“The Blueprint for Idealism” by Ireland
cry the beloved hours
that effortless era of youth
tripping lightly through
minefields of destiny
insensate of peril
unhampered by gravity
everything possible
given free rein of the heart
the brain merely a vessel
for artifacts perfect imagined
ethereal substance of
piquant potential
a time for the birthing
of worlds of the mind
existential idealist utopias
cry the beloved hours
that effortless era of youth
Writer & Poet Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
You don't know where you are going. You don't know how to get there. And you arrive just the same. Ghanaian saying
Poésie sous les étoiles
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
I remember it well. Those days before reality swamped dreams
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it feels like a violent whiplash to have sped away from the feeling that all is possible, only to have arrived at a place where nothing seems possible
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To have to consider putting my back out tangling with shoelaces, when said shoelaces really ought to be peripheral things, I once took for granted!
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I kind’a miss it when you put it like that . . .
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welcome home, peter
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Pingback: Distance Of Years – Power Insan
thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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“the brain merely a vessel
for artifacts perfect imagined”
sublime. 🙂
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thank you most kindly
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I’m tangling with your poem. I confess that I do not remember my youth as being effortless.
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we all come with different experience – for me, it was judgment that was effortless – always so sure of good and bad, right and wrong, black and white – too easy to nominate heroes and villains – too easy to love and hate
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Thank you for this insight. This comes through consistently in your poetry. I, too, was clear about right and wrong, though in a different sphere of experience. I still am and can’t believe the US is in such a mess.
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I love this poem. I especially like the line “tripping lightly through minefields of destiny” …awesome stuff
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I appreciate that very much
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Pingback: From a Distance of Years — Poesy plus Polemics – Journal Edge
thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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