Freedom to Think

The First Stroke


My lady, the first time that I saw you

standing by the fire


The ire of my wit

made me a fool on nervous knees


I spied your sherry eyes glinting merry and yet

You were so very sure and we hadn’t even met


I shook as I touched you

Lips brushing gentle on my cheek


I was in love with you my lady

And I wanted just to shriek


I cannot tell I swear

how I made it through


And yet some weeks later I heard

‘I love you’


From my lips and yours my love

Eternal and never whither


But nothing can compare

To that first oar in the river





I think we each deserve the opportunity to grow into the peaceful joy of vintage love. I think we all have a shot at the honest joy of living that first oar stroke for all the days that remain. First I guess we need to survive romantic love, and then to grow beyond the bullying boundaries of the power struggle. If you can hang together through the cold winter, look one another straight in the eyes and ask for what you want, then ......WHY NOT ???


Journeys of Jackman ..The wanderings, musings, learning and thoughts from one man who woke up

"Be kind upon the road my friends, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."