Poetry Page XXI…

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The chase certainly has inspired some great poetry…

Here is page xx for poetry about the chase, Forrest or any other Thrill of the Chase related topic.

If you would like to peruse the  verse on the first page of poetry click HERE.

Second page is HERE

Third page is HERE

Fourth page is HERE

Fifth Page is HERE

Sixth Page is HERE

Seventh Page is HERE

Eighth Page is HERE

Ninth Page is HERE

Tenth Page is HERE

Eleventh Page is HERE

Twelfth Page is HERE

Thirteenth Page is HERE

Fourteenth Page is HERE

Fifteenth Page is HERE

Sixteenth Page is HERE

Seventeenth Page is HERE

Eighteenth Page is HERE

Nineteenth Page is HERE

Twentieth Page is HERE

Thanks

dal…

198 thoughts on “Poetry Page XXI…

    • Then why have so many treasured your thoughts?

      Remember to bring some ashes from the campfire home.

      Peace

  1. Hamburgers and hot dogs;
    let’s have some fun.
    Spread out the blanket and move the logs.
    Come one, come all – now don’t be shy;
    now who’s gonna bring the pineapple pie?

  2. The dying of the evening sun

    The day is near over
    The allegory’s been spoke
    But what may come next
    The holy ghost must invokes

    The seed sowers plans
    are all but made sure
    The once baren ground
    Is now tilled by More

    Lifes burdens are passed
    for another lap round,
    Echoes repeat
    “What needs sown, must be plow’d”

    Duties are done
    They’re all set in stone
    Around the next bend
    Is the straight path home

    The beseeched have been drawn
    They’ve soared and they’ve run
    All do bear witness
    To the death of the sun

    The zenith has passed
    And more time has waned
    Lots have been cast,
    No spring remains

    Against all the odds,
    The time has now come,
    In the woods of the gods
    A toast for just one

    The reapers no devil,
    But a friend of the meek
    He ferries the work
    And persists for the weak

    Just bring a few coins
    For the ferryman tolls
    Bring a few coins
    For It will be cold

    One final thanks
    for all that you’ve done.
    A final hoorah,
    To the death of the sun

    Meet in the meadow
    The old forest fen
    courage is known
    But I’m just a friend

    Now, alone in the dark
    I think and I pray
    For intersesions of peace
    For a new warm spring day

    On the horizon
    Look what draws near
    The new dawn arises
    Imagine the tears

    Above the white cliffs
    The sun rises again
    And now it’s my turn
    To be a Man among men

    I have heard the faints calls
    And answered them here
    a light for the world
    A seed sowers been reared

    Lessons still taught
    On the journey yet done
    The past loops full circle
    For the rise of the sun

    • Seeing myself in your arc-light.
      The reflection’s improved a mite
      As happy memories are returned
      And my mouth’s corners are upturned.

      Thanks BFWing

    • BFW – you are definitely not wanting for words.
      That was amazing.
      Looking forward to more from you.
      www

  3. Many went brave into the Wild,
    with silver solves and trappings sound.
    And back again they each returned,
    With scarry stories smuggled out.

    But soon the piercing grinding glare,
    Of sticky concrete metal sounds;
    And downy carpet cool as a cube,
    Made leaden legs in easy chairs.

    But some of us have not emerged,
    Same of skin yet altared heart.
    And those woods we remain within,
    Though body to the noise return.

    As we were we cannot be,
    for starry spotted places gold
    Cloud our eyes with dusty dew,
    and tug our salmon souls back up
    up to our bed in conscious stream.

  4. A tale of roses

    Thinking long but not too long time,
    Brought me to the point where I’am
    With my Friend Arnold, working in my garden
    Helping me without a pardon
    Pruning roses with my gloves worn,
    For not being pricked by a thorn
    Roses are diamonds in the sky of our globe
    Like stars in heaven and in my frontal lobe
    I’m resting now and sitting down
    My gloves are empty now and on the lawn
    I’am eating now a piece of pie
    It is the truth and not a lie

  5. Swam like a duck, yet didnt quite quak.
    Rose from muck and didnt look back.
    Feasting on seed, in all types o weather.
    Of a rare breed, brought masses together.
    A strength he beckoned, an army so strong.
    Only to reckon, and sing royal a song!

    😉

  6. Where’s the Hurry Cain
    (South Florida Edition)

    Tall Tales of Cumulus Terror
    Fearful Fanfares for Mighty Wind
    Dire forecasts are prone to error
    Surely some, wish to rescind.

    A beautiful breezy day
    No damage, no sign of lightning
    Relaxing on this easy Sunday
    Thrilled the horizon is brightening.

    With one storm put to rest
    Dare we hope it starts a trend
    As we have passed this test
    So, let the flu’s path also end.

    • I like that one! Haha, Hurry Cain, that was diabiblical

      As I have read along up there,
      I thought of William’s Tempest.
      Eye of storms lays secrets bare,
      And reminds us what is true and gold.
      It began with mystery of thought,
      and took us on though we feared to drown.
      But Tempest was a final act,
      where Bard of Bards would bow.
      Though dreaming that this storm should pass,
      I wondered wandering how,
      Mystery, magic, and his-tory will live
      If our Prospero leaves us now. 🙁

      • Room to Think

        Perhaps his cause is safe with a Lucky Doug
        He seems composed and happily un-smug
        As Sloan left his lasting marks on wood
        Perchance this dream stands where Forrest stood.

        In the end, artists put themselves in
        So, Facts and Fiction reside on shelving
        Back to Face a spiny dwelling
        With attention no cobwebs swelling

        Crafts drape walls both formal and folk
        Touch is Fine, in turn do not poke.
        Whole impression, life’s procession
        Some find life’s dearest possession.

        Let fools ridicule childish things
        They’ve forgot their Mom’s mildish swings
        The coo that cured life’s travails
        Resounds so sweet where love prevails.

        Shoes and dolls lead our way
        Arrows point out struggle’s sway
        Admission to faults and battles won
        Together bring Peace when day is done.

  7. Just curious….
    How many of y’all wrote poetry before the day of the Chase?
    I would bet that there are many who have discovered that they have music in their soul which just needed a reason to take flight. Thank each and everyone of you who have shared your inspirations in such beautiful words.
    www

    • I always did, but never showed it to anyone or wrote it down formally. Usually i write email drafts and leave them in the draft box! I did the same on the blogs. I hope I can find them all should I ever want them!

    • Hello WWWAMERICANA. The first time I began writing poetry was in Junior High for a school assignment. I dabbled for a couple years or so, but then my pen went silent until the Poetry Page.

