Art, Poetry,Inspirational quotes, Travel, Motorcycles, Music, Photography, Writing, all wrapped up in a seven year around the world tour on a Russian Ural sidecar rig.Free your mind, Ireland canada america australia asia europe moto cycle good sport art tattoo tatouaje piercing music poem poetry quote philosophy travel tour world photo picture ride news links

WHERE THE WIND IS ON FIRE

Sand
Tiny, Dustlike,
Floating, Insideous,
In your very breath,
Burning, Scratching, Choking.

Heat
Penetrating, Suffocating,
Unremorseful in it's resolve,
Unforgiving in its power,
Beating you down to the ground.

Sunlight
Bright, Hot,
Scorching, Drying, Blinding,
Whipping the elements into anger,
So easily the enemy.

Shade
Cooling, Caring,
Blanketing your frailties,
Warriors left from nightfall,
To battle daylights evils.

Night
So cool, So forgiving,
Magical, Musical, Inspiring,
Cultivating Joyous song and dance,
Strengthening the very soul.

The above poem was written in a dehydrated and exhausted state. suffering from Malaria and god knows what else (I was on Lariam at the time and just finished a self prescribed and administered dose of strong antibiotics) I truly felt and experienced the elements as I tried my best to describe them . the unrelenting heat and humidity, in my condition at that time, was a killer, and nightfall came with much anticipation. Reading the poem now still brings back strong memories and sensations

For Brothers Lost

He felt the thunder all around
It's power reached right through the ground
And in that dark and quiet place.
his silent heart begins to race
His brothers have come to clean his stone,
the marker of his final home.
They pour their beers on stone and ground,
'cause a drink for a spirit knows no bound.
He laughs as they think that they depart,
because he goes with them in their hearts.
And even though they pull away
He rides beside them ...............

........................................Every Day

Written by Pluto on June 24th 1994, For anyone who has lost a friend or loved one, this poem needs no explanation. Written in my head while riding, after leaving a friend's grave. The music from the Door's, 'When the music's over',running through my mind, it came to me. When I finished a radio suddenly kicked in, with a Door's song, and sent shivers through my body.

WHY AM I ALIVE

Why am I alive,
I do not know.
The world is out to get me,
it's proved it blow by blow.

Why am I alive?
I can't explain!
While others have fallen,
I've lived through all the pain.
Riding on through sunshine,
While others ride in rain.

Why is the world so crazy?
I cannot tell you why.
When I try to think,
Of explanations,
I just want to cry.

I saw a woman the other day ,
So beautiful and free,
When she saw me looking,
She smiled, and waved at me,
Her sitting in a wheelchair made me feel guilty,
I don't know why.
BUT I HAD TO RIDE ON BY.

I wanted to stop and kiss her.

I've seen so much pain and suffering,
and wonder why I'm spared;
Why is the balance of good and bad, in this world,
So damn impaired?

BUT AMAZINGLY,
Sometimes the most joyous laughter, comes from within the darkest
holes.
The human spirit knows no bars,
You cannot jail the soul.

WHY AM I ALIVE?
Perhaps to see and tell the
tale,
I don't know why I've made it through,
where some other men would fail.

I only know I want to open your eyes.

Pluto;Senegal; March 9, 1998.

Never have I seen and felt such Diversity as in the African Continent.
It is a place of mind numbing beauty, inspirational sites sounds and fragrance.

But it is also home to so much pain and suffering. If the poem I wrote here sounds a little dismal, its not meant to be . It's merely an expression of one of many feelings I've had travelling, some not so great, but the majority positive, happy and hopeful.
ITS A BEAUTIFUL WORLD FULL OF BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE.

SURVIVOR

Riding through time, through space through change,
Out here, there is no home on the range.
A sheep among wolves, a wolf among sheep,
My rivers of feelings have NEVER run so deep.

The sand wears down upon my nerves,
Sun diminishing my intestinal fortitude.
I question the reasons I ended up here,
The answers they seem to elude.

What is it that drives me,that makes me move on?
Into the unknown, all stability gone.
Trusting no-one, yet trusting complete strangers,
The demons avoid me....,

......My faith pulls me through.

The above poem was scribbled down on a scrap of paper in Mauritania after the culture shock of Morocco, The desolate beauty, hardship and uncertainty of the West Sahara, and the Tough Going of the northern half of Mauritania. I suppose it was an expression of my feelings of relief and disbelief at passing this first real test of intestinal fortitude!

Poem: Thanking the Musical Shamans