The

sunset

waves

.

a

t

.

the

end

.

o

f

.

the

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

.

w

i

n

d

.

whispers

.

f

r

o

m

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

bay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

tell

.

m

e

.

everything

will

.

b

e

.

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

tell

.

m

e

.

to

wait,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

days

.

w

i

l

l

.

sail . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

tomorrows

generate

.

o

t

h

e

r

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ other

days

.

t

o

.

find

a

way . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ other

days

.

t

o

.

ease

.

t

h

e

.

pain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ other

days

.

t

o

.

erase

.

t

h

e

.

gray,

.

.

o

r

.

.

make

a

change . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

create

warmth,

–

–

glimmer,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

grace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

u

p

o

n

.

.

.

a

future

.

tomorrow’s

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

tomorrows

.

fade

todays,

.

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

.

fade

yesterdays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

tomorrows

.

fade

todays,

.

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

.

fade

yesterdays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

there

.

i
s

.

a

place

.

where

.

t

h

e

.

sunset

waves

.

a

t

.

the

end

.

o

f

.

the

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

.

t

h

e

.

wind

whispers

.

f

r

o

m

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

bay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

tell

.

m

e

.

everything

will

.

b

e

.

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

w

i

l

l

.

sail . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

new

tomorrows

create

.

brighter

places

.

f

a

r

.

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

place

.

o

f

.

today.

Reflection: This was an inspiration/hope-themed poem I wrote back in November of 2019 where the affected party presently experiencing a difficult time has the experience, patience, and wisdom to understand that life is comprised by a series of ups and downs – and that things will get better and the challenges of today will seem much smaller and less threatening over time. I played the wonderful song “Sailing” by Christopher Cross in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

You

have

.

t

o

.

keep

going . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

have

.

t

o

.

keep

going . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

y

o

u

.

never

know

.

w

h

a

t

.

might

happen . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

when

.

i

t

.

might

happen . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

how

beautiful

.

i

t

.

might

.

b

e

.

when

.

i

t

.

happens . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

when

.

y

o

u

.

arrive,

.

.

y

o

u

.

.

might

.

j

u

s

t

.

find

.

a

.

n

e

w

.

reason

.

t

o

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ a

.

n

e

w

.

reason

.

t

o

.

warmly

wipe

.

t

h

e

.

joy

.

f

r

o

m

.

your

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

come

.

t

o

.

realize

.

there

.

i

s

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ so

much

more

.

t

o

.

a

.

life,

–

–

beyond

.

t

h

a

t

.

point

.

i

n

.

time,

–

–

when

.

o

n

e

.

mourns

.

a

n

d

.

then

cries

away

.

t

h

e

.

hours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

turns

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

light . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ beyond

.

t

h

a

t

.

point

.

i

n

.

time,

–

–

when

.

o

n

e

.

mourns

.

a

n

d

.

turns

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

light,

–

–

that

.

w

a

s

.

there

.

a

l

l

.

the

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

.

w

a

s

.

there

.

a

l

l

.

the

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

there’s

.

s

o

.

much

more

.

t

o

.

a

.

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

it

won’t

.

b

e

.

half

.

a

s

.

lovely . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

it

won’t

.

b

e

.

half

.

a

s

.

nice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

f

–

–

–

you’re

.

n

o

t

.

there . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ if

you’re

.

n

o

t

.

there

.

t

o

.

share

.

t

h

e

.

highlights . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ if

you’re

.

n

o

t

.

there

.

t

o

.

dance

across

.

t

h

e

.

shimmering

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ if

you’re

.

n

o

t

.

there

.

t

o

.

sing

beneath

.

t

h

e

.

dazzling

delight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ if

you’re

.

n

o

t

.

there

.

t

o

.

shine

.

a

.

smile

.

u

p

o

n

.

each

.

o

f

.

these

wondrous

times . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

. . . (and more) . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

please

.

j

u

s

t

.

keep

going,

–

–

because

.

y

o

u

.

never

know

.

what

.

y

o

u

.

might

find . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

never

know

.

w

h

a

t

.

you

might

find . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

warms,

–

–

glimmers,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

glows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

further

on

.

d

o

w

n

.

the

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ further

on

.

d

o

w

n

.

the

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

hold

.

y

o

u

r

.

head

high,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

try

.

t

o

.

look

above . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

turn

.

there

.

w

i

l

l

.

still

.

b

e

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

i

l

l

.

still

.

b

e

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

i

l

l

.

still

.

b

e

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

i

l

l

.

still

.

b

e

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

there’s

.

s

o

.

much

more

.

t

o

.

a

.

life

.

