Outskirts Press, INC.

Imagine...

Do you ever wonder what its like to see how an owl see's as it flies through the night? Did you ever try to figure out why the ocean is so angry that it beats it's liquid fists upon the coastlines around the earth? or how to understand what the thunder is saying as it screams out loud and sends dread upon the hearts some of the worlds most dominant beings. Listen... dream dreams as well as ponder fiction scented thoughts. It’s just a matter of time you’ll realize how to conquer them all; all it takes is a bit of ancient wisdom.

A lesson from whoo! By Gerald c.Garner Mind thoughts mimic the most moral memories of the matter that life consist of, Sort of like the first thought of a flight of a dove, At the edge of a family familiar cliff; winds taken in from the winds breezy drift, Vision of the sight which is saw, Ricochetted, was only the information threw back at the brain, A mixture of plain crazy with a slash of insane, "I can do this" was the answer the cortex retorted from my brain, Yet, still, no need to worry there is no sign of heaven rain, Over the edge; playing roulette with death, It's a mirror image of my soul hiding in my body; but, the name of the game is stealth, A " leap of faith", A thought of my health, Soul still resides in me so; I realize my wealth, Many flaps of my wings keeps me above the gravity, But, the fear that pinches my heart; similar to a horrible cavity, Much coordination is needed, Then a rumination of a hug from my mother, Then I raise my left foot to my breast which also was duplicated by the other, Aerodynamics...( laughs), I just broke it asunder, Twist and loops, Swoops along with more loops, Then a small rumble from unseen thunder, My wings stutter, Eyes protected by a godly shutter, Remember that heart felt pain?, A landed site is much needed, Then came the pure rain, Realizing wet feathers attached to my wings, body and brains, " Really"!, " I must be insane", Cover... A tree, " If I don't land who's to blame", Death will take the fame, Nighttime, Owltime, Just familiar with this air game, Doesn't mean others of the air are lame, We are all born master of flight, Professors of flow, Students of pattern, Own is my name, The beautiful one called dove, Physically he's accurate but, in the end;we are both the same.