Intro:

There

.

w

a

s

.

warmth,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

hope,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

promise

.

t

h

a

t

.

melted

.

t

h

e

.

sleet

.

a

n

d

.

snow

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

roads . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

.

 ~ they

melted

.

t

h

e

.

sleet

.

a

n

d

.

snow

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

roads

.

o

f

.

the

soul,

.

.

t

h

a

t

.

.

freely

go

.

w

h

e

r

e

.

brighter

futures

glow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

i

s

.

time

.

t

o

.

put

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

i

s

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

i

s

.

time

.

t

o

.

open

.

t

h

e

.

skies

.

t

o

.

sunshine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

to

let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

i

s

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

I

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

I

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

e

–

–

–

smiles

across

.

t

h

e

.

lines

.

a

n

d

.

divides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

divides

.

a

n

d

.

lines . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ between

day

.

a

n

d

.

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

high

.

a

n

d

.

wide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

u

s

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

u

s

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

.

h

o

l

d

.

hands

.

a

n

d

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

lines

.

a

n

d

.

divides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ across

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

a

n

d

.

nights . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

across

.

t

h

e

.

highs

.

a

n

d

.

wides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

mile,

.

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

.

mile,

.

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

.

mile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

aisle,

.

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

.

aisle,

.

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

.

aisle . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

u

s

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

u

s

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

.

h

o

l

d

.

hands

.

a

n

d

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

now

.

i

s

.

the

time.

Reflection:  This is an inspiration/hope-themed poem that I wrote in February of 2025 for a time when love, and warmth, and hope really seemed to be needed. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, fun, disco age song “The Hustle” by Van McCoy – a happy song that was first released on 18 May 1975 and seemed to point towards love, and warmth, and hope during a dark period of time in the mid-1970s; a dark period of time which seems to be echoed here today. I played this song in the background to create the “moodset” and inspire the writing of the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

The
snow
slows
.
b
u
t
.
never
.
l
e
t
s
.
go . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

 ~ it
never
.
l
e
t
s
.
go
.
o
f
.
the
.
o
n
l
y
.
road,
.
.
t
h
a
t
.
.
knows
.
its
.
w
a
y
.
back
home . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It’s
the
.
o
n
l
y
.
road,
.
.
t
h
a
t
.
.
knows
.
its
.
w
a
y
.
back
home . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
still,
.
I
choose
.
t
o
.
be
alone . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

I
choose
.
t
o
.
be
alone . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
t
o
–
–
–
avoid
.
t
h
e
.
ghosts
.
o
f
.
shadows . . .

–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
the
shadows
.
o
f
.
ghosts . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

 ~ I
avoid
.
t
h
e
.
ghosts
.
o
f
.
shadows . . .

–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
the
shadows
.
o
f
.
ghosts . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
t
h
a
t
–
–
–
dance
with
.
t
h
e
.
echoes,
–
–
melancholy
.
memories
pose . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
s
o
–
–
–
it
snows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It
snows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It
snows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It
snows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It
snows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
l
l
–
–
–
over
.
t
h
a
t
.
road . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

 ~ all
over
.
t
h
e
.
only
road,
.
.
t
h
a
t
.
.
knows
.
its
.
w
a
y
.
back
home . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It’s
the
.
o
n
l
y
.
road . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It’s
the
.
o
n
l
y
.
road . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.

It’s
the
.
o
n
l
y
.
road,
.
.
t
h
a
t
.
.
knows
.
its
.
w
a
y
.
back
home . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
still,
.
I
choose
.
t
o
.
be
alone.

Reflection:  This is a melancholy-themed poem that I wrote in February of 2025 where the contemplator looks back on a past filled with haunting memories of abuse, heartbreak, sadness, emptiness, and loneliness. We get the feeling he/she seeks healing and consolation and contemplates returning home – but the sinking feelings that frequently accompany such memories prevent that from happening. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, gem of a song “Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime” by The Korgis which I played in the background to create the “moodset” and inspire the writing of the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

I

wonder . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like,

.

.

t

o

.

.

be

.

t

h

e

.

guy

.

w

h

o

.

brings

.

t

h

a

t

.

smile

.

t

o

.

your

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ who

fills

.

y

o

u

r

.

nights

.

w

i

t

h

.

warming

whispers

.

a

n

d

.

wine,

–

–

whenever

.

h

e

.

comes

.

t

o

.

