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.

I

woke

.

u

p

.

alone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

home . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

woke

.

u

p

.

far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

home . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

alone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

miles

–

–

ahead

stretched

.

l

o

n

g

e

r

.

along

.

t

h

e

.

road

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

breath

.

o

f

.

time

began

.

t

o

.

s ~ l ~ o ~ w . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

there

were

.

l

o

n

g

e

r

.

miles

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

along

–

–

that

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

.

t

h

e

.

breath

.

o

f

.

time

began

.

t

o

.

s ~ l ~ o ~ w . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

.

t

h

e

.

breath

.

o

f

.

time

began

.

t

o

.

s ~ l ~ o ~ w . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

blow

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

e

–

–

–

shadows

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

shadows

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

you’re

.

d

o

w

n

.

so

deep . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

you’re

.

d

o

w

n

.

so

low . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

shadows

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

shadows

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

blow,

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow,

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

you

have

.

t

o

.

fight

.

f

o

r

.

every

mile

.

o

f

.

that

relentless

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Blow,

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow,

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

you

have

.

t

o

.

hope

–

–

even

when

–

–

time

begins

.

t

o

.

s ~ l ~ o ~ w . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

have

.

t

o

.

fight

.

f

o

r

.

every

mile

.

o

f

.

that

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

hope

when

–

–

time

begins

.

t

o

.

s ~ l ~ o ~ w . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

find

.

y

o

u

r

.

way

.

b

a

c

k

.

home . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

find

.

y

o

u

r

.

way

.

b

a

c

k

.

home . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

blow,

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow,

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

blow.

Reflection:  This was a popular inspiration/hope-themed poem I wrote back in April of 2024. Sometimes, when I travel, I reconnect with various music artists of the past. For some reason, Bruce Springsteen kept coming up on the Portugal trip I took in early-to-mid 2024. Much of his music has an honest reflective but melancholy vibe to it. That’s part of what I have loved about his music. This poem came to me while listening to some of his music. I wrote it sort of as a tribute to Bruce while playing some of his songs in the background at low volume. The primary ones that I played to inspire the writing of this poem were: “Downbound Train” and “One Step Up.” I played these songs in the background at low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to these songs at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

The

peaceful

ease

.

o

f

.

those

dancing

dreams

–

–

that

made

.

u

s

.

feel

.

s

o

.

effortlessly

free . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

would

sing

.

s

o

.

sweet

.

a

n

d

.

serene

.

f

o

r

.

all

the

days

–

–

that

would

seed

.

a

n

d

.

breed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

breed

.

a

n

d

.

seed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

e

–

–

–

seeming

eternity . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

seeming

eternity . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

spring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

would

sing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

would

sing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

would

sing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

the

seeming

eternity

.

o

f

.

spring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

seeming

eternity

.

o

f

.

spring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

now

sinking

carelessly . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ now

sinking

carelessly . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

beneath

.

t

h

e

.

storming

seas . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ beneath

.

t

h

e

.

storming

seas . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

reali~

tease.

Reflection: 

This is a reflection-themed poem largely associated with the melancholy of looking back on a past that once seemed so carefree, dreamy, vibrant, and free. The contemplator views his/her present life with a sense of dread that it is so filled with day-to-day tasks, work, and responsibilities that there is little or no time for fun, freedom, and dreams – and he/she wonders if that will ever change.

While on a trip to Portugal, I was listening to various musicians I hadn’t heard in a while. One of those was Bruce Springsteen. I had forgotten how moving his music and lyrics were. So, I thought I’d try to write something as a tribute to him while playing some of his songs in the background at low volume. The primary ones were: “Jungleland,” “Backstreets,” “Downbound Train,” “My Hometown,” “Point Blank,” “The River,” “One Step Up,” “Thunder Road,” and “Atlantic City.” I played these songs in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem and inspire the writing of the poem. So, if you listen to one or more of these songs at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

Tonight,

I

wear

–

–

the

smile

–

–

that

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

smile

–

–

that

hides

.

a

n

d

.

denies

.

t

h

e

.

darkness

–

–

behind

.

t

h

e

.

light . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

bitter

–

–

behind

.

t

h

e

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

rye

–

–

behind

.

t

h

e

.

rhyme . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

you

.

w

i

l

l

.

bite . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

you

.

w

i

l

l

.

buy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

.

w

i

l

l

.

bite

.

a

n

d

.

buy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

blinded

.

b

y

.

the

wine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ blinded

.

b

y

.

the

promise

.

o

f

.

daylight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

tonight,

I

wear

–

–

the

smile

–

–

that

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

smile

–

–

that

hides

.

a

n

d

.

denies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

smile.

Reflection: This is a personal struggle-themed poem written largely a reflection on those who routinely hide the pain and struggles they might be going through because they fear judgment or rejection. It’s sad that so many would rather suffer, and struggle alone – creating distance instead of risking allowing others to get close to them or to do or say something which might be helpful and depriving these potential helpers the joy of being a friend and doing something they could feel good about.

I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful song “Disarm” by The Smashing Pumpkins 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.