Volume XIX

Poetic Evolution©

thomas beal 2004









REVIEWS











Dear Reader:

   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.

iblieve
aka "C"






SAMPLES

#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












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