The simplest things are not necessarily simple to say.
——
I have broad interests, but am chiefly engaged with the study of consciousness as it relates pre & post-materially to evolution, as it reveals a ground for resolving human conflicts, as it provides structure for personal and organizational growth, as it unveils criteria for understanding otherwise inexplicable phenomena, and as it promises a vital premise for global adjustment of human endeavors toward a sustainable yet progressive future.
——-
“Wayne Turner, musician, poet, and artist in Virginia is currently doing time gladly for multiple counts of fatherhood and giving a shit. The Warden has granted him access to pre-poetic foam with which he delights in sculpting high reliefs of the Emperor’s newest outfits.”
——
Yep … me and my Irish bride … 1977
6 children and 25 sweet years later ….2002 (I think)
For all these reasons and so many more, no one bothers me walking down the street. And my children love me back!
Feb. 2008 while visiting my daughter in Portland, OR. (photo credit to Sean Clowes)
Sept 2013 by Kelly Criscuolo-DeButts.
Thanksgiving Day 2013 by John Casey Turner.
Transformation by Dialectic 
wayne
thanks for the visit–back when i can read some–looks good
LikeLike
congratulations –25 years is quite an accomplishment for someone to put up with a wrangler of words!
Howdy.
Yes, she deserves some major reward! Especially since I strangle words more often than I want to admit.
It’s actually 33 years, extra major reward!
LikeLike
And you are an extraordinarily fabulous human, as evidenced by your laughing eyes and the magnificence of your beard.
LikeLike
Well, Paul, I still have laughing eyes.
And a limp to keep it real.
LikeLike
“The simplest things are not necessarily simple to say.” Hmm, in certain circumstances, let’s call that ‘trust’, I think it becomes simple.
LikeLike
Yes. At least it becomes easier to hold. I was thinking along the lines of communications theory with the issues of encoding a message to be sent through a noisy channel to someone whom you know has certain decoding limitations due to memetic barriers. Sometimes it seems so much easier to not even bother. But you and me are of those who bother.
LikeLike
Just had to share a poem I wrote while in Ireland,heard the wind wisper your name at the Cliffs of mohr and in Galway remembering our walks and talks through the years.Raised a glass with me Irish bride of Guiness to you and Annie at a Pub in Killarney listening to sweet Irish tunes that reminded me of all the Irish roots through the years in songs we shared.Love the pictures on this page!Live long and prosper me friend!
Friends become brothers when sweet memories shared become castles in there minds,time may weather them but they stand strong through the years!
When the Earth was formed and Ireland born
The land she sang out a tune
No one heard the sound
Until man was bound
To each rock he placed in line.
A wall was formed the man was mourned
Singing out a song from the land
For she with pride had not denied
The hard work each man would know
But for all the labor tunes found favor
And each man now was connected to the land
And the wind chimed and the sea mimed
And Ireland’s soul rung, “me home”.
By Mark E Wheeler
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Mark!
LikeLike
Wayne, enjoyed a few moments here. I think your poetry is fabulous.
Did you know Paul Squires passed away?
Submitted on 2010/12/17 at 2:24 am | In reply to qazse.
Good to hear from you, Herb. And thanks.
Yes, I heard about Paul’s death the next day.
I thought I would miss his ongoing creativity because his death would stop it and leave us all high and dry and Paul-less.
But things don’t really work that way, do they?
I see so many people’s creativity and authenticity permanently enhanced by Paul’s generous presence. Paul’s is the living gift that keeps on giving.
It’s in honor of Paul that I have “The Death of Merlin” at the head of my blog for a season.
Good to hear from you.
LikeLike