21 Sep 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 062 Through the darkness and the mist

Through the darkness and the mist, sadness, grows and somehow my soul, it just can’t resist,
those many things, it does not know, the pain, the anger, within these waves of violence, still they remain
unbroken by the silence

The candles wax burns, as it drips down the sides, slowly we turn but I can’t close my eyes
The sounds, the pictures, with every step grow intense and remain,
unbroken by the silence.

22 Sep 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

09/22 St. Malo, France

Along side the rising sun and took the early train toward St. Malo.  On that train I caught up on filling out stories on post cards and when I finally reached St. Malo the post office was my first destination.  I was still disappointed that I had lost my address book back in Scotland, but on the other hand I had fewer cards to fill out.  After I got situated in my room, I took a walk along the shore.  The ocean was crashing against the wall with an authority that made me feel alive.   (more…)

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

09/23 Mont Saint Michel, France

At the breakfast table there were rumors of another train strike, so about six of us headed out early to attempt to board the last train prior to any stoppage.  Our destination was Mont-St-Michel.  When the island first came within view I stood there for some time and gazed at its glory.  It had more a look of a cover to a picture book than something actually real, a castle right out of some fairytale.  There were endless fields of mud waiting for the imprint of somebody’s foot. (more…)

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

Poem 063 She was but a child of the wind

She was but a child of the wind, free to play in the leaves, time was hers, life was pretend, a forest from the trees
she’d run along the river’s edge with her imaginary friends, the days were long and the current strong,
and they never seemed to end

See’s only what she wants to see, cares not about the pain, nothin ever changes, in the eyes of the estranged

(more…)

24 Sep 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

09/24 Countryside, France

I wandered about the northern coast of France skipping from hostel to hostel and enjoying their fine cuisine.  Finding excellent food was easy but locating a smile or a friendly gesture from the locals was sometimes impossible.  I felt that the rudeness the Northern French dished out actually provided the glue that bonded us tourists closer together.  I came across a nice room in Blois and utilized it as home base to visit the chateaus in the area.  (more…)