  8. From bended knees I rise,
    before the blaze, beneath the skies.
    From where hast thou come,
    oh strong and mighty one?
    At last, I know thy Truth
    for which thou hast beckoned me.
    And so, I wait patiently
    to be that which I am meant to be.

  9. “That Day Will Come”

    Today I’m as happy as can be
    Tomorrow we may finally see
    For it will be August the fourth
    Might we know where in the north

    Time has come for it to be known
    Dont leave us abandoned all alone
    We need to know the final place
    We deserve a finish to this race

    Some may say let it be and rest
    But I want more pics of the chest
    Don’t tempt me for a decade long
    Sitting on a log tryin to be strong

    The finder knows where it was
    He’s keeping quiet just because
    His silence is ringing really loud
    I do hope he makes us proud

    Some fine day we’ll finally know
    Until then my curiosity will grow
    I’m tired of sitting here on this log
    Wondering about that golden frog. 🙂

    Pauley T

  10. Through the eye of a needle,
    Yon stag gallant must thread,
    Apace the pairs paired,
    Where lies hid his put bed.

    Hence comes the pronged prince
    And henceforth must he go,
    Not just once, but once thrice.
    He sights the keen lode.

    On rings, on Saturn’s sunset,
    Do the rapt pillars lie.
    Needle spies its unbent tip,
    The stag, its blind eye.

  11. Hello Poets. I have enjoyed your wonderful penning. Your words put me in awe. Well done.

  12. I promise this is my last one
    And I assure you it isn’t a fast one
    It’s all in good fun
    Dal is cool as they come
    Haikuna matata my fun’s done!

  13. I promise my promise was true
    85 percent thresh-holds true
    So I wrote one more
    To settle my score
    Check my math

  14. Every time I set out
    I came home empty hearted
    I chased after owls
    But only found belly growls
    I Made A trip to Art
    Hoping to find my lost heart
    I think about it every day
    The things you might say
    Now I feel like it’s all over
    Noone here to play red rover
    My childish dreams and fantasies got shot down
    They even broke my stone crown.
    The stories of my past
    Only get snide laughs
    The things I remember are falling like snow in December
    I know I’m ready to cross the river .
    What I learnt on the endeavor
    was that in my heart Fenn was and will be my friend forever .
    I thank you Forrest and Peggy for giving me a chance to dream
    I only wish I could have lived it the way you intented for it to be

  15. “But Not Today”

    August fourth came and went
    My spirit is now feeling bent
    It come and gone without a whiff
    Is the blaze somewhere on a cliff?

    All this waiting is making me tired
    Traveling a road that leads to inspired
    Why O why must it be this way
    Pleading for answers every day

    On a map there must be a mark
    Explaining it all that is now dark
    Searchin for clues thru out the world
    May the key lay with something burl’d

    I’m finding solace among other things
    Avoiding the constant of how it stings
    Thinking of beauty from my back east
    Upon the knowledge I’ll forever feast

    I’ve enjoyed my visits to this here blog
    While sittin and roost’n on this here log
    I’m gonna let free that there gold frog
    And head to a kennel for a comfy dog. 🙂

    Pauley T

  16. Across the sky, streaking stone,
    beneath it man, seeking throne.
    Colors of life, a woven thread,
    heaven calls the braven dead.

    • Black and white, what is right?
      Gray shadows from the light,
      To come out from the night,
      Prays a battered ironknight.

    • Dusk falls, shadows loom,
      blended dark, shuffled doom.
      Brushed wind, glancing flight,
      blood sought, before light.
      Erie shrill, flashing shape,
      lonely night, no escape.

      • Again must I say,
        Oh, this Shakespearian play,
        Scenery of Tzu on display,
        A wizardly rule if I may,
        An Oscar on display,
        It seems dark today,
        The heart, light of a star, never gives way.
        Please do not judge today,
        The night will giveaway.

        • Now that lit up my “heart light.”
          Waiting for the night….
          Who’s gonna shine?
          Nice job, NIJ.

          • It is not me,
            For I am just a tiny moon,
            Whose light is but a meager reflection of the Sun.

  17. Poem 1
    The Oracle
    Chloe Carter
    Written: June 5, 2020

    Atlantic’s Titanic lies deep in the ocean,
    But Denver’s the city retaining the chest.
    The home of Brown puts history in motion.
    Get into the game to partake with the best!

    In the beginning, he created a forest.
    A beacon of light, Christian shadows ‘til dusk,
    The arrow starts spinning, while looking through glass,
    Lookout down below; smells of buffalo musk.

    Three walls are by Zara, a buffet for the blind,
    Zigzagging through mirrors, a smile by Morse .
    Periodically lost, but not left behind,
    So, who is Charlotte? Turns out she’s a horse.

    The turn of a page makes a star out of sag.
    The felines were noble, but canines took first!
    America the Beautiful, all wrapped in the flag.
    A never-ending cube was worth mammoth thirst.

    Hidden messages sent on the Pony Express
    Hats off to the heroes and those dealt the ace!
    Or just read the headlines; “I heart RMS!”
    Technology’s the gate that opens to space.

    To button it up would make a long story.
    Pull up the anchor, I wish we could stay!
    I’m playing my trump in this big blaze of glory.
    On top of the world, high ho Silver away!

    Poem 2
    The Pearl
    Chloe Carter
    Written: August 5, 2020

    Pleading the fifth, was not the intent
    I felt I was trapped, and ready to surrender
    So lost in a world where time can be bent
    Understanding my truth, and why love is tender.

    Chloe is my name, ‘The Chase’ is my fame
    Mistaking your needs, since I had been weak
    Found ‘the fund’ back in June, when I ended the game
    The feelings felt mutual for answers we seek.

    From there, was the start of just stanza three
    I thought it was over; a challenge just begun
    The water so high, tears coming from me
    Alone in the dark, uncovered… thought I won?!

    I looked in the mirror, then picked myself up
    Dusted my shoulder, sipped tea as the quencher
    I feel like a queen, my love fills up my cup
    For I am the new ‘Daughter of Adventure’.

    Like the countless songs, so many to recall
    This game is for knowledge, we all seem to need
    Topping the list, ‘The Greatest Love of All’
    Buried below the tree, was simply the seed.

    Within this new world, I met my twin girl
    The oyster cracked opened and out shined the light
    Swam up from my pool, before the big swirl
    Together with Pearl, at minimum, midnight.

    Poem 3
    The Quest
    Chloe Carter
    August 5, 2020

    I’ll do my best to encompass her scope
    For those of you left still searching for more
    Verse after song after rhyme; no hope
    Poem after game after movie; same door.

    Of most recent, ‘The Secret’, or papers by ‘Beale’
    Combing for ‘Treasure’, unearth the gold horse
    The mystery “Money Hunt’; it is time that I squeal
    ‘The Clock Without a Face’ can’t do it, of course.