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

cries . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

turning

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

light . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ beyond

.

t

h

e

.

turning

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

light . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

was . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

is . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

always

.

w

i

l

l

.

be,

–

–

there . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

time,

–

–

after

time,

–

–

after

time,

–

–

after

time,

–

–

after

time.

Reflection: This was an inspiration/hope-themed poem I wrote back in November of 2019 to inspire people to keep going – even when things seem so dim. Because there might come a time when things become wonderful or that you contribute to something or others in such a way that you would have been glad to have experienced them and sorry to have missed them. One of my best friends was engaged in a lifelong struggle but finally overcame after several attempts, and created a wonderful life for himself – and I couldn’t be happier. I played the wonderful song “Planets” by Emily Haines in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. This poem was also inspired by the wonderful gem of a movie which really moved me: “A Single Man.”

She

.

h

a

d

.

cocaine

.

o

n

.

her

lips,

.

.

o

n

.

.

that

night

.

o

f

.

bliss . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ cocaine

.

o

n

.

her

lips,

–

–

granting

.

m

y

.

greatest

wish . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ my

greatest

wish

–

–

throughout

.

m

y

.

years

.

o

f

.

innocence . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

My

greatest

wish . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

My

greatest

wish . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

ever

since . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

e

v

e

r

.

since . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

warmly

remember

–

–

bits,

.

a

n

d

.

pieces,

.

a

n

d

.

bits . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ bits,

.

a

n

d

.

pieces,

.

a

n

d

.

bits . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

that

first

kiss,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all

.

t

h

e

.

hours

missed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

she

.

h

a

d

.

cocaine

.

o

n

.

her

lips . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ she

.

h

a

d

,

cocaine

.

o

n

.

her

lips . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

n

–

–

–

that

night

.

o

f

.

bliss.

Reflection: This was a passion/romance/adventure-themed poem that I wrote back in November of 2019 where the contemplator looks back on a wild romantic night of bliss. This simple poem came to me one night while out at Will’s Pub listening to an excellent live show (Paul Simon Tribute) orchestrated by one of the best musicians in Orlando (David Vanegas). Well, a couple of intoxicated young women saw a small container of lip balm that I was dipping into and thought I was putting cocaine on my lips. You should have seen their expressions change from excitement and bliss to gloom and disappointment when they discovered it was only lip balm. I did offer them some, but they declined. I’m not sure why. It’s really fascinating how much you can learn about complete strangers in just one interaction. 🙂

I

saw

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

saw

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

all

that

might

–

–

take

me

to . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

boundless

.

b

u

t

.

erratic

views . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

ecstatic

.

b

u

t

.

elusive

moods

–

–

that

consume . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

saw

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

saw

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

nothing

–

–

I

could

do

–

–

would

move

–

–

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

past

gloom . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

move

through

.

t

h

e

.

present

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

move

even

into

–

–

a

brighter

future

–

–

blooming

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

a

s

.

nothing

–

–

I

could

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

I

–

–

could

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

i

s

.

when

–

–

I

finally

knew . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

then

.

i

s

.

when

–

–

I

knew

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

there

.

w

a

s

.

nothing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ there

.

w

a

s

.

nothing

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

w

a

s

.

nothing

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

all

that

might

–

–

take

me

to.

Reflection: This was a popular romantic-themed poem I wrote back in November 2019 about a romantic encounter that consumed – even long after it had passed.

I played the song “Good Love” by Zola Blood in the background at low volume to create the “moodset” for this poem. The song really seemed to fit. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

First

with

.

t

h

e

.

thirst,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

last

with

.

t

h

e

.

crash . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

e

.

.

.

were

lost

.

i

n

.

the

lack,

.

.

w

i

t

h

.

.

no

turning

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

.

w

e

r

e

.

lost

.

i

n

.

the

lack,

.

.

w

i

t

h

.

.

no

turning

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

So

high

.

o

n

.

the

blast . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

So

afraid

.

i

t

.

would

.

n

o

t

.

last . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

day,

.

after

night,

.

after

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

we

raced . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

raced . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

raced . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

raced . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

along

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

tracks . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

hot,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

hard,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

fast,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

far . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

clickety

clack,

–

–

clickety

clack,

–

–

all

along

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

tracks . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

clickety

clack,

–

–

clickety

clack,

–

–

further,

.

deeper

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

black . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

now . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

all

.

t

h

e

.

sins,

–

–

vices,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

excesses

.

we’ve

had,

.

