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I have trekked scorching deserts,
leaving only temporary footprints,
upon trackless sands. Shallow etched
impressions soon erased by the wind.

Sailed upon deep ocean seas, swam
and surfed cobalt blue saline waves
skimming over colorful coral reefs.
Leaving nothing to mark my passage.

Hiked high mountain wilderness trails,
camped and slept under bright star lit
skies, decamping with not a single trace
of my transitory visit, or earthly presence.

In travel I learned meaningful values and
life lessons from people that lived in thatched
huts and never attended college or read a book.

My great grandchildren will not know me
except for some old photos and a few handed
down stories, I will not hold them, kiss their
tiny faces, or pass on anything I have learned,
that becomes my children's role. And that
will be my only lasting footprint on this earth.

This knowledge should be our goal in all
we do in our short lives. Like all living
creatures, we are but brief guest on this
earth. Destined to procreate and fade away.
While we are passing through, we should
endeavor to do as little harm as possible.
No amount of formal education can teach and
enlighten us as much as broad travel and the
exposure to the wisdom of nature.

I am grateful to have traveled and explored
diverse lands and cultures and to have
acquired broader insight gained in the
process.

I have bought things, built things,
accumulated "Stuff" much of it
meaningless in the full scope of
time and importance. My only real
ongoing accomplishment is my
family, that and understanding my
limited significance upon this Earth.

It is not what we have, it is what we do,
or do not do that matters. And above all
do no harm.
THE FOREVER FLOWER

she hands me a stalk
"The flower's dress
fell off!"

"Fix it!" she cries
I by sleight of hand
fix her flower but with a different colour

"It's a different colour!"
"The flower..." I tell her
". . .changed its dress!"

this flower
with its dress fallen off
I hold forever
AND DID THESE FEET...

Jesus is wearing
scuffed sneakers

"Made in China."

A hoodie with
the hood down.

Jesus, he's
one handsome dude.

Obviously a man
of colour.

Second Comings
are just like that difficult

2nd album.

Surely the critics
won't crucify me again

here
in an American shopping mall.

Some acapella  busking
should go down well.

The remix of
BLESSED ARE.

But it's a SIGN OF
THE TIMES

he's shot
as Prince rings out.

Jesus reaching for
the Good Book.

The white cop
who shot

claims he didn't know
what he was

reaching for...

didn't look like
no saviour to me.

Also he was obviously
a man of colour.

Blood pools
like a halo

around his
dear head.

Most people reach for
their mobile phones.

Only one passerby
kneels and prays.
THE GENTLEMAN OF SHALLOT

Come Spring...

I paint my little room
all yellow

fill it with
daffodils & jonquils

drag in a giant
mirror

(left in the back yard)      

so large

it takes up
all the wall

giving the illusion
of another room

as if my room
were now not so

small.

Sometime the trompe l'œil,
fools even me

& I walk into
the imaginary room.

'Ouch! '
my reflection shouts!

Come Spring...
...came you!

(totally unexpected)      

& my playing with
perspective

hath you enthralled.

I'd catch you
catching your
reflection observing you

observing
the mirror couple

as they
mimicked us

watching our every
move

you thought it so
sensual

or could pretend to be
at a small ****

when it was only
us

again

&

again.

Bodies of flesh & blood
bodies of glass.

You breathe
upon the mirror

tracing our names
with a fingertip

fragile words
made of breath

'...this love...will last...! '

*

When we break
up

the mirror
stayed intact

except for a jagged
lightning crack

& now it was I
who watched

like a gentleman of Shallot

the couple
in the mirror

(the ghosts of
memory)      

making love

bodies of flesh
& blood

bodies

of

glass.
Do you ever wish the
Pleasant visionaries
Of your daydreams
Were aware
They lived in your
Imagery?
When 2 daydreams meet. Maybe they know.
I really loved the definition of daydreams
 Oct 2023 wes parham
B L Costello
I met her when her hair was black,
Mine was covered with a cap,
As I grew,
We knew each other,
My hair has been many colors,
And now,
While she approaches night,
Still pulled back,
Her hair is now white,
The thought of her loss,
Makes me afraid,
My eyes wet,
and premature gray
BLCostello©2023
She dressed herself in beguiling array,
never did she grumble nor ever she dared say..
that her life
is not worth living
even when she only lasts a day.



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