    Did you wear a disguise to the ‘Masquerade’ ball?
    Or cipher ‘Secret Notebooks’ on the trail of an owl?
    The ‘Clash of the Titans’, couldn’t break down the wall
    And ‘The Raven’ by Poe tried with similar fowl.

    There are much ‘Stranger Things’, such as… ‘Tiger King’
    Like, ‘Don’t Stop Believin’, as easy will seem
    Having ‘Pac-Man Fever’, Dragon Master, we sing
    Manifesting is real, just believe in your dream.

    ‘National Treasure’ took a leap, soaring high up the chart
    The ‘Clue’ so apparent and momentous; go plan
    ‘Cube² Hypercube’ clarified its true art
    Her size of ‘The Matrix’, far larger than man.

    So, “Too Far to Walk” is 2-4-2-4
    Hop along the poem and declarations of past
    The 9 clues are 9 countries, love rich in each core
    Sustain a tight focus; learn history so vast.

    So where did I locate the chest, in which town?
    Start atop Lookout Mountain, and take the canyon down
    Colorado’s the home of Margaret Tobin Brown
    ‘My Heart Will Go On’ with this invisible crown.

    From ‘Codex Manesse’ to ‘Le Roman de la Rose’
    With exquisite illuminations only miniature in size
    “Never let go”, the last words that they chose
    ‘The Search is Over’… love was right before our eyes.

    Chloe Carter

  18. There was a man in standing light.
    He had spoken words, far beyond my sight.
    I am sure, that I had to be just right.
    So let it be known that I saw him at night.

    I read his poem of great sounding travel.
    He was an author the type to gaze and marvel.
    His gifts to any, were like a great novel.
    So thank you one who knows great sorrow.
    GH

  19. May our world sow love, not hatred:

    Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
    Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
    Where there is injury, pardon;
    Where there is error, truth;
    Where there is doubt, faith;
    Where there is despair, hope;
    Where there is darkness, light;
    And where there is sadness, joy.

    O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek
    To be consoled as to console;
    To be understood as to understand;
    To be loved as to love.
    For it is in giving that we receive;
    It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
    And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

    The prayer of St Francis

    • Astounding poem 42!
      Hope you enjoy mine.

      “Destiny’s End”

      Below where ants will dig, and above where eagles dwell…
      Lies a place of two-fold secrets, a story forever to tell.

      Mother Earth reflects her sadness, as she sits there all alone…
      A smile confirms her spirit… a noble statured throne.

      Yet the heart of that great grandma, still hides a victim’s face.
      A prisoner held forever, searching for inner peace.

      Five angles cross this spot, announcing heaven’s hell…
      For one, the trail bends downward; The other, a living well.

      A star points up, another frowned – being twisted all around.
      They speak of those exalted; Those too of humbled crown.

      Can one witness of the devil, while the other is sworn of none?
      Can we speak the path of angels, while we hide the unfortunate one?

      Could the newborns e’er imagine… the vast riches there bestowed?
      A secret that’s eternal, for each their life unfolds!

      So then I ask this question, ain’t this venture hard to tread…
      When speaking of the devil, across that blessed head?

      Could infants play here freely, find their passioned peace?
      Could the elderly cross this mountain and continue there safely?

      Are we welcome upon the road below, to find that higher place?
      Could we clench a part of unknown love, embrace unequaled grace?

      • I love the wisdom in the prayer of Saint Francis…and wish I did a better job of living it.

    • I like this one, I have a bookmark with it, don’t read it often enough though. Thanks for the reminder!

    • For some, and depending on how you look at it, that eternal star of hope might only come from those things burrowed on the back of a promised deliverer. You might even conclude that it secures the boundary of life for many.

  20. The Grand Illusion – For those wondering about that Photo of the “Find” and that mystery stick, take a closer look at the tell tales and Come Sail Away…

    Come Sail Away. (written by Dennis De Young). STYX

    I’m sailing away
    Set an open course for the Virgin Sea
    ‘Cause I’ve got to be free
    Free to face the life that’s ahead of me
    On board I’m the captain
    So climb aboard
    We’ll search for tomorrow
    On every shore and I’ll try
    Oh Lord I’ll try
    To carry on
    I look to the sea
    Reflections in the waves spark my memory
    Some happy some sad
    I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had
    We live happily forever
    So the story goes
    But somehow we missed out
    On that pot of gold
    But we’ll try best that we can
    To carry on
    A gathering of angels
    Appeared above my head
    They sang to me this song of hope
    And this is what they said
    They said, come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me (lads)
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me (baby)
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    I thought that they were angels
    But to my surprise
    We climbed aboard their starship
    We headed for the skies
    Singing, come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me (lads)
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me
    Come sail away, come sail away
    Come sail away with me

    There is tale to be told among the riches in the Chest as we brine away the time.

    • A perfect song for you Windsurfer.

      May I add…

      1. I’m trying like heck to re-trim my sails to meet the changing winds of this chase.

      2. Of every bit of advice I’ve read on 3 blogs in the past 8 years Windsurfer, yours was the BEST…

      (Paraphrased)

      Always search somewhere beautiful and take time to enjoy the beauty…so that you’re not disappointed at the end of the day when you didn’t find the chest. EXCELLENT & WISE Windsurfer!

      I’ve used your advice to trim my sails for every boots on the ground search, and loved every place that I traipsed through the wilds. Many of those beautiful mountains and meadows I hadn’t hiked since the 80’s when I was in college, Or the 60’s when my family camped/hiked. I also discovered new favorites.

  21. A poem is the truth of life’s current emotions.
    We pen fancy words covering our feelings like lotion.

    I done what was asked, forever sifting through the haze,
    Yet my trail of snags is the never-ending maze.

    It’s a lost quest, now out of my site,
    The fisherman’s jig dancing in light.

    Another day ended with the sun western kissing.
    Reminding me of a good book “No One Would Listen”

  22. “Forgotten Bird of Paradise”

    No scissors could severe its heart
    No crock could scour its ghost

    No honey could sweeten it’s love
    No candy could toll its bell

    No force could brute its terror
    No snake could twine its soul

    No beast could savage its cruelty
    Yes, no thing could sharpen its teeth

    This Bird sits all alone
    To be forgotten on its throne

      • Make me three, some of those poems are better than good and timeless works of art almost!!

    • Wwwamericana,
      Its going good my friend… a little slow on my end ( I procrastinate sometimes)….lol I get caught up in life and prioritize things by which is most important… kinda like right now. Im outta town preparing for my youngest daughters wedding on friday.. whew!! Lol and I apologize, I should update more often…this is the first time I’ve looked at the blog in a few weeks… I will let everyone know when it’s ready k…
      I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there…have a great day and remember to enjoy the little things as you go about it…until next time… see ya

      P.s. keep on penning you guys are great!!!!

