I’ve never been able to see through your eyes but have always wondered what visions I may have encountered. Writing is a guide into more than simple thoughts placed with ink on paper, but a conscious mind awakened to possibilities imagined, theories contemplated, and fantasies envisioned.

Every story has a path that begins with a simple synapsis within the mind, a creative spirit that asks the question as to whether reality could afford its conjuring, a meiosis that duplicates an image and then allows its creator to pass along that which he sees to another in a reversal.

Every writer is a storyteller of sorts yet at times creates in another’s site images that are in concert with his own yet envisioned through the reader in a much different way.

I wonder what today’s story of a child in a garden seeking butterfly’s or a gallant knight upon his steed might appear to be in your mind. Do you envision yourself in this scene or that of a lost loved one from long ago, an animation as configured upon a palette or a tall ship whose master faces a fierce opponent in battle and if it is, what I may see?

He took to the meadows in search of his heart and far away did see,

The light of another a long-lost friend from times in his past when free,

And then in the distance, he envisioned white doves on a hill in the midst of trees,

Who flew to the ground and scattered like snow they covered the open seas.

The ocean his home and his sails in the winds and waters embraced with ease,

Those times in his past when he was young and wandered through thoughts, she pleased,

And in his pure mind, he saw that the world welcomed old memories sweet,

A place in that meadow where he first set sail a home which seemed a retreat,

To find that another’s stories he wrote a different point in their dreams.

For no matter where we are in this life or what our mind does see

It’s never the same when coming back home

Never the place it seemed.


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An artist/writer as well as graduate of the University of South Carolina with degrees in journalism/20th Century American Literature, and retired senior executive of several international hotel/resort corporations, Johnny is the product of the south having been raised in the ever-changing transient lifestyle of a Carolina coastal resort. A point where he discovered, within his 300-year-old heritage and the world's dramatic social/cultural shifts during the late '60s to early 80’s an ambitious hunger and overwhelming curiosity to touch, see and become a participant in the virtually unlimited possibilities offered to those who wish for and seek life experiences. A journey which when hearing its details initially makes one a bit skeptical, questioning its validity as it is hard to imagine that incidents such as these may have crossed one man’s lifetime. This is the fodder required to step into zones exposing one's personal inner self, which many of his paintings and the words he writes do, openly. An ability to see and hear the tragic, beautiful, accomplished, exciting journey in a life free of inhibitions allowing others the opportunity to live vicariously and become, through his works, a part of its future. His larger works which have been featured in several Colorado and Fredericksburg Texas galleries and resorts have produced a number of collectors and fans. However, over the years, his paintings are mostly viewed by friends, enthusiastic new artist encountered on the streets or a small number of acquaintances he meets when dining in local cafés with his wife.
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Len Bernat

Johnny – Your musing explains why so many of us write – to take the shared experiences of life and use our words to stir memories – both in the reader and the author. Thank you for sharing.

Larry Tyler

You been dipping into the Strong Ink Again
( For no matter where we are in this life or what our mind does see It’s never the same when coming back home
Never the place it seemed)
This statement is a stand alone. It stirs images of an old wood plank farm house where my most beloved memories are, yet the house is gone, the well is empty, the creel dry and the fields over grown. In your story I see through my eyes the images you created. Love you brother.

Lynn Forrester-Pitocco

Each writer, artist, creative soul has their own special talent inside and how they envision what they see.