Heroism

A life is lived to probe the depths of mind,

Explore the soul, add books to history's shelf,

I left my home in hopes of finding self,

But truth be told, I'm yet unsatisfied.

I long to be a hero of the ages,

Have songs sung of me by philosophes and sages,

But lust for fame sows only seeds of sorrow,

Ne'er reaped, e'er empty promises filled tomorrow,

Try as I might, I may not ever find,

The truth I've sought and fear I've left behind,

But true beauty lies in talents undivined,

And heroism is not a trait defined,

It's seeking freedom in face of space confined,

So all sails set, I vow to make it mine.

To surrender to the gods may nobler be,

But I've observed the lives of our nobility,

They're void of truth, filled with futility,

Averse to fun, lack creativity,

Feign hope while knowing they cannot set us free,

From life's radiant cycle of volatility,

And they crumble, abject, heartless, willingly.

So though my quest may ever be unending,

I'll now waste no time in shadows or pretending,

I may never know the sweet burden of wealth,

But humbly I proclaim to love myself,

And wisdom is not proof of being best,

But disregarding slander from the rest.

To some, my chosen path may seem quite strange,

Unconventional at best, at worst deranged,

A hero of the world I may not be,

But I'll fight to death to have the world know me.

And this I know is human's greatest folly,

But I take solace in remaining jolly,

I know not my path and certainly not my fate,

But I keep walking 'cause I never learned to wait,

And while so many ahead of me have failed,

There are those souls who against all odds prevailed,

I read their poems and fill with true delight,

And so for future poets, I now write.

May it please the court, I've proudly lost my way,

And hear this world: you'll read the sordid tale some day.

A Poem by Clifford E. Knapp

We have a guest at the Adventure Blog today! Here is a lovely poem by my friend Clifford Knapp.

"I Am Where I've Been"

The places I've been forged furrows in my brow,

And carved wrinkles 'round my smile.

They've worn patterns on my palms,

My elbows etched where I've paused to ponder.

Both knees carry imprints of where I've knelt,

The land created calluses on my feet.

I've been changed by the places I've been.

Mountains, valleys, deserts, forests, beaches, and meadows,

Their earthy seals now affixed to my body.

I wear them as my life's passport.

Like Whitman's child who went forth, they are part of me.

I am where I've been.

Special people are part of my life lifescape too.

They grounded my journey along the way.

When I put down roots, they nourished me.

Easterners taught me suburban and urban ways,

And Midwesterners shared small-town wisdom.

Human connections cultivated deep understandings.

Now I linger longer listening to hidden forest singers.

I see more clearly where I gazed blindly before.

I gently touch the soil to siphon its strength.

I smell the flowers instead of flattening them.

I taste the fruits of life with renewed appetite.

My senses honed by the rough stones along the way.

The places I've been pose as prophets,

Teaching me how to live and why.

They are embodied in my soul,

Creating character and focusing the future.

The places I've been are within me.

I am where I've been.

Thank you Cliff.

Also www.vogelian.com

If you were hoping to find limericks here, you will be disappointed and then happy. Disappointed because they are not listed on this website for sale, and happy that are available at this website instead!

www.vogelian.com/limericks

also

www.vogelian.com

Enjoy!

Collusion Short Story Alternate Ending

Only 236 words, this story packs a punch. The original version of "Collusion" is linked below. I recently wrote an alternate ending. Here is the full story:

“Collusion”

The music is blasting fast in my head, and I’m wired like the telephone lines that whistle past the open window, and the engine hums, and we’re one, and no thoughts fill my head – no school, no home, just the music so fluid it coats my bones – and I look over at Elle, and she’s smiling because she knows I’m vibing, and the music lifts, and I shift gears, and we slow for a sign, and the moonlight shines, and we start to roll, but a shadow jumps into the headlights’ glow, and the car jolts, and we stop, and the headlights shine red, and I hear Elle whisper, scared and low, Jake, we have to go, so I go, and the shadow is static, a scarlet mass on the moonlit road.

*

I am standing in the gallery, staring at the wall where a painting hangs square. The dark oils on the canvas swirl violently towards a small pool of silver at the bottom. A vague scarlet stain hovers above. I turn, and she’s there, just a silhouette framed by the sunlight streaming through the window behind her, and I can't see her face, just the blinding sunlight, setting her aglow.

She kisses me, and I hear her voice, floating faintly, saying, The children are waiting, it’s time to go, and we smile, and I count the shadows as we walk past the gallery windows.