
when I bathe in her scent
and memories drip down
like your stilettos
as they slipped off
at the end of our moonlit dream
the archer in the sky
playing tricks
a celestial offering remixed
my offering
your acceptance
the wind howled
or did it roar
I saw it all
in the jade of your eye
pinned against a blue herculean sky
skin to skin
I wake up mirrored in your reflection
and a cheshire grin
When in life, I seek simple things
I experience greater peace and joy.
I have learned from everyday life,
That snobbishness, our cheer and calm, destroy
True grace resides where ego departs.
The humble holds success’s magic keys,
Their quiet strength, the world recognizes.
For love and beauty grows where pretense flees,
Unpretentious hearts move like calm seas
Not disturbed by violent waves or storms
As the world rushes in restless pace,
They pause to enjoy life’s beauteous forms.
I love to look at nature in its plain grace
To listen to songsters singing merry notes
Watch trees with flowers and fruits in their opulence
And lambs grazing by hillside in their woolly coats
For simple things, though small they seem
Are threads that weave a great tapestry
And knits life in diverse shades and designs
Defining relationships’ sweet chemistry
Bear in mind that a simple gesture of warmth
Like a sweet smile or an endearing word
Can work greater wonders in another’s life
Far more potent than any Herculean deed.
This is an ode to John and his iconic bucolic pub "the Golden Smog" up in Stockton on Tees..
What makes a proper pub?
Unity in a community hub
Immunity from the hubbub
With others shoulders rub
Opportunity you can’t snub
Our own homegrown club
Bubbling banter from the bar
In the cellar need a stellar star
Other views & hues don’t scar
Ales & tales so far above par
No-one argues or does spar
Clinking & sinking another jar
John a helluva fella just say ta
No bigotry is all he does ask
No hate lurking behind a mask
A sisyphean or herculean task
In the company of others bask
No sip from a hidden hip flask
Cheers to beers from the cask
Where the weekend will begin
Delaying within escape the din
Time to spend with ken and kin
Getting you through thick & thin
Whetting our whistles.. chin chin
A third place where a grin will win
To miss this bliss is a cardinal sin
A home from home just staying in!
It feels right to listen to Lord Huron and think of Montana
When reality feeds itself on one’s own myopic inertia
To be there again, a hungering and herculean agenda
To do this one life away from her, self serving and simply
I swam to this timid paradise but it drowned me nearly
The silence here is bold, it reminds me often and clearly
When you brood upon things you misunderstand they still hatch
Nevermore in Trout Creek the cold clay through my toes I’ll pinch
The silence there was warm, like chicken soup she made from scratch
my dog could put my leg into his mouth if he wanted to
hid mouth takes on an alligator's opening when he yawns
he is the biggest-headed-dog we have ever had
and we have had twenty-two dogs
his neck is Herculean
he is strong enough to pull a sleigh of Republicans up a mountain
and he is a baby
only fifteen months old
Background B.B King it
You'll get home alone
A Quartering as Jazz
As quart and liter
As meter and mile
Footage and reconcile
Irish Quartermasters Gaurd
Kevin J. O'Meadhra
Trace as feather
Low of ash
Bury of quill
Fide et amore
Nightingales Ergo
Send in rot
Further, borrow
Scottish wreathing
Entangled Britain
Relent
They of leave
Twined as lecture
Recital of yellow
Beckon brown
Revile of green
Tustled hearth
Baby babysit looks like
It's gonna hail
Jump and jive
As sent to the SAG
In tawdry spent
The war is lent
The establishment of thy own
A hate filled thrown
As crimes as thine
Tinkle and toast
In a entire
Only as pure
The picture as haunt
Plagiarism
Stores front
Sufferer as complaint
In stilled poverty
I law
Joan had little art
Lythed command
Hinde weeps rather as waltz
Herculean task
Wardrobe mantle black
Opening Suggestion of Betrothed
MARTI THE MOUSE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marti, a mouse of discerning taste,
strung his hammock.
not of woven reeds,
nor silken thread pilfered
from a sleeping giant's beard,
but dandelion floss,
a sun-bleached tapestry
between two golden towers.
He wrestled the fluff,
a Herculean feat for one so small,
tied knots with nimble paws,
cursing only slightly
when a rogue seed tickled his nose.
