The Adventurer 2008
Momentous Mark looks up the mountains
And sees the challenging peeks.
Preparing this climb is not the charge
Of a careless jerk.
He eyes the goal
Of this long sought treat, This Glorious Mother
of Nature.
Observation, planning, historical sheet
Of her past and shimmering stamina.
Though snow-filled crests do warn her courters;
And wicked sounds do belch and screech, she is
the sweet of dreamers.
"I want this woman, oh heavenly treat,
That stands before mine eyes.
I wish to take her for myself
And leave the others to sigh."
She hears his quest with no regret;
But heard it many times.
"I'll not be his for some feat-test;
Nor fall to conquest grave."
Her objections overruled
So it seems dearest, endearing friend.
For Momentous, it's the start
Of the Adventure that never ends.
Up the snow covered limbs,
The arms rise to the crests.
Though shimmering cold with fluffy white layers
She melts beneath his feet.
With each and every heartfelt step
He simmers to seek her peak.
When his feet touch quivering ground,
With gingerly measured touch,
His heart beats faster. His breaths so deep.
He slowly begins to stammer.
"I wa-want to know your every beat.
Your living, loving matter.
You are the Queen of all my reach,
That no one else will gather."
"What does he say? That to me?
No man has ever spoke
With such strung words, aclarity.
His measured steps, so sure and true
Doest bring my heart to matter."
Slow and measured are his steps
Towards her holy crests.
He sinks his feet onto her chest
And climbs her orbs with zest.
"No sweet sorrow for my queen.
Respect I'll show tomorrow.
For each step this man does take
Is honor for her to borrow."
"Like knights arose those years ago;
Or trumpets of wind so hot and gone
In ages that didn't tally?"
"No sweet dear, my wanton heart
Seeks only what you gather.
The longing love of mister, here,
That cares but for your heart."
"I've heard those words
So many times. They mean but little else.
Give to me your tokens not
But treasures from your chest."
"My heart is yours. With every breath
I dream of thee as mine.
I dare not dwell this spot too long
For fear I'd melt your heart and lungs."
With that she sighed a long, sweet breath;
And quivered beneath his feet.
Had she met her knightly man;
Or is this just a quest?
He gathers strength with each soft touch
Upon her warming crests.
As her heaves and sighs increase,
She's surely unable to rest.
The snowy layers upon chest and limbs, that reach
afar,
Begin to melt with no arrest and succumb to this
glowing barb.
"My Sweet Princess, queenly thou and beauteous
to my touch.
I've no ransom big enough to make me worthy of
you."
With sweet embellished thoughts and practicality,
She waits the moment for remarks which simmer
in her heart:
"I've no time for dallying with princes from a
pond.
If you want me, knightly friend, you've got to
make a bond."
Her mountainous crest now shaking
With each his heartfelt moves.
She knows by his measured steps
That he's not one to lose.
"I bring to you my open heart,
My soul in broad daylight.
I've measured many quests before;
But none that matters more.
You are the holy-grail, Princess.
You are the Treasured Keep.
My heart as ring and soul as chain.
Forever do I leap."
With one great sigh and heaving breath
The mountain rises and falls.
The boulders beneath her crests do rise
And give him grasps to call.
He looks about her ridges below,
The snows amelting fast.
Her valley and dales do smartly weep
Their snowy, melting trails.
With longing breath and lusting heart
She calls but to his name.
"Momentous Mark, my knightly guard,
I'm yours, forever game."
He climbs so slowly from her peaks
To her richest valley 'low.
With each and every step he takes
Her snow is sure to go.
The warmth from heat they generate
With each and every step,
Makes his trek so ever sweet
And his proposal so ever blessed.
Upon the mound, above her sweet
Garden of lush, unfound,
He sees the snows so quickly seep
To spreading limbs afar.
He's drawn with such allure
And promises to keep,
That he cannot imagine
A better love to reap.
Slowly descending downward,
To her treasured cave,
He is not shocked or startled
By her lovely ways.
Moist lips with golden webs,
He parts with loving hands.
He's drawn so deep inside her
Without his understand.
With gentle step and touch,
With moves of slow regard,
He seeks that special touch
That longs for her reward.
So smooth the walls, and moist,
A sign of wanton love.
He moves with all due measure
As she pushes below and above.
Slow, so slow his progress
That he must retreat;
But with no intent to linger
He enters and then repeats.
Her love pours out, no measure.
His own is so replete.
Timeless drawn for hours.
Minutes lasting days.
Love does not measure
In manmade, knowing ways.
Then the rush, no sorrow,
Pours forth with such refrain.
The walls, now holy, hallowed
Push him to wet remains.
"I awaken to your garden
Filled with lilies, roses, treats.
There is no treasure, tomorrow,
That masters your measured sweets."
With loving breath, no sorrows,
She sighs and feigns not weak,
"I give thee every pulse of mine
To make our Life tout-sweet."
No banners fly on buildings.
No headlines bash your eyes.
But bonds like these do climb
Within noisy but quiet retreats.
Copyright © 2008 by
Roger C. Bull
About the Author
Roger Bull is a veteran sergeant with nine years
experience in the Jefferson Parish Sheriffs Office (metropolitan New Orleans). He attended three colleges: Southeastern Louisiana
University (biology, chemistry and physics), Louisiana State University Law Enforcement Institute (advanced police studies),
and Holy Cross College via a grant from the Jefferson Parish District Attorneys Office Law Enforcement Assistance Program
(criminology, psychology, sociology).
His extra-curricular activities included volunteer
work as an Assistant Scoutmaster (Troop 196), Tiger Cub leader, Cubmaster (96 Cubscouts in Pack 796) and adult trainer for
the Boy Scouts of America. He is an Eagle Scout. He was on several church committees including building committees. Roger
carves Native American flutes and plays flute music. He enjoys reading, hiking, camping, fishing, genealogical research (over
29 years of research on the family of Ambrose Bull, circa 1750), astronomy and electronics tinkering.
His secondary occupation was computer programming
and consulting. He constructed his first computer from chip level, two years before Wozniak and Jobs retailed the Apple IIe.
He has operated his own computer consulting business, Bull Data, since 1980. He is the founder of the West Bank computer Users
Group (WBUG) which had 125 members.
He is a moderator for the Fairhope Writers' Group
in Fairhope, Alabama. Think Sonny Brewer and the Southern Writers Conference. Sonny promotes southern writers, especially
those living in and around Fairhope, Alabama. Through Joe Formicello and Suzanne Hudson, in a program granted by the State
of Alabama Writers' Guild, Roger and Karen attended a writers workshop at the University of South Alabama. Upon completion
of the course, the attendees decided that the group should continue to meet weekly to assist each other in polishing their
respective work.
His wife, Karen, writes murder mysteries with
crime scenes occurring mostly in New Orleans and others along the Gulf of Mexico. Her first three books are part of a trilogy.
Some of the characters exist in all of the stories of this trilogy; but each can be appreciated as stand-alone novels. She
has two other books in mind that are independent of the trilogy and each other. The non-published titles of the first two
books are, "Past Ties" and "The Red Shoe."
He has published a book of poetry, "Within The
Heart And Soul," in 2007. The profits of which were donated to his church for rebuilding an adult education building that
burned in a fire.
Roger is currently writing a terrorist mystery,
tentatively titled "El Rey del Tiempo: Its Not What You Think." It is an ambitious novel with eight strong characters from
various parts of the world. The power, greed and political madness of the world has brought this group together for some chilling
and thrilling episodes.