      Focused

  23. You ever re-read something you wrote and think – “Did I write that?”
    Here’s an old one for y’all.

    A man on a tightrope,
    a man with a belt;
    a man with a purpose,
    just walking it out.

    Blue green stones
    in his buckle did lie,
    to speak of his resting place
    and where he would die.

    Behind the shanty
    and under the tree,
    watching and waiting
    alone will he be.

    Till the sun rises above
    and the stars below shall set;
    no more should we tarry,
    no more will he fret.

    And with his spread feathered wings,
    he will take to the sky;
    to soar forever
    o’er the mountain tops high.

    • Great poem WWW! Being alone is where a person finds the inner core of one’s self.

      But even with being under the stars, my husband still frets a lot…

      He plays the guitar.

      Get it? LOL

      • Thank you Suzy_S.
        Nothing sounds finer than a night under the stars, with a good friend or lover and some good music.

  24. I looked into the inkwell of my heart,
    For a verse and rhyme to start.
    Covid has taken a toll on my art,
    End of the chase, and wall map full of darts.

    Yet, here we are on the HOD still,
    Is it closure or do we miss the thrill?
    The new normal we have had our fill,
    Old friends here, good they make us feel.

    Here we are together, and not alone,
    This place is not just Dal’s, also our home.
    The chest was found, into the unknown.
    Dal make a new page to read and roam.

    A new page, our chapter to write,
    The new topic, to stay on topic, is our life.
    With friends of old agree, we are just alike,
    And chat once more by the fireside light.

    • I really like your poem very much, NearIndianaJones. I think you’ve found what’s been in our hearts. Being friends for years and then nothing? I feverishly shake my head no.

    • WOW NIJ!
      I think you nailed the reason why I’m here! Thanks for your sharp thoughts and quill…!!

    • On point. Like your poem a lot.

      I didn’t know about all the great recent poems,

      somehow my email notifications stopped.

      Nothing in spamm folder either, Hopefully I can get back in the loop.

  25. So, I ask, was I wrong
    Did I miss the nigh turn
    Was the trail far too long
    Was I where I din’t belong?

    When I fell on my face
    Ignored a rash’s burn
    Scoured landscapes for a place
    Composed of awe and grace,

    Should I ‘ve known to stop
    Was there a better time to rest
    Could I’ve let my spirits drop
    Could I say my play was a flop?

    But If I was already over that hill
    And known the answers to the test
    I’d have cheated me from the thrill
    Of living big dreams that thrill me still.

    • I like your poem, 4rest4fend. I think you took the right path to find the wonders you did.

  26. “Ghosts of Dexter cabin”

    In the town of Leadville,
    sits a log cabin quite old.
    From a time of silver,
    and that of placer gold.

    One of riches lived there.
    It’s interior lush and fancy.
    Stag parties and gambling pots.
    Luxurious anyone can see.

    In the dim lit bedroom,
    two ghosts did appear.
    An elderly husband and wife.
    The vision was quite clear.

    He sat in the rocking chair.
    Blank stare and face worn.
    Clothing from miner’s wages.
    Poor man nearly torn.

    His wife stood beside him.
    A simple dress she wore.
    A gentle smile she gave.
    She couldn’t ask for more.

    The vision was long ago.
    I believe they’re still there.
    Waiting for someone to enter,
    Dexter’s door to see the pair.

    • pdemver,

      I enjoyed your journey with the ghosts
      Could they be the Chase’s spiritual hosts?
      They can’t hold the gold, as cold apparitions
      But can apprehend those still dwelling in warmer conditions.

      Warm regards

    • Great poem pdever!

      No offense, but your title reminds me of a crazy cartoon mystery I watched when I was a kid. Scooby Doo… where are you!

      Special kind of dog, he was… just like one of my cross breeds. Mischievous Viking decent I think.

    • Thanks pdenver. Got me thinking of Halloween and fall, and hopefully the end of fire season on the front range.

      • Hello SaddleSaur. I hope the firefighters and those involved will be safe. It’s been a horrible time with these fires and the smoke is bad. I’m smelling it now. Another started today. I hope they’ll be contained and not have to wait for the first snowfall to do so. The beetle kill isn’t helping any.

        I’m glad the poem has you thinking of pleasant thoughts. Hope is well.

          • Hanging Lake is so beautiful! I hope the fire went around that area. That is one tough hike up to that lake but it’s worth it!

          • Hello kdd. My oldest daughter and I had planned on hiking the trail to Hanging Lake for my 50th birthday, but a challenge came up and was unable to do so. I’ve only seen videos and still pictures and it looks absolutely breathtaking. I hope the pristine nature wasn’t affected.

            Thank you for the kind words about my poem. I’m glad you liked it.

  27. you’re the cool kid / dodging marble boulders / i’m monongahela moss / allegheny lost / lookin’ for a gold dust ghost in Homer Browns old mine / a tornado took us up with hope / spinning us a start in Yellowstones daylight / walk slow in time in kind close by / mend and bind / we can hear a timeless place / whispers of good secrets / faint but there

  28. when once i stepped upon a step
    twice i saw upon a sight
    thrice i looked upon a depth
    felled beneath a simple light

    a truth i could not retract
    a face too similar to mine
    a sister layed dead upon a slate
    a scene too birthed in simple fact

    i look away, to no avail
    ignore this sight, to no effect
    i sought to look to no known place
    but fail

    i turn my head to sound
    to seek any sight unborn
    to any life unreal
    any illusion unbound

    but my eyes return
    reluctantly
    inevitably
    to fate

    RIP Jacqui – meet me when i get there

    • My words fall silent and wish that I knew what more to say than I’m sorry to hear the news of Jacqui. Your poem is beautiful, emotional, and sad. Big hug.

    • cheers guys – was meningitis at 33yo and thankfully i was there at the end time

      super-duper-big-hugs back at ya pdenver x10 🙂

      • much appreciated Kdd

        just be sure to ‘big-bear-hug’ pdenver at Cynthia’s next Fennborree gathering mate.. or else!!

        (yes ..am quietly a loyal Cynthia fan too btw – but sshhh!!)
        🙂

    • With all the incomparable love and compassion for humanity revealed here, I think even the Tin Man would be jealous of such big hearts!

      • Suzy – Tin Man couldn’t even hold a candle re: pdenver/Jonsey1 super-duper wedding in Vegas this coming sunny season tbh

        10 for effort though 🙂

        • Hello curious hobbit. I recall you proposing to one of us a few years back and it wasn’t me. 🙂

          • tsk tsk – you’re SUCH a big liar pdenver!!

            not entirely sure how you get away with all those big fibs tbh

            probably just ya natural charm at play again.. darn it!!

