27 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

08/27 Sevilla, Portugal

I was up early to the sound of the alarm aside my bed.  Still half asleep my brain jumped into gear once it realized where I was.  I was full of renewed energy and headed south down the empty street where Ann had disappeared.  I sat behind a cup of coffee inside a small café across the street from where she had vanished.  I had knocked on one of the doors and then another but with no response.  (more…)

27 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 048 A small badly lit room

A small badly lit room with no mirror holds a tapestry of where my secrets lie
Hell has followed my imagination and galloped into my sickness
Where its waves whisper terrible truths as they eat away at me and keep me from escaping

27 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 049 In the depths of our garden

In the depths of our garden, love roots its way into those precious memories, dreams
one has forgotten dreamt
there upon life with a smile, it crept in unnoticed

How love grows …
I am yours and yours shall be, love, through all eternity

We arose to the morning dew, made diamonds by the sun magnifying the memories, of life
and there aligned to the vision
as the sands of life run, we’ve become one

How love grows …
I am yours and yours shall be, love, through all eternity

28 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

08/28 Nerja Spain

We had awakened almost in the same position we had fallen asleep.  But now the birds below sang that the morning was new and filled with joy.  It was as if natural geometry and rhythms had aligned and everything was clearer than the day before.  We traveled hand in hand occasionally catching each other smiling as if it was just a bit hard to believe that we had found one another.  (more…)

28 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 050 Colors that tinges

Colors that tinges the clouds at sunset, gazed down onto nature’s naked loveliness
the butterfly, the soul, who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss
she dropped the corners of her apron and let the flowers run, a curiosity too strong to resist
whose head is turned by the sun

Like Cupid wounding himself, I awoken hidden seeds of lovers so entwined
the memories, the melodies, in this hour of my deepest need, you are in my mind
emerging from Daedalus’s labyrinth, where silence sits and shadows call,
your fingertips, your moistened lips, I find,

and in your passion I will fall
How sweet it is, the downward stream, from heavenly harmony
the tranquil landscape, through which it flows, the waters washed away and set my soul free
as if Clotho was spinning faster than Lachesis could measurer, beyond her shears,
immortality I could see, not minutes days or years