.

I

.

.

w

a

s

.

thinking

.

w

e

.

might

.

t

u

r

n

.

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

w

a

s

.

hoping

.

w

e

.

might

.

t

u

r

n

.

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

instead

.

o

f

.

waking

again,

.

.

n

o

t

.

.

knowing

where

.

we’re

at,

–

–

lost,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

alone,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

sinking

.

i

n

.

the

lack . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ sinking

.

i

n

.

the

lack . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

.

.

.

through

.

t

h

e

.

cracks . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

sinking

.

i

n

.

the

lack . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

.

.

.

through

.

t

h

e

.

cracks . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ sinking

.

i

n

.

the

lack . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

not

turning

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ not

turning

back

.

t

o

.

all

.

a

n

d

.

that

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

smiled

.

i

n

.

the

past . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ not

turning

back

.

t

o

.

all

.

a

n

d

.

that,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

warmth

.

o

n

c

e

.

had . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Not

turning

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Not

turning

back . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

s

–

–

–

those

youthful

.

d

a

y

s

.

begin

.

t

o

.

age

.

a

n

d

.

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

age

.

a

n

d

.

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

age

.

a

n

d

.

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

age

.

a

n

d

.

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

nothing

feels

.

s

o

.

bad . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

so

empty . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

so

sad . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

s

–

–

–

that,

–

–

when

.

a

l

l

.

which

blossomed

.

dies

.

i

n

.

the

past . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ looking

back

.

t

o

.

all

.

o

n

c

e

.

had . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

nothing

feels

.

s

o

.

bad

.

t

h

a

n

.

looking

back

.

t

o

.

all

.

o

n

c

e

.

had . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ looking

back

.

t

o

.

all

.

o

n

c

e

.

had

.

i

n

.

that

dimming,

.

dying

past,

–

–

when

.

w

e

.

came

.

o

n

.

too

hot . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

too

hard . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

too

far . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

too

fast . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ riding

high

.

o

n

.

that

blast . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ riding

high

.

o

n

.

that

blast . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

First

with

.

t

h

e

.

thirst,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

last

with

.

t

h

e

.

crash . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

First

with

.

t

h

e

.

thirst,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

last

with

.

t

h

e

.

crash . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

First

with

.

t

h

e

.

thirst,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

last

with

.

t

h

e

.

crash . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

last

.

w

i

t

h

.

the

crash,

–

–

aged

faces

aghast . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ aged

faces

aghast

.

against

.

t

h

e

.

glass . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

alas . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

alas . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

every

passing

warm,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

glossy

flash

.

f

a

l

l

s

.

flat . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

turns

bland

.

a

n

d

.

black . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

turns

bland

.

a

n

d

.

black . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

blast

.

standing

.

a

t

.

half-mast . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

now . . .

–

–

–

.

.

. 

a

t

–

–

–

last . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

clickety

clack,

–

–

clickety

clack,

–

–

there’s

.

n

o

.

turning

back.

Reflection: This was a forgotten but moving personal struggle-themed poem I wrote back in September of 2019 as a warning to be cautious when engaging in vices and excesses which might end up consuming a life. So many people start out experimenting, being adventurous, and having “fun,” only to find themselves immersed and trapped in a darkness they can never escape. I played the wonderful acoustic version of the song “Cowgirl in the Sand” by Neil Young (from the “Four Way Street” album) in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

This poem was initially born from a favorite lyric: “after all the sin we’ve had, I was hoping that we’d turn bad” from the Neil Young song: “Cowgirl in the Sand” – which I changed to “with all the sins, vices, and excesses we’ve had, I was thinking we might turn back.” The rest of the poem pretty much wrote itself from that starting point.

There

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

w

e

.

could

love

–

–

without

lying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

hold

–

–

without

hiding . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ there

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

w

e

.

could

talk

–

–

without

trying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

lay

side

.

b

y

.

side

–

–

without

crying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ there

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now

eyes

.

g

a

z

e

.

into

eyes,

–

–

which

disguise

.

b

u

t

.

no

longer

ignite . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

.

n

o

.

longer

ignite,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

no

longer

prize,

.

.

o

r

.

.

burn

.

w

i

t

h

.

pride . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

.

n

o

.

longer

prize,

.