            [..SOLD!!]
            🙂

          • Oh, you little rascal! (Giggle.) Don’t forget, there were others:

            curious hobbit
            on February 14, 2017 at 7:26 am said:

            Happy Valentines Day to you too Twingem
            – and yes, of course i’ll marry you immediately.. thanks for asking

            Is a whirlwind wedding in Las Vegas ok with you?

            (opps, sorry pdenver, jus being a rascal)

            But then you got cold feet:

            curious hobbit
            on February 14, 2017 at 3:33 pm said:

            Focused

            you can ride up front with pdenver ..I think I need to lie down in the back after my close shave with marriage

            (am feeling a bit faint just thinking about it tbh)

            hope you’re well nikan

            Focused
            on February 14, 2017 at 4:53 pm said:

            You got it curious hobbit…. I’ll ride shotgun…. don’t worry about the marriage thing…. me and pdenver’s got your back….. ” Mexico Or Bust ” ……..

            See ya my friend

            (Really giggling pretty good now! :))

          • Curious, thanks for the feedback… Effort is what I was looking for!

            Your “SOLD!!” reminds me of the “Auction Song”, but biddyng without money. lol 🙂 Is pdencer the lucky girl? Don’t answer that… I think I’ve already guessed!

            I’m not sure why, but it’s difficult to keep things secret on a blog.

          • curious hobbit, if you go to Poetry Page X, you’ll find these posts and many others on that page. We all had a grand time. Miss my friends that no longer post.

          • jeez pdenver – work for the CIA much??

            ok ok.. i’ll officially confess then

            re: “i’m absolutely fantastic at multi-tasking”

            Fact!! 🙂

    • Hugs for you CH. I must say, you have always fascinated me. Your wit is unparalleled, and your sensitivity is right up there with your wit. You have such a talent for writing! You should share your talent with the world. Please get something published!

      • JBL – am super-happy to hear from you again re: i attended a brilliant ‘Neil Finn & Friends’ concert in Auckland in 2001, which included Eddie Vedder at a 500person max theatre, where i also first watched Star-Wars in 1978 🙂

        yep.. def equal to the Pink Floyd concert, and also ‘Into the Wild’ movie too!!

        btw, are you still happily married yet??
        🙂

        • I LOVE small venues! Lucky you!! I dream of seeing Eddie Vedder in Hawaii. I’m def not a “rough it”, Into the Wild kind of girl. Hubby had heart surgery Tuesday, so I’ll let you know if my status changes. What, too soon? Lol. He’s doing great.

        • JBL – given ya hubby obviously possesses impeccable taste, style and general quality of moral personality, i would strongly suggest you quickly bury him in your local desert and immediately meet me in Vegas once his insurance policy matures, so..

          but sshhh.. DON’T tell pdenver!! – it might get complicated!!
          🙁

          • My, my, my, you’re such a sweet talker.
            And, I do love strategy… So, if I meet you, would you then take me to your favorite desert locale and run off with pdenver and the life insurance money?
            Would you then write a book, saying you are the finder from back East and publish your solve as a cover for the newly ill-gotten gains?
            My momma always told me to never trust a Hobbit that’s curious…

    • Loving in a riven garden
      Where rows of precious grow
      A gard’ner will receive a given pardon
      To patch a tear here below.

      In pulling good things away
      While the gard’ner guards his ground
      Things may break in the fray
      But no champion is crowned.

      Find the quilt of flowers to repair
      Again touch with gentle hands
      Feel the breeze, breath the air
      Sweetly rising from tended lands.

      Our soul’s hold the richest soil
      We tenderly nourish delicate roots
      Through sun and storm we toil
      To cultivate the precious shoots.

      If on the day your blossom’s taken
      It hasn’t reached it’s fullest bloom
      Know you too are not forsaken
      The Lord saves His bulbs in His safest room.

  29. “Rock Hounds”
    (Poetry meter: Hickory Dickory Dock)

    They knew as husband and wife, their paths had crossed just right.
    They loved them old fossils, the rocks they would jostle…
    From the dirt with all their might.

    “Hooray!”, when rocks were found, just like any foolish Rock Hound.
    How hard could it be, collecting rocks was a breeze…
    Having only to point one’s head down.

    They journeyed to the perfect spot, virgin land… a pristine plot.
    With boulders galore, yeah… artifacts, and more.
    Them stones they would gather in lots.

    They searched o’er the hills in glee, from a horse and carriage so free.
    They’d never buy gas, but oh what a blast…
    Heaving rocks was “Oh such a dream”.

    Then one day to their surprise, good fortune would lead to demise.
    Their horse threw a shoe, it split as she flew,
    And caught them both in their eyes.

    Now as blind as they could be, they were unable to find their retreat.
    Useless was kicking, or hillbilly picking…
    Of rocks stuck in the peat.

    As reality came into view, they were unsure of what to do.
    They’d run ‘round in circles, as blind as a worm’s heel,
    Unable to find their Van Goghs.

    Selling most of what they had, they hired a very smart lad.
    He gave them dark glasses, which they wore on their as_is,
    So not to look back towards the sad.

    Being barely equipped with a cane, or a D_ thing virtued of gain.
    Only darkness they sought, and both were quite cross,
    Like three mice their blindness caused pain.

    Searching to find a way, their hopes were set on a new day.
    But with carriage now absent, so too was the horse spent,
    Twas nothing to help lead their way.

    Not a cent being left for their travels, their life would further unravel…
    And Crabs they became, with Roars just insane,
    As life unleashed its gavel.

    But like a bird on the moon seeking peace, expelled a tune of their own shootin’ breeze.
    So at home they would rest… know they gave it their best,
    Harvest those old memories.

    With hope, they did patiently wait, even more so, anticipate…
    For dreamy rock ventures, before loosing dentures,
    Or searching in a decrepit state.

    As a team they still remain wed, and with dreams they finally fled.
    Through their gate they did travel, towards their own driveway gravel,
    To grovel on a much closer spread.

  30. Walt Whitman Writes:

    Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
    Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
    Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

    She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
    She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

    Which of the young men does she like the best?
    Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

    Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
    You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

    Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather,
    The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

  31. I’d been a fool
    Stuck on a spool
    Round and round
    Deaf to the sound
    Of my own drool

    My thoughts plateaued
    So I reflect
    On a bench
    I always found it odd
    How a square was made
    Surely
    A prairie
    would never get mowed

    • Utahfennhound,.. Sometimes I can hear those prairie grasses waivin’ in the breeze. It’s almost as if ancient ghosts still ride across the land through time and history.

