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  Dec 2016 eleanor prince
Colm
We are not entitled to exciting things.

Neither sunrise, nor sunset waits for any human hand.
It simply is, and you must be there to capture it, if you want, and you can.

Lest you complain, that you have been given a lesser chance than another man.

To live your life without the sleep you need, and sacrifice your hands and feet.
In pursuit of something far short of eternity.
I call that a distraction.

On your game again, you cannot help but play again.
Obsession mixed with practice, is but a single means of expressing passion.
Which may or may not be, for you, a form of extraction.

Pulling yourself from the reality of a dissatisfactory life.
Softening the blow to take, and heading down the wrong direction.
Time and time again, for goodness sake….

This life, this journey, will always be full of such mistakes.

But to let your doubts drive you away,
To let your fear of the unknown, leech the very passion of your life away,
By means of distraction.

That my friends, is a failure of action.
A surrender to the reaction of taking a check, and spending your small fraction.  
When every day, you’d grow in spirit, if you'd only renegade with your your passion.

Staggering home after half a day, while trying simply to escape, the prior day's’ inability and inaction.

But I digress. Remember this.

We are not entitled to live exciting lives of interaction.

We must first create and encourage, not inhibit,
The excitement within others,
Which motivates them towards their own action.

This my friends, is the very nature of passion.
a strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire for anything
eleanor prince Dec 2016
as one stage empties
slow shuffle exit
another curtain will
rise

waiting for that spark
an instant in time
silent explosion
within

stylus on rock face
outline of past forms
a mountain's sudden
call

as eagle marks
still moments
above a darkened
gorge

brooding dawn
fights clouds'
urgent
cries

and man's spirit
lifts high and
at last
flies

free

- - - - - -
Sometimes poems don't easily flow for a time.  Perhaps we are trying to have each one just perfect.  This off the cuff poem arose spontaneously and is dedicated to Kamala  from poetfreak.com (ending 31/12/16) who has wonderful talent.  This is my welcome poem to him if he finds his way here:
Take care - you are a brilliant poet - it sits there waiting for that spark - a turn of the head, a cloud formation, a child's sudden laugh on distant wind, the roar of a river...
an eagle soaring steady, ominous, yet beautiful - as a sullen dawn over a brooding sea - ah! I feel it stir in you - it is there...
for you are a true poet, my friend, so let it fly free...!
I found this pic on Flickr to accompany this post - it's worth viewing: https://www.flickr.com/photos/visbeek/4079078904/in/photolist-GGYAEj-zPqzkH-C6vKbQ-tUkRHr-tBTyRn-tBTyre-u5ffKz-sXjLhh-7dsm3C-nNmfSZ-5XmwwH-nJcEhR-GRkyQQ-rAKyje-6hfKbn-9RWR7c-aZugaB-cYE9bm-96nk4X-5TS2fP-tUtcM6-s51CHE-tpkJAo-tvC4gD-uvYmuC-xQijbn-tLgSWL-syvu
eleanor prince Oct 2016
bent man's coat
torn

crisp shirts
board table
graced

now
grey

winds pummel
forgotten frame

crouched
low

cardboard sheet
sodden

wan dawn
breaks

society's stare
averts

empties past
hurried

imagines
immunity

from life's
bitter cold
this pic is something of what this poem portrays...
https://www.flickr.com/photos/124085518@N08/16609308305/in/faves-51029280@N05/
eleanor prince Oct 2016
stellar sketch
on waste paper

unfortunate, he said
and left without a glance

snobbery stiffened
his regal back *****

what number
I mused

adept at
brisk dispersal

another spent
autumn leaf

from wrong part
of town

crushed underfoot
with swift disdain

familiar pain screams
on mute screen

tears leave as rage
breaks grief's hold

walls bleak
accuse

sunken eyes pierce
where hope once sang

free in life's
sun-kissed  field

before awareness
smirked crude

shaking illusion's
ephemeral sigh
For some reason catching sight of this pic elicited this poem...
https://www.flickr.com/photos/damianward/30230313085/in/faves-51029280@N05/
eleanor prince Jul 2016
two men sat fishing
by a village stream
one short
one tall...

Short Man:
I think he's wrong
to chat to kids
leave them alone
there is no need

Tall Man:
What have you there
your venal mind
has lost the plot
there is no deed

Short Man:
No man has kids
who like him so
it must be bad
let's cast our vote

Tall Man:
No issue here
we're always there
he's not alone
I'll have you note

Short Man:
They tell him stuff
we never hear
why don't they talk
to us instead

Tall Man:
You're busy mate
you shut them up
and all you do
is keep them fed

Short Man:
It's just not done
the kids all flock
they see a saint
could be a threat

Tall Man:
The Lord himself
had kids mill 'round
for he was good
no need to fret

Short Man:
It's true I s'pose
that's different though
a Son of God
can do it right

Tall Man:
So all of us
imperfect souls
can only lose
the moral fight?

Short Man:
Of course it's not
as clear as that
just can't abide
if kids get hurt

Tall Man:
Well that's okay
but blacken not
a decent man
by throwing dirt

Short Man:
I'll flog him to
an inch of life
if we would hear
he's crossed the line

Tall Man:
You know I loathe
all deviant ways
be careful though
for he's benign

Short Man:
I hear you man
my thoughts run wild
we mustn't see
it black and white

Tall Man:
Imagine if
he's told this sh-t
to slander hear
how would that bite

Short Man:
You have a point
not all are bad
some have more time
than most townsfolk

Tall Man:
I've heard he steers
them to the good
he's simply not
a usual bloke

Short Man:
You're right my friend
you've pulled me up
an honest man
we should defend
you may enjoy seeing the pic I selected from Flickr for this:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/samkennedy1/7795937594/in/faves-51029280@N05/
eleanor prince Jul 2016
I am he
I am she
I am child
I’m your voice

I have fear
I have pain
I have love
Is there choice

Ravaged crop
Destitute
Plundered field
How I weep

For the times
I once knew
Long ago
Babe in arms

Succour sweet
Lullabies
Soothed my soul
How it calms

Within months
It had gone
He appeared
Hatred spread

Body torn
Savaged soul
Night had come
Life had fled
http://www.flickr.com/photos/callocephalon/3488339058/
  Jul 2016 eleanor prince
Tom Balch
Through the mist I caught his eye
a majestic beast was he,
stood firm and proud his head held high
his fearless stance for all to see.

I dared not move just held his gaze,
held my breath for fear he´d run,
with staring eyes he stood unfazed
in this stand-off he knew he´d won.

As I backed up he turned away
slowly fading from my sight,
was it a dream or real that day
in the misty morning light*.
On an encounter with a stag in the Scottish highlands...
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