When I come to a fork
at the end of a long,
straight road,
What do I do?
Do I sit on the curb
and wait for another to show me
which is the right side,
Or do I decide for myself
and risk a head-on collision?
When I come to a fork
at the end of a long peaceful stream,
Where do I turn?
Should I lift up my oars
and let my boat be guided by the flowing water,
Or should I row
whichever way I want to,
even though it may be ten times harder?
When I come to a fork
at the end of a forest trail,
Which do I choose?
Do I follow the well-beaten path
where I know for sure
villagers will be waiting for me with open arms
and warm food,
Or do I create a non-existing path
with the hope that I may
stumble upon something more extraordinary
and risk being lost forever?
Thank you, Jade! This is just what I need right now. Literary writing is ABOUT risk, &
I tend to forget that...unless it's just a matter of being chicken. Gets lonely out here on our self-beaten paths, doesn'it it? But we know our friends are with us in spirit. . .and I believe I just found a
new friend! 'Odd Duck'
Reviewed by JK
Reviewed on May 8, 2002
When a fork comes to me,
where roads look like food,
I quarter their worth
to bite-size chunks.
What is Destiny
in a life forked with possibilities
if not to be chosen carefully
and carelessly consumed?
Poetry. Various urgent, lively, and sometimes haunting poems appear here alongside stark black and white photos of Jones' homeless subjects. Jones takes on the plight of the homeless in different voices, echoing the thoughts of people on the streets,
Because we have an opportunity to choose our attitude and focus our intentions in the present moment, the world and our own personal lives are a reflection of our thoughts. It is our 360 degree review on how we think. Put simply, our job is to fully
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I tend to forget that...unless it's just a matter of being chicken. Gets lonely out here on our self-beaten paths, doesn'it it? But we know our friends are with us in spirit. . .and I believe I just found a
new friend! 'Odd Duck'
where roads look like food,
I quarter their worth
to bite-size chunks.
What is Destiny
in a life forked with possibilities
if not to be chosen carefully
and carelessly consumed?