Brian Appleton
by Brian Appleton






In dreams of the mist the red rocks speak
the oak tree is my oracle and guide
I saw the guardian spirits standing
by conferring upon my state of
grace, my state of becoming
as the geese flew past
passing their tales
back and forth
with a soft
my name
promising return
and fields of golden grain
but I am stuck somewhere on
a floating island lost at sea now
that the fog has lifted and left me naked
and burned and not a pretty picture for the world


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Jeesh Daram


by Jeesh Daram on

Hi Brian,

Nice poem.


On another note, for some reason I had your public request for pictures of horses carrying water in Iran in the back of my mind. I happened to find some for you but they are within and email and I am ubable to post them here. Send me a note to jeeshdaram@hotmail.com and I will forward them to you.