Gone Waundering
....gone waundering!
gone waundering and so i go,
out in the outback’s of my mind,
far from the shore’s of hominal demesne….
—-gone waundering where the paths of other’s have not trod,
while the winds of government’s blow past my head,
i catch the currents of ancient’s past,
and watch as these gladly welcome me back….
—-gone waundering with a golden field of dreams,
when to my awakened surprise i saw the reality,
how dreams are all that one can truly possess,
and imagination is the fuel that lights my fire….
——gone waundering with the likes of john donne,
“Love built on beauty,
soon as beauty,
dies.”
—-yes gone waundering,
gone waundering as a how to gather of my-self,
and if and when i shall re-turn,
i shall re-tain the quenching fire that burns within my bowels….
....gone waundering….
....and….
Quote from John Donne; ”Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.” comes from “Elegy II: The Anagram”
Thank you.
GODSPEED,
Frank
RusticWoodArt
rusticwoodman@gmail.com
http://frank.wordpress.com/
—
”....i waunder, and so i go back before my beginning, where therein is written all my code, for what shall yet come forth in beauties of ‘wood art’....”
-- --frank, NH, http://frank.wordpress.com/
3 comments so far
Don
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2586 posts in 714 days
posted 493 days ago
”He that falls in love with himself will have no rivals.” Benjamin Franklin
-- CanuckDon "I just love small wooden boxes!" http://www.canterburybaptist.org/
PanamaJack
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4452 posts in 614 days
posted 493 days ago
Just a great way to start the weekend and to finish this week’s working. Thanks Frank….once again.
-- Carpe Lignum - Seize The Wood,
Greg3G
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682 posts in 622 days
posted 493 days ago
THIS IS A delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore. I go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part of herself. As I walk along the stony shore of the pond in my shirt-sleeves, though it is cool as well as cloudy and windy, and I see nothing special to attract me, all the elements are unusually congenial to me. The bullfrogs trump to usher in the night, and the note of the whip-poor-will is borne on the rippling wind from over the water. Sympathy with the fluttering alder and poplar leaves almost takes away my breath; yet, like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled. These small waves raised by the evening wind are as remote from storm as the smooth reflecting surface. Though it is now dark, the wind still blows and roars in the wood, the waves still dash, and some creatures lull the rest with their notes. The repose is never complete. The wildest animals do not repose, but seek their prey now; the fox, and skunk, and rabbit, now roam the fields and woods without fear. They are Nature’s watchmen — links which connect the days of animated life.
Thoreau, Walden, Solitude, first paragraph.
-- Greg - Charles Town, WV