What could have been,
What should have been,
Sometimes seem more appealing,
Than what is

The roads untravelled,
The dreams never sought,
The desires compromised,
Sometimes take their toll.

Who would I have been,
If what could have been,
Had been.

Would I still be writing this poem,
Wondering,
What would have happened,
If I had taken a different turn

Or, would I be just writing different lyrics,
And try to have them fit
On the same old music?

I guess,
There would always be A road untravelled,
Or a poem left abandoned, unfinished
Stories ending before they could begin,
The mystery behind the what could have beens.

So, this is a shout out,
To all the lives I'll never live,
And the people I'll never be,

But where I landed,
And who I'm,
It is up to me,
To make it worthwhile,

And I reckon,
It is still a feat
Worth celebrating

'Cause,
As appealing,
as the roads untravelled might be,
Nothing beats the experience
And the excitement,
That the roads we travelled have brought

Hair styles
Hair colors
Hairdos
Hairfall
Blonde
Brunette
Redhead
Grey
Or just black

A few strands of which
I found in her comb
In one untravelled recess of wardrobe
An untouched memento
From past two decades
Not graying
Not growing
Undeclined
Undestroyed

black and thick

the only relic

for her son!

140

An altered look about the hills—
A Tyrian light the village fills—
A wider sunrise in the morn—
A deeper twilight on the lawn—
A print of a vermillion foot—
A purple finger on the *****—
A flippant fly upon the pane—
A spider at his trade again—
An added strut in Chanticleer—
A flower expected everywhere—
An axe shrill singing in the woods—
Fern odors on untravelled roads—
All this and more I cannot tell—
A furtive look you know as well—
And Nicodemus’ Mystery
Receives its annual reply!

My shy hand shades a hermitage apart, -
O large enough for thee, and thy brief hours.
Life there is sweeter held than in God's heart,
Stiller than in the heavens of hollow flowers.


The wine is gladder there than in gold bowls.
And Time shall not drain thence, nor trouble spill.
Sources between my fingers feed all souls,
Where thou mayest cool thy lips, and draw thy fill.


Five cushions hath my hand, for reveries;
And one deep pillow for thy brow's fatigues;
Languor of June all winterlong, and ease
For ever from the vain untravelled leagues.


Thither your years may gather in from storm,
And Love, that sleepeth there, will keep thee warm.

she departed forever*
never looked back
never came back
lit up like a phoenix August forest
perished in blazes of passionate hope
she departed forever
to lands unknown and roads untravelled
left behind her innocence lost and youth gone by
never looked back
never came back

As I pond-
      er the stream
              Of life, I brook
                       Our oceans
             Lost, our rivers
        Unexplored, estuaries
   Untravelled, tributaries
      Unseen; our courses
  Diverged,              our ways
Parted like                  the Red Sea,
    We drifted                on the tides
   Like ships                caught on waves
Carried on                   torrid floods,
     Riding the             cascading torrents
       Over strange      uncharted waters,
       And yet if our     paths ever flow
             To meet in some channel
                   On a distant shore,
                       Expect no tears,
                            No weeping,
                                  I won't cry
                                        You a river

Whatever.

I thought that I:
lost the power
fell from grace
left behind the Presence

Yet it remains anchored
Steadfast

It cannot be stripped from me
by a church that has exiled me
I was never to a Sunday Christian anyway

The gifts and the call of God are irrevocable
...were not given to me by man,
only confirmed..
Man cannot take it away

The heart I was given
the spirit that defines me
the gifts I share
The most important lesson I have ever learned -
that: "To love is to give"
will not be blotted out of my notebook.

So what am I?
I don't know
All I know is that my purpose here
Is to guide
to reveal
to those whom I sent

"You are not mere clay...Breathed of God is your first breath...and the light of eternity will shine upon your last"

No river is crossed
No path untravelled
No passage unjourneyed
...to which the gateway is not found within.

Beyond the boundary of the accepted, tolerated, comformable
is where you will find this cleric

Preaching in bars
reaching out on the streets

My only prayer:
Let me continue to defy
Assumptions of what can, should be done.

And in the end...
we shall all be on the long road home

An orphaned sky
yet almost blue
depicting wasteland beautiful
travel save, ye lonely bird
and take care of your thought and word

a single beat, a single song
abandoned lands, a moan so long
hurting kind, oh bless my soul
melancholia will take its toll

contoures blurred
in a view unkind
the difference of
the second sight

a stone uncarved
the tide unfilled
unequation - remain in light
straight ahead
neither left, nor right
straight ahead,
nor left, nor right

things unsaid,
things undone,
things unsomething,
songs unsung,
the road untravelled,
the weakness strong,
the deeds so many
but
too many turns wrong

oh faithful breath ye gentle wind
make me see the morning light
straight ahead
not left
not right…

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to race to the western promises.

Passing into lands previously untravelled,
Towards the glow emenating from those golden opportunities,
Almost as if taking flight towards the stark blue horizon.

Not long to go,
Just a push and a plunge,
A great fall to the left on the map.

In search of a better future,
As great plains are traversed,
The beacon of answers to great questions lay ahead.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to outrace the eastern storm.

Lessons in the trunk,
A case of tenacity in the passenger seat,
Goals hogging the back seat.

The wind tussling hair as it passes,
A gentle greeting as the countryside opens up,
The air clearer with every mile.

Everything seeming sharper,
Like a previously unknown haze being pulled from the eyes,
Colors vibrant and new.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Chasing the setting sun and running from the night.

What if I told you
only fools love me.

My heart’s been stolen
by the waves and sunsets
and the mountains and seas.

It aches only for untravelled paths,
the whispers of the wind
through the flowers and trees.

Is it really a sin to surrender?
To push my spirit past its skin
and soar the skies to feel free.

Let me ask you...

What chance does anyone have?
When they’re up against the world
and when they’re up against me.

.         Colonised Minds



If only we believed what we’d seen

the untravelled could be forgiven.


But adventures are not just journeys

to Ryan Air “ sanitised destinations “.


Yet, one does not need to leave home

to discover alternative truths, varied

opinions, or different perspectives.


Sadly, parochial intellects are unable

to look think or even imagine laterally.


Repetition is always their selection

even from menu's of multiple choices.


Uneducated palates are destined to

repeat what they previously ordered

and are totally unaware of ingredients.


Therefore, they will consume without

a single question whatever is placed

in front of them on their satellite dishes.