    • Thanks pdenver.

      I still do not receive emails when people post.
      Do you receive the emails as before?
      or did Dal turn that feature off when he rebooted this page?

      • Hello 4rest4fend. I don’t push any of the buttons to receive notifications of any kind. I just log into Dal’s website if I want to see what is going on.

        • Okay, thanks
          the email was good for me to catch up .

          o well

          Does anybody else use the email feature?

          • I think he emails for new stuff. It used to be for everything, all the time, and I’m pretty sure it was telepathy like a transpondor for the treasure maybe. I’m not sure, I’ve been busy trying to keep the electricity from dropping on the floor from the outlets.

          • I had some problems getting messages for a while but the system is working fine now. I think the reboot on my end did the trick. 🙂

  32. the freeway it’s stalled to a crawl / a good thing cause my minds ’bout to stall / from turpentine and tiara wearin’ alligators / bars and halls / but there’s a country road up ahead / where this roller coaster comes to an end / at the stop sign sleepin’ by the railroad tracks go on in / to the big woods / now there’s a good man livin’ far out in the badlands

  33. Where my treasure lies

    Where does my treasure lie? I asked myself
    Where do I begin? Where do I look?
    Does it lie between the lines of a poem?
    Or is it hidden in the pages of a book?

    I put my raft upon the water, it’s the perfect day for a float
    I asked my question again, this time from my boat
    Where does my treasure lie?
    The little flying things didn’t answer me
    Just hummed their tune and fluttered by

    I looked down, still searching
    I asked the fish glistening from the bottom of this stream
    Where does my treasure lie?
    But he just swam down among the stones and weeds; slowly becoming unseen

    I looked up to ask the mountains and the hills
    Where does my treasure lie?
    But my voice just echoed back to me
    The canyon giving no reply

    The river looks darker ahead;
    Treacherous and foreboding
    I was suddenly feeling weak
    And my boat had sprung a leak

    I took my little vessel to the shore
    To look around and ask some more
    Where does my treasure lie?
    I have this feeling, it is nigh

    I looked out among the prairie
    My question I asked to the ones who were grazing;
    The elk, the deer, and the buffalo
    But Cody just looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno”

    I saw my Grandmother, watching over her fields of flowers
    I rang out to her, Gramma, Where does my treasure lie?
    Surely, she would tell me the secret I wished to know,
    But she just smiled down at me as she gave me my favorite pie

    I sat down in the grass under my juniper tree
    And ate the pie that Gramma baked just for me
    Where is my treasure?
    The green grass knows and the trees know, but they’re not talking
    So I put my boots back on and continued walking

    I sensed something watching, just above me
    A messenger, a harbinger, the keeper of my mystery
    I whispered to him, where does my treasure lie?
    He circled round twice and looked at me kinda cockeyed

    He announced, You fool! Don’t you see?
    It’s neither here, nor there
    It’s all around you, everywhere
    Not yours, not mine, yet for everyone
    The flow, the song, the dance of the millennium

  34. gonna find Fenn’s treasure / even though it’s gone / wait ..what? / use my ‘magination and pretend it’s invisible on / the scary side of Jekylls hyde / in a ghost town / a old new home i’ve found / but ya know I’m gonna fit right in / floatin’ with my kinfolk / happy as a tree in the wind

    • No, it just won’t be the same…
      but where it is going the horses are tame
      and the man on the porch who is sitting so still,
      will watch in wonder, knowing this was God’s will.

  35. How innocent it began,
    With dreams of a small mark,
    Within the history of man.

    Towards the dream we move,
    Only to find time is nearing the end,
    And to see the chaos begin.

    Time is not on our side,
    Where the lessons come quick,
    And with a lasting sting.

    Time is a detriment,
    As we reach for the dream,
    Where “HUGE MISSTEPS” can kill.

    To ALL of the history writers,
    A Big THANK YOU is sent,
    For the adventures of a lifetime.

    At least in the end,
    The small marks have been drawn,
    To the Greatest Story in history of which it began.

  36. Reading so many incredible hypotheses and implicite accusations and conspiracy theories towards ff on page 17 of this blog, I think this page is a better place to wish him luck at his 90th birtday, coming soon:

    Birthday,

    After nearly 90 springs
    There are so many things
    That seem to are gone through disbeliever’s eyes
    But you know those formulated words are very big lies
    Youth is not in someone’s bones
    Youth is sitting on thrones
    In everybody’s brain
    It is an eternal shame
    That so few realize
    That they should revitalize
    The child in the deepest region of their brain
    I can assure that only those will one day gain
    Because they were child and wise
    Their ticket to the paradise
    Or to the never ending chasing prairies
    Of Sitting Bull in my far memories

  37. A last one, for the road, as everybody is now wishing happy Birthday to Forrest:

    I wish

    I wish I was a little bee,
    Seeking honey in the flowers
    But I’d like to see
    With unknown powers
    A big tree
    In the fun forest
    Where do rest
    Secrets in its home of Brown
    So difficult to be known
    But a little bee
    Can go unknown
    Into a rainbow of stars
    And even into his study room
    Talking about many wars
    That only brought doom
    But wil reveil his way
    To my way

  38. Irreplaceable are the glimpses of yesterday
    Dancing through one’s immediate breathe.

    Tucked safely, securely in the arms of love’s shade.
    A smile appears as a tear sheds.

    Grateful for the chance to have laughed,
    And now so thankful to remember why.

  39. Wonder

    It is in wonder that we all live,
    All the wondrous things around,
    But how is it that there is so much hostility?

    All the wondrous things should mean tranquility,
    But when things are not our way then it all begins,
    Oh’ how can the wonder bring so much pain?

    The answers are in the way we think,
    There are other ways to get what we achieve,
    Maybe JUST MAYBE ONE DAY we can all just get along.

    It is a wondrous world were we all reside,
    If there is one thing to ask it would be,
    CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?

  40. Through the joys that feel just right,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the darkness cloaked in fears,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the treacherous walks of life,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the happiness found of cheers,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the battle against sorrowed plights,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the learning of adolescent tears,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the trials of adulthood strife,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Through the pain of elderly years,
    Leave no stone unturned.

    Where lies the depths of one’s own soul, in discovering what’s left to be found?
    Or where reigns a victorious goal, a light to free us from rival bounds?

    One of two, and two of three, resounds the spirit, a mystery!
    But of one’s self can we see.. where it is that we’re set free?

    Revealing each shadow and light of passage…
    It certainly is no mistake!
    To that stone, one must always re-turn.

