“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
Exploring the poetry of everyday life
Never, oh! never, nothing will die... (Alfred Tennyson)
“My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.” ~ Sharon Doubiago
no dust here
Copywriting, Editing, Publishing & Content Development Services * PHONE / TEXT (236) 881-3185
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
A fine WordPress.com site
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
VICEDOMINI OF THE WUP New Name, New Location! Welcome to our poetry corner, The Poets’ Corner NEW SITE! The name has been changed to (our) because it belongs to all of us who post! Sincerely hope you find the change easy and exciting to be here! Please feel free to post and comment your thoughts so we all can enjoy!
KaterinaMichouli's.com site
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
LikeLiked by 1 person
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
LikeLiked by 1 person
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!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I kind’a miss it when you put it like that . . .
LikeLiked by 2 people
welcome home, peter
LikeLike
Pingback: Distance Of Years – Power Insan
thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
LikeLike
“the brain merely a vessel
for artifacts perfect imagined”
sublime. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you most kindly
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m tangling with your poem. I confess that I do not remember my youth as being effortless.
LikeLiked by 1 person
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
LikeLike
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.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love this poem. I especially like the line “tripping lightly through minefields of destiny” …awesome stuff
LikeLiked by 1 person
I appreciate that very much
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: From a Distance of Years — Poesy plus Polemics – Journal Edge
thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
LikeLike