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

dance

inside

.

y

o

u

r

.

candlelight

.

f

o

r

.

moments

.

a

t

.

a

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

moments

.

a

t

.

a

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

t

h

e

.

rhythm

.

a

n

d

.

rhyme

aligns,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

feels

.

j

u

s

t

.

right . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

.

t

h

e

.

rhythm

.

a

n

d

.

rhyme

aligns,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

feels

.

j

u

s

t

.

right . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

almost

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

almost

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

y

o

u

–

–

–

could

.

b

e

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

almost

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

almost

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

almost

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

y

o

u

–

–

–

could

.

b

e

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

t

h

e

.

rhythm

.

a

n

d

.

rhyme

aligns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

feels

.

j

u

s

t

.

right . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

again

.

tonight,

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

be

.

t

h

e

.

guy

.

w

h

o

.

brings

.

t

h

a

t

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ who

fills

.

w

i

t

h

.

whispers

.

a

n

d

.

wine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ who

dances

.

inside

.

t

h

a

t

.

candlelight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wonder

.

w

h

a

t

.

it

might

.

b

e

.

like . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

be

.

t

h

e

.

guy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ to

be

.

t

h

e

.

guy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

your

life.

Reflection: Here is a new romantic-themed poem that I wrote in reflection of a recent experience. I’m sure many of us have had similar kinds of experiences and can probably relate to this – so I thought I would try to capture it in images and words. I hope I captured it well and am grateful that I still have experiences like this from time-to-time. I started out by penning the line: “I wonder what it might be like . . .” and the poem pretty much wrote itself from that opening line. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “Touch in Mine” by Esperanza Spalding which I played in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem and inspire the writing of the poem. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

I

.

a

l

w

a

y

s

.

thought

.

I

.

m

i

g

h

t

.

see

.

y

o

u

.

again,

–

–

sweet

.

friend . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

always

.

t

h

o

u

g

h

t

.

I

.

might . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

always

.

f

e

l

t

.

there

might

.

b

e

.

more

fine

.

a

n

d

.

fun

times,

.

.

w

h

e

n

.

.

I

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

see

.

y

o

u

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

always

.

f

e

l

t

.

there

might . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

the

weeks,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

months,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

years

.

.

g

o

.

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

leaving

nothing

.

m

o

r

e

.

than

miles

.

a

n

d

.

time,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

time

.

a

n

d

.

miles . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ leaving

miles

.

a

n

d

.

time,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

time

.

a

n

d

.

miles . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

emptiness

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

I

.

d

o

.

not

.

s

e

e

.

your

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

I

.

d

o

.

not

.

f

e

e

l

.

your

light . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

I

.

d

o

.

not

.

s

e

n

s

e

.

your

shimmer

.

o

r

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

I

.

d

o

.

not

.

s

e

n

s

e

.

your

shimmer

.

o

r

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

the

weeks,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

months,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

years

.

.

g

o

.

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

weeks,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

months,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

years

.

.

g

o

.

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

weeks,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

months,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

years

.

.

g

o

.

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

weeks,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

months,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

years

.

.

g

o

.

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

leaving

nothing

.

m

o

r

e

.

than

miles

.

a

n

d

.

time,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

time

.

a

n

d

.

miles . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ leaving

miles

.

a

n

d

.

time,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

time

.

a

n

d

.

miles . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

emptiness

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

.

I

.

g

e

t

.

haunted

.

b

y

.

the

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

I

.

g

e

t

.

haunted

.

b

y

.

the

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

my

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

g

e

t

.

haunted

.

b

y

.

the

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

g

e

t

.

haunted

.

b

y

.

the

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

g

e

t

.

haunted

.

b

y

.

the

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

my

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

shining

.

a

.

bright

.

a

n

d

.

bitter

light

.

o

n

.

a

.

life

.

l

e

f

t

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ shining

a

.

bright

.

a

n

d

.

bitter

light

.

o

n

.

a

.

life,

–

–

forever

.

l

e

f

t

.

behind.

Reflection:  This is a melancholy-themed poem where the contemplator looks back on a special someone he or she greatly misses who really meant something to him/her earlier in life. The contemplator struggles with the heartbreak, the sadness, the emptiness, and the loneliness, as well as the sinking feelings that frequently accompany these. He/She spends a lot of time brooding and finds little meaning, purpose, or joy in life as a result. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, gem of a song “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor which I played in the background to create the “moodset” and inspire the writing of the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

The

hotel

.

b

y

.

the

sea

–

–

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

.

.

.

I

.

can

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

feel,

–

–

the

breeze,

–

–

the

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ the

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

the

days

.

o

f

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ the

days

.

o

f

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

fantasies

.

a

n

d

.

romantic

dreams

.

c

o

u

l

d

.

still

.

beat

.

a

n

d

.

breathe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

c

o

u

l

d

.

beat

.

a

n

d

.

breathe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

beat

.

a

n

d

.

breathe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

beat

.

a

n

d

.

breathe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

beat . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

tossing,

.

a

n

d

.

tumbling,

.

a

n

d

.

rumbling

.

restlessly . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

relentlessly . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

.

all

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

breathtaking

beach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

breathtaking

beach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

boundless,

.

blossoming,

.

breathtaking

beach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

days

.

o

f

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ in

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

o

f

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

there

.

w

a

s

.

no

.

o

t

h

e

r

.

place,

–

–

we

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

rather

.

