After pleasant dreams comes another sunrise
Retiring from the battle
After pleasant dreams comes another sunrise
Geir Isene – uncut
#radical_simplicity #radical_honesty #public_speaker #mental_trainer #measurable_results #creative
After pleasant dreams comes another sunrise
A STRING OF DRAGONS
Fjord rising vertical out of the sea
Purple walls – violet dawn
deep blue flat filling the base
as the sea rests below.
Curved bowed ships, wings folded
aflame with color
laying at anchor in small cluster
in contrast to the solemn grandeur around and above
White birds
swooping down
singing the clean song of the air and sea
the only sound
Then in the distance
and rumbling off the massive mountain walls
the deep ring of men
as the sun rises to the edge of the sky
singing their farewell
and heralds of great deeds done and to be
small children chirping behind
down a deep gully path
and to the small
ships waiting
a little yellow flower on the cliff
bends in the salty breeze
Aye – it will be a good day for the sails
the gods are pleased with this voyage
One ship then another pull anchor
and lift sail
Queue quietly drifts down the fjord
towards the open sea – a string of dragons
By Diann Caudill
She has many poems in “Golden Horses – Poetry For A New Civilization”, a book of poems by Scientologists published by Admiral Books in 1976.
A.D. 1216: I can still feel the cold damp morning air and the lonely empty feeling of leaving loved ones and fire. The regretful feeling of getting into a boat I didn’t want to travel in to sail away to places I didn’t want to go to and to do things that I would be ashamed of.
A.D. 1990: Acquiescence isn’t a sign of good character when it breaks your integrity. I wouldn’t stand against what I knew was evil then. But this life I found the character to stand against what was similarly destructive now.
“When spring comes the grass grows by itself.” – Tao te Ching
🙂
Hi Geir,
Gorgeous picture! And inspiring. So here we go …
Reach
The wind blows fair on the long reach home
Before the tide crests.
We hurtle on soft at sunset,
At wave’s speed,
At seagull cries,
At salt spray.
Buoy bells ring us on, on, and on
Down our path to sunset,
To the molten mountains,
To the ridge lines fulgent with draining gold,
To the dimming harbor.
We feast on dusk whispers that hiss-s-s-s-s at
The passing bow’s rise and fall, rise and fall.
Slap, whine, ring of rigging to the
Jib and mainsail’s snap and fill.
Jolt. Scramble. Come about.
Jolt. Scramble. Lines slap, tauten, snap
Until we slide, luffing, to the dock.
– Another Layer – July 1, 2010
Thanks!
Looks like an image from “Myst”
“I realized the moment I fell into the fissure that the book would not be destroyed as I planned. It continued falling into that starry expanse of which I only had a fleeting glimpse. I tried to speculate where it may have landed but must admit that such conjecture is futile. Still, questions of who’s hands may one day hold MY Myst book are unsettling to me. I realize that my apprehensions might never be allayed and so I close realizing that the ending might not yet be written.”
– Atrus