.

o

r

.

.

burn

.

w

i

t

h

.

pride . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

goodbyes

.

n

o

.

longer

hurt,

.

.

o

r

.

.

even

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

.

n

o

.

longer

hurt,

.

.

o

r

.

.

even

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

those

future

.

d

a

y

s

.

which

.

o

n

c

e

.

shined

.

s

u

c

h

.

promise,

–

–

excitement,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

delight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

danced

.

s

o

.

blissfully

.

a

n

d

.

wondrously

.

w

i

d

e

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

warming,

–

– 

hope-filled

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

n

o

–

–

–

longer

prize,

.

.

o

r

.

.

burn

.

w

i

t

h

.

pride . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ those

future

.

d

a

y

s

.

which

.

o

n

c

e

.

shined

.

s

o

.

boundlessly

bright,

–

–

begin

.

t

o

.

dim

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

dismal

–

–

days

.

o

f

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

dim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

dim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

dim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

dismal

–

–

days

.

o

f

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

mile,

–

–

after

mile,

–

–

after

mile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

night,

–

–

after

night,
–

–

after

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

even

.

t

h

e

.

good

times

.

n

o

.

longer

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ until

even

.

t

h

e

.

good

times

.

n

o

.

longer

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now, 

they

.

n

o

.

longer

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

n

o

.

longer

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

n

o

.

longer

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

n

o

.

longer

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

falling

further . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

further . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

further

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ further

behind

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

times,

–

–

when

.

w

e

.

could

–

–

love

without

lying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

hold

without

hiding . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

talk

without

trying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ those

times

–

–

which

shined

.

s

o

.

wondrously

wide,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

boundlessly

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

across

eternal

skies

.

o

f

.

bliss,

–

–

hope,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

delight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

only

.

t

o

.

dim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

only

.

t

o

.

dim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

only

.

t

o

.

dim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ only

.

t

o

.

dim,

–

–

decline,

–

–

dither,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

die.

Reflection: This was a forgotten romantic-themed poem I wrote back in September of 2019 where the contemplator looks back on a dying present-day romance that was once full of beauty, wonder, magic, and delight – and ponders how things ended up to the point where there is not only no love between them, but they don’t even like, want, or respect each other anymore. Most likely it was the collection of little things all along the way. I played the wonderful song “Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye” by Luke Bryan in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

The

haunting

remains

.

i

n

.

this

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

somewhere

.

i

n

.

that

–

–

swirling

haze

.

o

f

.
mere

moments

–

–

swept

away,

.

t

w

o

.

shadows

swayed,

–

–

embraced,

.

a

n

d

.

merged

into

.

t

h

e

.

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

almost

recall

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

elegance

.

a

n

d

.

grace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

almost

perceive

.

t

h

e

.

change,

.

a

n

d

.

the

paling

.

o

f

.

the

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

almost

–

–

still

experience

.

t

h

a

t

.

hurricane

.

o

f

.

wind,

–

–

rain,

.

a

n

d

.

crashing

waves . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

thundering

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

tossing,

.

a

n

d

.

tumbling,

.

a

n

d

.

turning

us

–

–

up

.

a

n

d

.

down . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

round

.

a

n

d

.

round . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

inside

out

.

a

n

d

.

upside

down . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Every

night

.

f

o

r

.

us

.

i

t

.

came . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Every

night

.

f

o

r

.

us

.

i

t

.

raged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

awake

today,

.

a

n

d

.

call

your

name . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

call,

.

a

n

d

.

I

call,

.

a

n

d

.

I

call,

.

a

n

d

.

I

call . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

only

silence

.

a

n

d

.

space

are

.

a

l

l

.

that

reign . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ all

.

t

h

a

t

.

reign

.

i

n

.

this

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

haunting

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

haunting

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

haunting

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

feels

.

l

i

k

e

.

I’m

lost

.

i

n

.

a

maze

–

–

full

.

o

f

.

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

entertain

.

a

.

vague

parade

.

o

f

.

yesterdays

which

–

–

always

stay

.

t

h

e

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

I

don’t

–

–

want

it

.

t

o

.

end . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

don’t

–

–

want

it

.

t

o

.

end

.

t

h

i

s

.

way . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes,

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes,

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes,

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

replay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

swirling

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

thundering

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

hurricane

.

o

f

.

wind,

–

–

rain,

–

a

n

d

–

crashing

waves . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

that

.

i

s

.

the

only

way

–

–

I

can

erase

.

o

r

.

ease

the

pain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ that

.

i

s

.

the

only

way

–

–

I

can

make

–

–

the

haunting

.

g

o

.

