I flew the international route
Had an epiphany, no doubt
Surrounded, the mix of folks
Of ages, languages, life walks
What if we suddenly can share
One intellection, maybe pair?
A story from a distant nook
Earth’s wisdom, ready for a book
Of money, family and love
Tradition, habit thereof,
How we can learn, and why we don’t?
Out of indifference, we wouldn’t
This plane, a sample of mankind
Hey, guys and girls, come read my mind
I long to share, trick or two
You get to wear my old shoe
But no, they slept, restrained and fed
No brainstorms or plans instead
No passing secrets, gained advice
Within our reach, free and precise
No business chat, no meeting place
Or knowledge gained in plane’s space
Polite and friendly, shut as clams
No handshakes offered, only dams
We ate, we read, had movies watched
This opportunity was botched
And as we land - “goodbye, primates”
We split and run, to transfer gates
March 22, 2025
Interesting, isn't it, infinity is in its infancy?
Imagine its incredible, intensive inception...
Intricately incorporating individuals in instancy.
Immortally incalculable is its Inventor's intellection.
7-1-2022
Begin with a letter Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Angela Tune
Paralyze thinking to hide in shadows
Tremored breaths of relentless thought
Changing haunts but remains constant presence
White creeps of dark illusions create false imprints
Putting scary intellection in front of everything
Seeing all doubt and failure
No fate nor destiny chimes in, just loss and void
Pysche peruses mind and conquers reaction
Summoning freak energy and screams as rationality
Racing breaths and full- scale chimera controls altered perceptions in right mind
Frenzied shouts and gathered gasps bring fearful to life
Creation of horror is manifested to scary reality
Ever present, ever happening
Fear not..
Heather Turner
Grow Where You’re Planted
Written: by Tom Wright
February 2015
Leaves displaying the colors,
Of a painter’s palette,
Came gyrating,
Aimlessly toward the ground;
While raking, I mused,
If I lived in the desert,
There’d be no leaves beneath my feet.
Then upon intellection,
Nor trees to provide me shade,
From the desert’s scorching heat;
Today, as I languish in intense intellection,
Recalling the former assigned to my course.
Questioning why this versified collection,
But knowing they arrived by a vital force.
Each imparted entities to my well being,
perhaps, on occasion, an unbiased voice.
Embedding ideas when not clearly seeing,
Then leaving me to contemplate my choice.
Some tracks were left profoundly inscribed,
That the fourth dimension stole not away.
This retention came as a tonic prescribed,
Propelling me toward a more opportune day;
His warm breath like milk,
Dark eyes that glow
Sharp yet fulfilling presence
Provides sense of comfort-
I adore his appealing character
Speech proves his knowledge
Of proper influence
Both in the streets
And in the office-
Enticing are his orations
His delectabe alluring scent,
His contradicting soft masculine touch
Both have my mind racing!
Dazing rudely into oblivion-
I lust for his possession
The pressure of his body
Against my own
Sends a tender erotic sensation throughout my body
Air escaping through my chest-
I never want to leave him
His steady potent heartbeat silences me
At a loss of intellection
I close my eyes and listen
Captivated by his perfection-
Hes everything I want
“Created in God‘s image” doesn’t mean
five fingers or five toes upon each limb,
nor anything, I think, that can be seen,
And how can we tell if God’s “Her” or “Him?”
Defining “image,” in the sense divine,
must just refer to something of the soul --
nothing of appearance, something more fine --
no mere trait but a quality that’s whole.
What image does Divinity possess?
Is anything outside of This gestalt?
Might angels sport God’s image more or less?
Where in creation could This image halt?
Perhaps the meaning is that all the world
is only intellection and notion,
and all the drama into which we’re hurled
is nothing but God’s whimsy in motion.
“Image” might just mean fantasy or thought --
Divine invention in which we are caught.
So, finally it snows.
The amber glow of
Distant streetlights
Illuminating the sky
Like the embers
of a frozen fire.
The softening sound of silence
As each weightless crystal
Swirls it's own part
In the perfect dance.
What seems like chaos
Reflects the majesty
Of an Autumn murmuration in flight,
Ever moving, darting, hustling
But of one collective intellection.
Tomorrow will be a day for wellies,
Two coats, hats, scarves,
Gloves with fingers that end at the knuckles
Leaving tips to turn red as noses
And itch as they are later warmed before the coals.
But tonight I do not mind the cold
As I stand and turn my face Heavenward,
Listening to the muffled stillness of the night
And smile to myself as I softly say;
"So, finally, it snows."
As the sliver of a new dawn
arises above the distant hills
the world appears to be at peace,
mocked silence in quiet stillness...
Even the birds have yet to awaken
no rustling squirrels in the treetops
dogs still dreaming of their next chase,
while the nocturnal begins to bed down...
Won't be long,
when the calm will break into clamor
activity of thought will be aroused
dream chasers caught in the net,of
their dream catchers,another day pursued...
into the streaming reflection of dreaming passerbys,
visage of their own intellection,burning
aglow in need to fuel their fire...
Favorite time of the day,the breaking dawn,
before I venture out into the crowded mill
my time to recover from yesterdays thrilling throngs,
as I smile along with the rising Sun....
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