Now, he swung,
a furry pendulum
in a field of green,
eyes half-closed,
whiskers twitching
at the buzzing of a bee.
I will move mountains for you, oft said
with little brain and surplus testosterone.
But why the plurality?
Surely, a single mountain moved
is Herculean enough to satisfy
the desires of the most covetous princess.
Then, what is a mountain?
I’m sure a mound or hill won’t do.
Also, move; would an inch to the left or right
gratify? I think not, dear sir.
So, where to find this mountain?
Bhutan seems a reasonable choice
they have so many, moving one
would likely not be missed.
Where too? The Midwest
could do with a mountain or two
attract more tourists, that sort of thing.
Then the naming:
something American,
that reflects the Native lands,
is gender neutral?
Then, would you and your girlfriend
climb to the top of Mount Sis Hank Running Bear
and both look out over the beautiful land?
No, she will be at home waiting for another man;
the man who said he would make the Earth move for her!
Thor did not live up to his name
He was skinny, weak a petite Fontaine
Wren, his brother was a Herculean guy
Brawny and strapping, he caught many an eye
How did you get their names so wrong?
I asked their mother, Mrs. Wong.
Thor weighed ten at birth, Wren weighed three.
A cruel joke God played on me.
Herculean was a maestro in the kitchen
We knew his secret, for we were clairaudient
Others had no idea how much help he had
Chefs from around the world whispered their secrets
He collected their wizened information quickly,
Deciphering their unique cooking techniques
For he was also a gifted intuitive clairvoyant.
Sometimes they shared their ideas in his dreams.
His restaurant was famous in a large part of the world.
His parents were totally amazed, for he had never cooked for them.
They did not know he had any abilities in this department.
Neither were clairaudient or clairvoyant.
Eyes draped in black,
The Scale of Justice, stark and exact,
Struggles with truth and fairness,
In a land where might eclipses righteousness.
Justice delayed, where should we start?
An alchemist’s touch to mend every part.
Government's hollow promises,
Culprits evade without consequences.
Corruption ingrained in every root,
A Herculean task to uproot,
Marks the end of democracy,
And the rise of nation's hypocrisy.
Near the end, is far too late to find what you have lost;
obvert your gaze to all the tiny miracles, to hear, to see, to touch;
the wind through ancient Aegean trees re-formed to herculean bonsai;
iridescent shimmering of Iris’ sunlit snow atop her goddess mountain;
calico, rough against your tender sun-kissed skin as day turns into evening.
Each thing you take the time to heed with love will be with you, always.
A Buffed Male Body walks along the beach
A Female watch
Her eyes like a fishnet catch
Summer heat warmth in the urges
Sweat pouring down the male buffed body
If he were to pose, the Female would faint
The sand and roaring ocean making the observation more distinct and intrigue
A push back would soon be Give in
The Female was thinking about a splash into the ocean
She would want that Buffed Guy to be her Lifeguard and give her mouth to mouth
Yet the hot sun is not making it easy
The Female is picturing in her mind of thought in censorship
Moment
Just imagine a Herculean Male Body and a Female curve with all the moves turning up the volume
Summer has already started ahead of schedule
The Female wants that Buffed guy in her own Beach module
Time to split
In the world of code and creed,
Heart and mind, a dualistic seed.
Nights of work, days of strain,
Drafts, redone, again, and again.
Pixels blend with ancient thought,
Ideas clash, are born, are fought.
Screens aglow, a timeless quest,
Soul meets tech, in earnest zest.
Critics’ eyes, like hawks, they swoop,
Tearing at each hard-won loop.
Feedback sharp as blades, it feels,
Each word cut, pain that slowly heals.
Revision's pain, a constant guest,
Each change, a trial, a test.
Yet, in this forge, the spirit grows,
In digital depths, enlightenment flows.
The final push, a Herculean task,
In the glow of completion, at last, we bask.
Acceptance sweet, the journey's end,
In written words, soul and circuit blend.
A digital hymn, now fully sung,
From depths of strife, victory sprung.
The dissertation, new light, can’t hide,
Neural networks, where spirits reside.
Thus, the journey finds its close,
In digital spirituality, a new path rose.
Through agony, to ecstasy, then transformation,
A writer's trial, a scholar's jubilation.
Note: Dissertation Title: “Digital Spirituality”
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