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

replay.

Reflection:

This poem largely reflects looking back on a one-of-a-kind, whirlwind romance that happened in the past – and is something most of us have probably experienced in our lives. However, the haunting memory becomes painful when we compare it to where we are and what we have in our life today, but we just want to relive that memory one more time . . . and then again . . . and then again . . . and then again . . . even though we know it’s not good or healthy for us. And we hold on to a pale hope that we might find something like that again and be smart enough to hold on to it and not let it go the next time.

This poem was greatly inspired by the Dierks Bentley song, “Black.” I played this song repeatedly in the background at low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to this song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

You

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

heard

.

t

h

a

t

.

I

.

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve,

–

–

when

.

t

h

e

.

turn

.

i

s

.

unsure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve,

–

–

when

.

h

u

r

t

.

becomes

.

t

h

e

.

cure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

.

h

u

r

t

.

becomes

.

t

h

e

.

cure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

anything

observed,

–

–

might

truly

.

b

e

.

worse . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

deserve

.

m

o

r

e

.

worth

.

t

h

a

n

.

wants,

–

–

whispers,

.

.

o

r

.

.

words . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

there

.

a

r

e

.

times,

–

–

when

.

a

detour

–

–

better

serves,

.

.

t

h

a

n

.

.

a

yield

.

o

r

.

a

merge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

before

.

y

o

u

.

surrender . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ surrender

.

t

o

.

the

urge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

consider

.

w

h

a

t

.

you’ve

heard,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

learn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

.

.

.

I

burn

.

i

t

.

baby,

–

–

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

burn

.

t

h

e

.

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

blur.

Reflection: This was a forgotten personal struggle-themed poem I wrote back in August of 2019 where the affected party frequently lives on the edge of life – and slows down for no one. And we’re left to ponder where he or she might end up, and whether any moments of happiness might have been experienced in all of that restless, relentless pursuit. I’ve known several people who lived their lives that way. I played the wonderful song “The Only Thing” by Zola Blood in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. The poem was born from the lyric: “fast on the curve” (actually the words were “resting on a curve” but I had not realized that) – I changed that tiny phrase to “burning the curve,” and the rest of the poem wrote itself from that.

What

can

you

.

d

o

.

when

life 

becomes

.

t

o

o

.

late

.

f

o

r

.

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

.

y

o

u

.

awake

.

t

o

.

find

.

a

.

strange

face

–

–

that

.

h

a

s

. 

aged

.

i

n

.

a

place,

–

–

with

.

y

o

u

r

.

yesterdays

ablaze . . .

–

–

–

 ~ with

.

y

o

u

r

.

yesterdays

ablaze

.

i

n

.

what

could

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

–

–

better

days

.

h

a

d

.

you

realized

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

truth

.

t

h

a

t

.

all,

.

a

n

d

.

each.

.

a

n

d

.

everything

.

y

o

u

.

once

owned,

.

n

o

w

.

owns

you . . .

–

–

–

 ~ they

.

n

o

w

.

own

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

consume

.

y

o

u

r

.

youth,

–

–

burning,

–

–

burning

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

now . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

now . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

it’s

.

t

o

o

.

late

.

f

o

r

.

change . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it’s

.

t

o

o

.

late

.

t

o

.

make

things

.

g

o

.

your

way . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

i

t

.

would

.

n

o

t

.

matter . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

would

.

n

o

t

.

matter

–

–

anyway . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

– 

all

.

t

h

a

t

.

once

mattered

.

n

o

w

.

lies

.

i

n

.

tatters . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

has

.

b

e

e

n

.

consumed

.

b

y

.

flame,

–

–

leaving

.

o

n

l

y

.

gray

.

a

s

h

.

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Too

late . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Too

late . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Far

.

t

o

o

.

late

.

f

o

r

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

y

o

u

.

are

old . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

y

o

u

.

are

old . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

days

.

a

r

e

.

new.