  41. Happy Birthday Forrest! May the Light of the Lord shine upon you and grant you happiness on this your birthday and for many years to come. A Birthday Poem for you…

    In the mustardseed sun,
    By full tilt river and switchback sea
    Where the cormorants scud,
    In his house on stilts high among beaks
    And palavers of birds
    This sandgrain day in the bent bay’s grave
    He celebrates and spurns
    His driftwood ninetieth wind turned age;
    Herons spire and spear.

    Under and round him go
    Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails,
    Doing what they are told,
    Curlews aloud in the congered waves
    Work at their ways to death,
    And the rhymer in the long tongued room,
    Who tolls his birthday bell,
    Toils towards the ambush of his wounds;
    Herons, steeple stemmed, bless.

    In the thistledown fall,
    He sings towards anguish; finches fly
    In the claw tracks of hawks
    On a seizing sky; small fishes glide
    Through wynds and shells of drowned
    Ship towns to pastures of otters. He
    In his slant, racking house
    And the hewn coils of his trade perceives
    Herons walk in their shroud,

    The livelong river’s robe
    Of minnows wreathing around their prayer;
    And far at sea he knows,
    Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end
    Under a serpent cloud,
    Dolphins dive in their turnturtle dust,
    The rippled seals streak down
    To kill and their own tide daubing blood
    Slides good in the sleek mouth.

    In a cavernous, swung
    Wave’s silence, wept white angelus knells.
    Ninety bells sing struck
    On skull and scar where his loves lie wrecked,
    Steered by the falling stars.
    And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage
    Terror will rage apart
    Before chains break to a hammer flame
    And love unbolts the dark

    And freely he goes lost
    In the unknown, famous light of great
    And fabulous, dear God.
    Dark is a way and light is a place,
    Heaven that never was
    Nor will be ever is always true,
    And, in that brambled void,
    Plenty as blackberries in the woods
    The dead grow for His joy.

    There he might wander bare
    With the spirits of the horseshoe bay
    Or the stars’ seashore dead,
    Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales
    And wishbones of wild geese,
    With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost,
    And every soul His priest,
    Gulled and chanter in young Heaven’s fold
    Be at cloud quaking peace,

    But dark is a long way.
    He, on the earth of the night, alone
    With all the living, prays,
    Who knows the rocketing wind will blow
    The bones out of the hills,
    And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last
    Rage shattered waters kick
    Masts and fishes to the still quick stars,
    Faithlessly unto Him

    Who is the light of old
    And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild
    As horses in the foam:
    Oh, let me twilight life mourn by the shrined
    And druid herons’ vows
    The voyage to ruin I must run,
    Dawn ships clouted aground,
    Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue,
    Count my blessings aloud:

    Four elements and five
    Senses, and man a spirit in love
    Tangling through this spun slime
    To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come
    And the lost, moonshine domes,
    And the sea that hides his secret selves
    Deep in its black, base bones,
    Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh,
    And this last blessing most,

    That the closer I move
    To death, one man through his sundered hulks,
    The louder the sun blooms
    And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults;
    And every wave of the way
    And gale I tackle, the whole world then,
    With more triumphant faith
    That ever was since the world was said,
    Spins its morning of praise,

    I hear the bouncing hills
    Grow larked and greener at berry brown
    Fall and the dew larks sing
    Taller this thunderclap spring, and how
    More spanned with angels ride
    The mansouled fiery islands! Oh,
    Holier then their eyes,
    And my shining men no more alone
    As I sail out to die

    – Dylan Thomas

  42. I’m blushing, birddog. My father read this same poem to me when I was little. Your words compliment my smile from ear to smiling ear! Thank you! ºOº

  43. Endless blue, expanding sky,
    cotton-white fluff , riding high.

    Red blood spilled across the land,
    then gray smoke from pipe in hand.

    Peace was found with price to pay,
    chanting words, in yellow we pray.

    Blackness falls upon naked stick,
    face revealed, an everlasting trip.

  44. “Call of the Wild”

    So here we are pushing into September
    All the past days I can only remember
    True is what they say time heals all wounds
    But my heart and soul still lay in the ruins

    I want more simply for I am a man
    Was this all part of some master plan
    I can’t lay down without the knowledge
    Please deliver to us without disparage

    You know the answers why don’t you tell
    We’re left by the wayside while you try to sell
    Starving for attention ringing loud like a bell
    Frozen in time hoping for warmth from hell

    I’m calling as this wildness seems to howl
    If it wasn’t found we’d still be on the prowl
    It’s the golden days that were left behind
    From here to forward it’s hard to be kind

    Pray your fortune keeps you sleeping good at night
    We pray for sleep as your fortune gives us spite
    The mighty man desires more than his might
    Regarding less and less from this furious blight

    Peaks and valleys were of no concern
    It was all the mastery that I have learn
    Keep your eye on the money if you so please
    Don’t get me wrong I’m enjoying this tease! 🙂

    Pauley T

  45. Forrest Fenn made a Puzzle

    And he used powerful bait

    Like a hound off his muzzle

    I found 89, not ole fate’

    full.

    44.992334, -110.691283

    44.973925, -110.703904

    44.814327, -110.730296

    44.811369, -110.732116

    44.808891, -110.734391

    44.799848, -110.720258

    44.801230, -110.714552

    44.808046, -110.706703

    44.815040, -110.716527

    A Happy Marriage…

  46. A wish (found somewhere on the worlwide web)

    If anyone desires a wish to come true,
    they must first capture a butterfly and whisper that wish to it.
    Since a butterfly can make no sound,
    the butterfly can not reveal the wish to anyone but the Great Spirit who hears and sees all.
    In gratitude for giving the beautiful butterfly its freedom,
    the Great Spirit always grants the wish.
    So, according to legend,
    by making a wish and giving the butterfly its freedom,
    the wish will be taken to the heavens and be granted.

    Jan

  47. And this is why butterfies became silent:

    Butterflies
    A Papago Legend
    One day the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play in a village. The children laughed and sang, yet as he watched them, the Creator’s heart was sad. He was thinking: “These children will grow old. Their skin will become wrinkled. Their hair will turn gray. Their teeth will fall out. The young hunter’s arm will fail. These lovely young girls will grow ugly and fat. The playful puppies will become blind, mangy dogs. And those wonderful flowers – yellow and blue, red and purple – will fade. The leaves from the trees will fall and dry up. Already they are turning yellow.” Thus the Creator grew sadder and sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the coming winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made his heart heavy.
    Yet it was still warm, and the sun was shining. The Creator watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women. Suddenly he smiled. “All those colors, they ought to be preserved. I’ll make something to gladden my heart, something for these children to look at and enjoy.”
    The Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow of playing children, the blackness of a beautiful girl’s hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red, purple, and orange of the flowers around him. All these he put into his bag. As an afterthought, he put the songs of the birds in, too.
    Then he walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. “Children, little children, this is for you,” and he gave them his bag. “Open it; there’s something nice inside,” he told them. The children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflies flew out, dancing around the children’s heads, settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sip from this or that flower. And the children, enchanted, said that they had never seen anything so beautiful.
    The butterflies began to sing, and the children listened smiling. But then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creator’s shoulder, scolding him, saying: “It’s not right to give our songs to these new, pretty things. You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And now you’ve passed them all around. Isn’t it enough that you gave your new playthings the colors of the rainbow?” “You’re right,” said the Creator. “I made one song for each bird, and I shouldn’t have taken what belongs to you.”
    So the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that’s why they are silent. “They’re beautiful even so!” he said.

