“The Perpetual Goal of the Common Turn-on” by Esserge Noynek. (1922 – 1992)
If we can grasp common goals and traits
If we can, together, devote time to shared aims
If no matter who we are we can agree on certain journeys that must be taken
And all turn out at times for the race that is the human race.
If we can, together, devote time to shared aims
If no matter who we are we can agree on certain journeys that must be taken
And all turn out at times for the race that is the human race.
If when our minds lead and our hearts beat moments in sync
We can capitalise on our situations and hold ground across all persuasions of creed,
Then the poets of Tempered Passions will have done their job,
And ‘contributed’ to progress, in a tangible, physical and fully spiritual way.
We can capitalise on our situations and hold ground across all persuasions of creed,
Then the poets of Tempered Passions will have done their job,
And ‘contributed’ to progress, in a tangible, physical and fully spiritual way.
If after all and following everything to come, we still bicker away from truly seeing each-other
Then those that know will have lost to those that neither know or wish to find out.
Then those that know will have lost to those that neither know or wish to find out.
Some people search to find out and get to know what they like.
Some people know what they like but make no attempt to follow their thoughts.
Some people know their likes and have a go at following their thoughts through,
Some people know other’s likes and see every reason to work, anon.,
on the perpetual goal of the common turn-on.
Some people know what they like but make no attempt to follow their thoughts.
Some people know their likes and have a go at following their thoughts through,
Some people know other’s likes and see every reason to work, anon.,
on the perpetual goal of the common turn-on.
© Grant
The title’s a little long and it includes what appears to be an author and his years. The author, and the rest of it, is made up and I wrote it following my dad’s death stage. It tries to put into words some of the stuff he said but all dads (and mums) say so much that no poem can put it together as one.