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

a

s

.

no

.

o

t

h

e

r

.

place,

–

–

we

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

rather

.

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

a

s

.

no

.

o

t

h

e

r

.

place,

–

–

we

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

rather

.

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

days

.

o

f

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

the

hotel

.

b

y

.

the

sea

–

–

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

haunts

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

.

.

.

I

.

can

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

feel,

–

–

the

breeze,

–

–

the

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

the

days

.

o

f

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me.

Reflection:  This is a romantic-themed poem where the contemplator is haunted by the memory of a past romance in the days of youth and is largely a reflection of the romantic ease frequently experienced in our younger days – something which seems to get more difficult and far less frequent as we age. In the days of youth, romance was largely a focus – but as time marches on we become weighed down by guilt, insecurities, responsibilities, and competing priorities. So, it seems that even if we could recreate the exact same romantic scenes and events from the past that still haunt us today, we might still not be able to do anything different which might make them last – and, in fact, we might not experience them at all because we are different people today. I wrote this poem using a much-loved, chill-out lounge song (“Beyond the Sunset” by Jo Manji – which was an excellent Cafe del Mar Volume 9 track [(Chillout Downtempo) | Beyond The Sunset | Jo Manji (Cafe Del Mar Vol.9)]. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

I

remember

.

t

h

e

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

the

swirling

–

–

L.A.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

the

swirling

–

–

L.A.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

came

back

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

came

–

–

back

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

came

–

–

back

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

came

–

–

back

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

play,

–

–

after

play,

–

–

after

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

escape,

–

–

after

escape,

–

–

after

escape . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

face . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

a

.

gaze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

a

.

name . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

face . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

a

.

gaze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

a

.

name . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

another . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

another . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

another . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

another . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

another . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

came

–

–

back

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

came

–

–

back

again . .

–

–

–

.

.

I

came

–

–

back

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

the

swirling

–

–

L.A.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

chased

–

–

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

the

swirling

–

–

L.A.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

came

back

again.

Reflection:

I wrote this poem about a recent visit to Los Angeles where the “vibe” I observed wasn’t anything close to what it was like on previous occasions – years ago. Several of my favorite places were no longer there – many of which were vacant. On the one hand, I was very thankful I got to experience as much of it as I did over the years and had a wonderful time doing it. On the other hand, I was disappointed that all of that vibrant energy seemed to fade and felt a bit sad for the people of today that would never experience it or know what all of that was like.

So, the primary message of this poem is to participate in (and make the most out of) experiences as they unfold in life before they pass. I’ve had several experiences like that in my life and am happy I took the time to experience them while they were new, vibrant, and exhilarating. And I encourage you to do the same because I would never trade those memories.

Summer

.

slows

.

a

n

d

.

comes

.

t

o

.

a

.

close . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

I’m

.

alone

.

o

n

.

the

.

road

.

w

i

t

h

.

nowhere

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I’m

alone

.

o

n

.

the

.

road

.

w

i

t

h

.

nowhere

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

now

.

t

h

a

t

.

summer

.

slows

.

a

n

d

.

comes

.

t

o

.

a

.

close . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Summer

.

slows

.

a

n

d

.

comes

.

t

o

.

a

.

close . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Summer

.

slows

.

a

n

d

.

comes

.

t

o

.

a

.

close . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Summer

.

slows

.

a

n

d

.

comes

.

t

o

.

a

.

close . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

along

.

w

i

t

h

.

all

.

o

f

.

those

.

places

.

w

e

.

used

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

.

o

f

.

those

–

–

smiling

.

places

.

w

e

.

used

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

blow

.

n

e

w

.

highs

.

out

.

o

f

.

old

.

lows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

would

–

–

blow

.

n

e

w

.

highs

.

out

.

o

f

.

old

.

lows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

those

.

places

.

w

e

.

used

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

.

would

.

blow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

.

would

.

blow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

.

would

.

blow

.

t

h

e

.

entire

.

show

.

o

f

.

gold,

.

a

n

d

.

glimmer,

.

a

n

d

.

glow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

.

would

.

blow

.

t

h

e

.

entire

.

load,

–

–

before

.

summer

.

slowed

.

a

n

d

.

came

.

t

o

.

a

.

close . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I’m

.

n

o

w

.

alone

.

o

n

.

the

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

I’m

.

alone

.

o

n

.

the

.

road

.

w

i

t

h

.

nowhere

.

t

o

.

go.

