Volume XIX
Poetic Evolution©
thomas beal 2004
Dear Reader:
At last, the king has taken the throne among the Palace Poets. Thomas Beal who has worked so hard to create this magnificent collection of poets and poetry adds his own muse to the poetic voices already singing in harmony. I must say I was honored when he asked me to edit his poems and pick the selections to be used in this collection. I was thrilled but at the same time struck by the magnitude of this task. This is a man that has amassed a large portfolio of amazing poet, each one deserving a place in the book. With my desire to create the finest book possible I delved into the endless pages of poetry and I believe put together an excellent group of poems. As your read this book you will notice the eloquence of his voice and travel the many dissecting roads of creativity this amazing poet possesses. Every poem is a masterpiece and sets high standards for the aspiring poet. Please read this book as if you were tasting a fine wine, read it slowly and let the words bubble around your mind and caress your emotions. Yes, the King has finally taken his rightful place and joined us in search of the Holy Grail of poetry, the desire to achieve excellence in every word and to capture our thoughts in their purest form. I do believe you will agree with me Thomas Beal has achieved just that. Without wasting any more time let me introduce you to the symphony of Thomas Beal, but most call him simply penpainter.
#67
Fantasies
The world is full of fantasies
not children’s game at all
I, first admit to fantasy
imagination’s call
Around the world and back again
in just an afternoon
Passion growing on summer’s eve
escorted by the moon
A chance to ride an eagle’s back
to mansions in the sky
Should i pass up a chance like this
my only chance
...to fly?
#1022
Revealing me
The Me of me
you cannot see
It receives thought
and lets it free
It sometimes rhymes
when one with Muse
And It changes
so seems confuse
Not so much change
but better view
So what becomes
is not so new
Childish whimpers
turned grown-up scream
Those echoed 'mares
made horrid dream
Then hints of Truth
once bared were burned
Lies were gobbled
and on with yearned
So toward the end
desolate roads
The map was scrapped
as were the modes
Then part of Me
was seen to rise
If just a glint
in hungry eyes
The hopes of wish
were crucified
The pipe-mares damned
or certified
Wings abandoned
and off afoot
Brushing off Hell
its viscous soot
There at its gate
that fatal sign
"If i return
all blame is mine!"
There with my pains
aflame behind
First realized
that i was blind
With best cane front
the plod began
To try and find
a me the man
For victory
or disaster
'Er artist be
or poetaster
Now on the way
answers unclear
But either or
it's without fear