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

08/23 Algarve, Portugal

Thank God everyday was a sunny beach day.  I began the day with some hair of the dog in a small grass shack that hugged the sand leading toward the water, just like yesterday.  I struck up a conversation with a young lady who had given me a strange gesture after a fly had landed on her shoulder.  We all look from different angles don’t we?  She was disgusted with the idea that the fly was attracted to something on her body.  I on the other hand would be more concerned with what the fly might have brought to me.  It’s a wonderful world that has more than one color.  (more…)

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

Poem 044 The clouds have come

The clouds have come, both rain and dew, the sun has left us wet,
my soul cries out, yet never knew and though I know, we meet

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

Poem 045 This is love

This is love, young lady, have I seen you here before
haven’t our eyes meet, a secret kept, of hearts that need much more
together, life can be a dream, don’t worry about the past
just let go and hold on to me, these memories will last

…  I bring you flowers, this summer day, you won’t be sad, I came to say …
I love you, I love you, true

Is this love, young lady, I can think of only you
like the flowers of spring, have we meet again, would you say, that this is true

together, love is strong enough, the song they sing, is true and I hope
as I get closer, I’ll hear you, sing it too

…  I brought you warmth, a kiss today, holding you close, I heard you say …
I love you, I love you, true

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

Poem 046 It’s you

It’s you …  my love, I’m thinkin of, a song that’s pure and true.
and when I awake, I always smile, cause in this world, I know …  there’s you

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

Poem 047 There is nothing to prevent a man

There is nothing to prevent a man, who cannot grasp a proof from accepting as a matter of faith,
the immovable point is that “I think” and as long as “I think”, I exist
yet this existence lies exposed, floating on a body of water that appears to have no edges
like a leaf that has fallen into the river, I wander lost in the turbulence of my own thoughts
because the way in which “I think”, isolates me, for I am unable to recognize true reality
except for the reality that I am confined to a road, a road that extends beyond my time and before my past
for I know not where it extends or begins
and the questions remain.