Reflection: This is a personal struggle-themed poem in which the contemplator looks back on a recent experience binge filled with fun, excitement, and adventure. When the experience comes to a screeching halt, the contemplator finds himself/herself alone, poor, and empty – looking at a future that looks pretty dim. I was playing the wonderful song “Los Angeles” by Dougie Pool and the poem pretty much wrote itself from that (while playing the song repeatedly on low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem) and was written fairly quickly – like an hour or less. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

Today,

I

turned

back

.

t

h

e

.

age

.

o

f

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

turned

back

.

t

h

e

.

age

.

o

f

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

the

page

–

–

where

summers

–

–

never

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ to

.

t

h

e

.

page

–

–

where

everything

.

w

a

s

.

fresh

.

a

n

d

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

still

bloomed

.

i

n

.

our

youth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ everything

.

w

a

s

.

fresh

.

a

n

d

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

still

bloomed

.

i

n

.

our

youth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

n

–

–

–

the

page

–

–

where

summers

–

–

never

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ on

.

t

h

e

.

page

–

–

where

summers

–

–

never

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

.

j

o

y

.

inside

–

–

r~e~a~c~h~e~d

into

–

–

the

skies,

–

–

when

I

saw

.

t

h

e

.

smile

–

–

within

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

saw

.

t

h

e

.

smile

–

–

within

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes,

–

–

dancing

.

w

i

t

h

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

danced

–

–

with

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

danced

–

–

with

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

danced

–

–

with

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

hours

.

o

f

.

the

daytime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

hours

.

o

f

.

the

daytime,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

.

j

o

y

.

inside

–

–

r~e~a~c~h~e~d

into

–

–

the

skies,

–

–

when

yours

–

–

touched

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

yours

–

–

touched

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

that

moment

.

i

n

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ a

moment

.

i

n

.

time,

–

–

cherished

.

a

n

d

.

saved

.

f

o

r

.

all

–

–

future

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ for

all

–

–

future

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

f

–

–

–

only

.

t

o

.

say . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

we

had

–

–

better

days,

–

–

where

summers

–

–

never

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

had

–

–

better

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

had

–

–

better

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

had

–

–

better

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

than

today.

Reflection: This poem is largely associated with the melancholy reflection on a present-day, fading romance that was once so vibrant in the days of youth. The sufferer ponders what might have changed over the years and whether anything could possibly bring things back – but finds some comfort in the memory that there were better days and in the hope that tomorrow might be better than today.

I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful song “I’ll Be Over You” by Toto which I played in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem and inspire the writing of the poem. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

Movement

.

i

s

.

tight

–

–

all

.

t

h

e

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

.

t

h

e

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

the

mind

.

i

s

.

occupied . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

with

all

.

o

f

.

the

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

occupy

.

m

y

.

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

make

.

m

y

.

movement

tight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

occupy

.

m

y

.

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

occupy

.

m

y

.

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

occupy

.

m

y

.

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

make

.

m

y

.

movement

tight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

like

w~h~e~n:

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

did

–

–

time

become

.

s

o

.

short,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

miles

.

s

o

.

wide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

when

did

.

t

h

e

.

valleys

become

.

s

o

.

deep,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

mountains

.

s

o

.

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

like

w~h~y:

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ why

do

–

–

eyes

become

.

s

o

.

blind

.

i

n

.

the

daylight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

why

do

.

w

e

.

mine

every

paradise

.

w

i

t

h

.

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

mine

–

–

every

paradise

.

w

i

t

h

.

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

move

.

o

u

r

.

battle

lines

.

s

o

.

far

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

fight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

move

.

o

u

r

.

battle

lines

.

s

o

.

far

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

fight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

time

–

–

becomes

short,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

miles

wide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

valleys

–

–

become

deep,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

mountains

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

eyes

become

–

–

blind

.

i

n

.

the

daylight,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every

paradise

.

i

s

.

mined

.

w

i

t

h

.

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Movement

.

i

s

.

tight

–

–

all

.

t

h

e

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

.

t

h

e

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

the

mind

.

i

s

.

occupied . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

with

all

.

o

f

.

the

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

whys,

.

a

n

d

.

whens,

.

a

n

d

.

whys . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

life.

Reflection: This is a reflective poem.

They

only

–

–

beat

.

a

n

d

.

strike . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

beat

.

a

n

d

.

strike . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

till

tears

–

–

fill

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

beat

.

a

n

d

.

strike . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

beat

.

a

n

d

.

strike . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

stone

pride

–

–

does

.

n

o

t

.

cry.

Reflection:  This was a popular personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in May of 2024. I heard the lyric “They only hit until you cry” in Suzanne Vega’s song “Luka” and this was such a powerful lyric that it inspired me to write this short, simple poem.