For thy bonnie wee lass I will fecht,
Tae laigh in her airms, upon thy bosom aw necht.
And for her guid wame, iver an on I’ll wrought.
Oh tae be her mannie is a muckle braw thocht.
Amungst the rest o’ unco lillie ladies, she by far fairs the best.
No matter how logical you are, or how sensible your reasoning is, or how many facts you state in justification of which case you are trying to establish – truely ignorant people will always deem you the ignorant one if you do not conform to popular opinion.
In shadow dreams
No color of skin, nor mien
Walk around consuming, tasteless eatings;
Void of feelings
Yet hanker for the ‘greater things’
When nothing’s really what it seems
Pretentious luxuries the world fiends.
A pariah born by no mother, searching for a purpose, a reason
Wanders in the shadows of the unseen
Lost amongst the developing chaos of masked entities.
A heart – that’s a clock run backwards; beating – to the end’s beginning
To recapture a child’s bliss and arrant freedom.
It’s the middle of winter, January 10th 2017; all I can think of is the feel of warm summer air breaking on my face, creating a strong turbulence; hearing nothing but the wind roaring passed my ears and the rumble of my 1983 Honda V65 Magna with 116 raw horse power drifting along the smooth winding pavement with nothing but a slight tilt of my wrist and a gentle lean here and there. Cut the edge close to the brink of pavement as I corner, just for that slight increase of a rush. In no hurry to see what comes next but I hit a straight stretch and cock the wrist right back to discover what speeds I can engage before having to let off and corner again – I push it to the last second for an exhilarating thrill. It’s ironic that at such high speeds it still feels like I’m watching the world pass by in slow motion; as I depart from landscapes and watch them change like phases of life, something new around every corner; and even more drastic changes as I make it over mountains and through valleys, over lakes by ferry, and around the edges of cities. There’s not even close to any absolute destination, just an exploration to anywhere the road channels. The gaiety is affluent in such a ride, in fact almost inexpressible – an infinite journey of complete freedom. I will only stop when the heart’s content and desires a break, (a local town pub for a fresh cold brew would be ideal); or a mere is in need of a pause for a more perceivable observation; and lastly at the day’s end when I’ve found a desirable atmosphere to lay my head and rest for the night. Too long has the bitter cold deprived me of such a day as depicted. I wait eagerly to do what I ought when the sun’s shine warms the streets again.
To sail abroad, to drift without course or direction; this would be freedom’s most privileged adventure. A journey to nowhere, no where specific at least, yet to anywhere the heart hankers or the wind simply navigates to. Stay afloat, sail through the vast open oceans, pass through uncharted waters, so to speak, but go beyond the limits of mankind. Why not? Self denial to aught is only to last breathing long enough to see an insignificant death: rather than promoting every dream one has; every new exciting jaunt; every rugged climb to see further. To live a transcendent and momentous life, unadulterated and without hindrance should be each self respecting and honorable entity’s drive – driven by heart through whatever paths one finds rousing. Set one’s self apart from the rest, apart from the frivolous standards of others by which so many lives are dictated. To live in autonomy by one’s heart should be the only compulsory thing in life. Float abroad seizing every moment life emits.
A feint love was all that had perished.
Her sapphire eyes gaze yonder through the steam dissipating aloft, like a transparent veil. Behind which her face peers through the dark sleek hair that runs down her face and around the contours of her bosom: the way the light aluminates off her wet pail flesh; as the water beeds down her neck, around her curves, and over the pink nipples which are perched perfectly amidst each breast, as if to stand gaurd to a pure heart. There she is with the water girdled around her waist – the skin shimmers beneath, from her posterior (where her hands lay aside), down her crossed legs as she lays back upon a handsome rock at the brink of the pool: in the perfect stature of a lady. Keen eyes are not needed to see the beauty in such a portrait. Such an aw-ing picture should infer an immense and mighty lust deep in any man. A lust that can bring a man back to his primitive and savage roots, that craves to romp like a beast in the wild – rough and without restraint – skin to skin, luscious, naked and whole.
The road to destruction’s a fast lane, but the rout to recuperation is a long hard climb.
Beer more beer, water’s for queers.
Let’s hear a cheers for bottomless beers.
Watch my dreams succeed while I’m swimming in mead.
You say I can’t? Well I’m full of cans.
So I’ll consume every can cantly for all you can’ts.
Some days are better than others, but everyday beer is good.