Reflection: This was a forgotten personal struggle-themed poem I wrote back in August of 2019 where the contemplator looks back on a life that has somehow consumed his or her entire youth without any awareness – for the contemplator now is old, but “the days are new.” I played the wonderful song “The Fatal Gift” by Emily Haines in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

Another

goodbye

–

–

blurs

.

m

y

.

eyesight,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

still

I

realize,

–

–

it

.

i

s

.

just

.

f

o

r

.

a

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

i

s

.

just

.

f

o

r

.

a

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

although

.

n

o

t

.

side

.

b

y

.

side . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

n

o

–

–

–

part

.

o

f

.

you

.

c

a

n

.

be

erased

.

b

y

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

.

c

a

n

.

be

erased

.

b

y

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

there

.

a

r

e

.

many

sides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

many,

–

–

many

sides

.

o

f

.

goodbye . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

a

r

e

.

sides

.

t

h

a

t

.

die . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

sides

.

t

h

a

t

.

try . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sides

.

t

h

a

t

.

know

–

–

how

.

t

o

.

lie . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

a

r

e

.

sides

. 

t

h

a

t

.

hide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

sides

.

t

h

a

t

.

take

flight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sides

.

t

h

a

t

.

know

.

n

o

t

.

why . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

I

.

do

.

n

o

t

.

mind,

–

–

being

blinded

.

b

y

.

every

–

–

gray

line,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

each

shaded,

–

–

chaotic

design

.

o

f

.

goodbye . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

I

.

a

m

.

one

.

t

o

.

realize

–

–

they

add . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

add

.

t

o

.

all

.

t

h

a

t

. 

was . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

is . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

will

be

.

i

n

.

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

memories

.

c

a

n

.

always

.

b

e

.

kind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

there’s

.

n

o

.

cause

.

t

o

.

cry,

–

–

when

.

y

o

u

.

realize,

–

–

there’s

.

s

o

.

many

reasons

.

t

o

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ there’s

just

.

s

o

.

many

reasons

.

t

o

.

smile,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

forward

drive,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

glimmer

.

a

n

d

.

glide,

–

–

upon

those

–

–

warming

lights,

–

–

which

burned

.

s

o

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

o

n

c

e

.

upon

a

time,

–

–

together

.

w

e

.

smiled,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

were

part

.

o

f

.

a

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

that

starshine

–

–

which

beams

.

s

o

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

makes

.

o

n

e

.

feel

.

s

o

.

alive . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

starshine

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

added

.

s

u

c

h

.

shimmer,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

hope,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

love,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

fire,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

color,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

charm . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

a

.

bold

brilliance

.

t

o

.

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

partly

came

.

f

r

o

m

.

each,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every

.

p

a

s

t

.

goodbye . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ every

.

p

a

s

t

.

goodbye,

–

–

which

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

otherwise,

–

–

forever

made

.

u

s

.

cry . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

t

h

e

.

day

.

w

e

.

came

.

t

o

.

realize,

.

.

i

t

.

.

is

.

w

e

.

who

decide

–

–

which

parts

.

t

o

.

polish

.

a

n

d

.

prize . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

which

parts

.

t

o

.

bury,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

leave

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ which

parts

.

o

f

.

each,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every

–

–

goodbye

.

t

o

.

forward

.

i

n

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

understand

that

.

i

s

.

why . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

you

. 

a

r

e

.

you,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

I

.

a

m

.

I . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

for

that . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

f

o

r

.

that . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

e

–

–

–

can

smile,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

dance,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

shine,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

realize . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

t

–

–

–

all

brought

.

u

s

.

to

who,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

why,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

where

.

w

e

.

are

right

.

n

o

w

.

in

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

whether

–

–

goodbye

.

f

o

r

.

now,

.

.

o

r

.

.

goodbye

–

–

forever . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

each

.

a

n

d

.

every

–

–

goodbye

.

c

a

n

.

add

a

warmth

.

t

o

.

our

shine,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

a

sparkle

.

t

o

.

our

eye . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

So

yes,

–

–

another

goodbye

–

–

might

blur

.

m

y

.

eyesight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

there

.

a

r

e

. 

many

sides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

many,

–

–

many

sides

.

o

f

.

goodbye.

Reflection: This was a forgotten inspirational/hope-themed poem I wrote back in August of 2019 to help people deal with the “goodbyes” in their lives by understanding that every experience no matter how lengthy, how short, how large, how small, how powerful, or how subtle adds to the living collage that becomes who we are at any given point in time. And we result from all of those contributing parts and pieces. So, get into the practice of cherishing, loving, and appreciating all of that throughout your life. A favorite Dr. Suess quote comes to mind here: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” So, do this if you can. I played the wonderful gem of a song “Nihilist Abyss” by Emily Haines in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.