    • Monarchs are beautiful and wish I could see more. I have Swallowtails which are attracted to my purple flowers. I’m reminded of visiting the Santa Fe area a few years ago and taking my youngest daughter’s Senior pictures up from Hyde Park and there was a small pastel blue butterfly that caught our eyes. Took a picture of her bending down looking at it. Nice memory.

  48. And in this way the Creator did not only give a Rainbow of colors to the Children, but also a treasure bag full of butterflies to seek for all of them .

  49. The fact that we are all searching for solutions for ff’s poem, leads us to very strange extremes and beautifull poems, written by others.
    This is one very special poem that I found, and maybe reflects quite well a frightening image of the world we are living in now.
    I could not copy-paste the text, because it is a picture. I can only give a link:

    https://images.app.goo.gl/uCBXCtogay2wWAHW9

    Jan

  50. “Stolen Whispers”

    As he walked through the thick
    It preyed upon his solace ears
    Towards that sound he ran quick
    For the whisper is of his dears

    It rushes over boulders
    That have lain throughout
    His gear on his shoulders
    Hoping for a mighty trout

    One more wish of adventure
    That’s what he likes to pray
    Casting shadows for pleasure
    Eternity should be this way

    Like a horseman with lasso
    His patients is true and full
    Chasin fish without hassle
    Within moments not cruel

    The days lessen into the fall
    Comfort waits for the winter
    As he hears the spring call
    And again steal down the river.

    For all the fishermen.
    Pauley T

  51. Though I awoke I thought it was night
    Until I saw in the distance a shimmering light
    The only thing visible to show me the way
    To carry me through to the existence of day
    Though darkness falls hard and try’s to take hold
    One small candle can enlighten the gold
    So you do your part and I’ll also do mine
    Don’t you remember those sweet little lines

    “This little light of mine I’m gonna let it shine”

      • Agreed Mr. AMERICANA, Right On! Treader, Ride On! Since we are on a roll, hear is another…

        “The Why to my friend Victor”

        I once sat on a rainy night, contemplating on my friend Victor ‘s fight.
        Surely he knows his wise answer, and forgets not his own question.

        I should write him a letter, reminding my dear friend to not forget why! It’s in a name you see, and just then may my friend snap free!

        All alone the Victor stands, shouting to the earth and heavens with his hands. Bellows of glory last had, and ghosts of a young lad, help the Victor ring true, the ending for me and you.

        The ending WHY is to never be forgotten, it awaits your answer and to follow once begotten.

        VICTORY

  52. “The Last Of It’s Kind”

    That day came and the Treasure he found
    He noticed his solitude without anyone around
    As he lifted the lid to take a look inside
    He thought to grab it all and go and hide

    All the others wanted someone to blame
    The rumors spread fast like a wild to tame
    Give in to us the crowd yelled at once
    Trying to make the man feel like a dunce

    With support from the creator he remains aloof
    He’s riding the shadows avoiding it on the hoof
    One more answer to bare if he’ll try the question
    Please give it to us so we’ll have some direction

    We are hunters and gatherers that is our nature
    The word of Brown just may be of nomenclature
    Still we gather to rejoice without the prize
    We’ll round up again to prove the man wise

    At the fishing bridge or somewhere else too
    This pack will run to greet each one of you
    They are a desired bunch with a lotta gems
    A group of hunters who are also good friends.

    Rejoice Ye Hunters.

  53. The Brave Wood

    I ponder and wonder in my thunder
    On my woods, that haunt and echo under
    Failures fly by, taunting to return fact
    Staging the set posed for the final act

    Questions of victory or defeat remaining
    Unanswered forever to those just sustaining
    Treading the water, floating with the mundane
    Brings no answer, until you find the pane

    That window that sees the lightning
    Shocking and shaking but not frightening
    You crack and craze like an animal
    And break free the protective enamel

    If nothing changes nothing changes,
    I fought for myself, and ran past those who stood
    My bold story breaks in like poetry
    Blazing the way, the way in, the brave wood.

  54. To all of you Fenn Warrior Poets, I cherish your words. This is my wish poem.

    “Flicker and the Flutter”

    I would love to be in front of a campfire with you sharing a long stare. No words, just the warmth of each others silent presence over the fire. Just you me and a ring of fire. The occasional pop-crackle and the curious pass of a winged flicker. Maybe we see our old demons, and empathize at a now powerless thing. Laugh and scare ourselves with stories until we find that long quiet stare again. Sharing a struggle contently without words, without confirmation and still knowing without doubt we are there together. We flutter with the flicker as flames of thought glide in and out and around freely. What we can do is smile back.

    Again, thank you Forrest and Dal, and all you beautiful bold writers for the smiles.

  55. How does it end, has it even began
    Will the smoke bend, or the mirror befriend
    So many questions, unsure the destine
    Confident of intention, to reveal perfection
    Praying for signs, he knows a design
    Connecting the lines, avoiding the mine
    Skipping with rope, peering with scope
    Trying to cope, will they accept hope
    Anticipating the close, where the wind blows
    Though the water flows, the light still glows

    Be the friend you would like to have
    Treat each person you encounter as if they were your mother
    Act like God is in the passenger seat of your car
    Make it a goal to do at least one random act of kindness every day
    Look up the definition of unselfish
    Pray for our country

  56. Patrick Henry: And in thy sphere, practice virtue thyself and encourage it in others.

    Me: Censorship is the domain of the small-minded.

    Me:
    Beware the hand that stills the pen
    Behind the veil of good for men.

    Beware the shroud cast over head,
    To quell the noise, unfit thought shed.

    Beware echoes heard everywhere,
    In ev’ry space and ev’ry lair.

    Beware the absence of raised voice.
    Conformity? Expunge all choice.

    Beware sameness: alike in thought.
    Each mind unique, creative not.

    Beware the mind confused and fraught,
    And knows only that which it’s taught.

    Beware the minds thus bound by men,
    Forged by the hands that still the pen.

    Joe (me)

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