Quest After Poems - Poems about Quest After

Go you must when you Hear The Call know to Trust when you've blazed Afar, for you are The Hero, this Quest will Unveil it all have Faith in the Reckoning, the Quickening shall Quelch the Squalls...

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Tingling of tongue sent Euripides Questing a tastier kind of cheese. "I found cheddar magical," Said this poet tragical, "Sailing the southern antipodes.”...

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The soul's quest for it's own vastness, should be life's sole purpose. ...

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Gentle Men as Mothers :Quest for Identity Protection. Gentle he was with them, male and female - His brothers and sisters from the start... No giant in disposition, his tender thoughts Spoke volumes to both men and women- All of us need words that nurture hearts to heal Like a nursing mother with her children, His position did not forbid tones of...

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Is it still life? Her Quest for Identity. Tis' stilled life This still life Distilled wife Still - That's life Mime wife. "Playing dumb while acting the role." The unspoken influence of mothers on their daughters. My mother in her work environment, and my mother at home were two completely "different" personalities. At work, I saw her happy and bubbly,...

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The Two Little Cubs: A Quest for identity. (A Cautionary Tale) Two little leopard cubs One shy, one bold, went out to play in the wild wide world. Bold so bright - Life a big adventure. Shy so quiet- Life a no go venture. Played games together- Shy learnt from Bold, Rough and tumble Not always gentle. Which one do you think escapes the focus of real...

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Neither Dumb Belle nor dumbell: The Search for Personal Identity. Made in His image Divine, one and one equals two The differences plain and simple in design Does not "Woman" mean "Female Man," From First Man her origins taken? Together strong and flexible In time they find each in and as the other Indispensible to humankind's survival A perfect pair in God's...

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The quest of life, it is no certain thing, No circumstance assurance brings of bliss. So many thoughts, so very few take wing; The hit or miss is measured more by miss. Shall happiness take hold when we gain gold? The heaping up of stuff shows little worth. The misery of wealth is too well told; Tranquility is not composed of earth. Does...

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A moment itself is a lifetime of work, in but a breath of wishful promise" ...

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In a universe where meaning is an endless quest and a heavy burden, Do crazy things, dance in the rain of stars as if no one is watching, Let your laughter rise like a kite soaring freely in the winds of childhood, For madness is more alive than the struggle to carve life’s meaning in stone, A flame burning...

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Worshipping at the altar of self-destruction western man enshrined Paying false homage to every tree the forest in deep decline Losing his place among God’s creatures to wander far and wide Asking flawed questions running in place consensus — ill defined (The 1st Book Of Prayers: March, 2025) ...

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Dream Song of the Thunders Chippewa saying translation by Michael R. Burch Sometimes I bemoan my “plight” when all the while the wind bears me across the immense sky. What is life? The flash of a firefly. The breath of the winter buffalo. The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset. —Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch Cherokee Travelers' Blessing I translation by Michael...

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Better not to search too deep in the shadows that envelop us in the quest for another realm, For the panacea offered by illusions and promises remains just a dream of escape, Anesthetizing us in forgetfulness or finding ephemeral islands in the arms of deceptive love, Where promises are chains, and the eyes that gaze upon us hide...

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The weary traveler seeks a place to rest He wandered past and found a stately tree Enchanted, sat beneath its shade impressed The wind whispered in his ears to see The beauty of the forest at its best He looked and looked, and felt his soul in glee With heart content, he started soft to hymn And told...

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Amidst some ashen memory distilled, Unfolded all the flowering prose of eye; Beneath the idea of the weighted song, Sat still the meditative poet, I. You knew me in your quiet hours Long befriended neath a cloak of lust; A mouse amidst the scent of wilted flowers, Touched and torched and writhing in the dust. We did embrace the noble thought, We did dare...

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