Is

.

i

t

.

better

.

o

r

.

worse

.

t

o

.

move

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

hurt ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

Is

.

i

t

.

better

.

o

r

.

worse

.

t

o

.

blend

.

w

i

t

h

.

the

blur ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

even

though

.

I

.

have

learned

.

t

o

.

lean

.

a

n

d

.

merge

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

twists

.

a

n

d

.

turns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

still

hear

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

words . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

places

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

still

feel

.

t

h

a

t

.

urge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

places

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

still

remember

.

t

h

a

t

.

allure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

places

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ in

places

.

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Another

yearn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Another

turn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Another

hurt . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Another

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Another

better . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Another

worse . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

places

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ in

places

.

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

burn.

Reflection: This was a forgotten, but powerful romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in November of 2020 where the affected party struggles to move beyond relationship(s) of the past – because there are certain memories where “the candles still burn,” and select present day encounters which spark those memories and make them continue coming alive. Even when the affected party gets into new relationships, he or she still gets haunted and taunted by the past.

I played the wonderful gem of a song “Deacon Blues” by Steely Dan 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.

I

am

just

–

a

n

–

adventurous

kind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

who

does

–

n

o

t

–

like

–

t

h

e

–

boring

–

a

n

d

–

dry . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

do

–

n

o

t

–

like

–

t

h

e

–

boring

–

a

n

d

–

dry . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

that

–

w

a

s

–

the

high

–

o

f

–

my

last

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

.

w

a

s

.

the

high

–

o

f

–

the

last

time.

Reflection: This was a reflective-themed poem I wrote in reflection of a post I saw on social media from someone stating: “I hate boring and dry” as a note for the next person he/she would want to have a relationship with. Those words struck a chord and poetic rhythm with me and I then proceeded to write this simple, short poem. 

I

.

s

a

w

.

today

–

–

just

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

–

–

faraway

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

s

a

w

.

just

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

–

–

faraway

place,

–

–

baked

.

i

n

t

o

.

a

.

laced,

–

–

cinnamon

glaze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now,

nothing

.

c

a

n

.

replace

.

t

h

a

t

.

tantalizing

taste . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

nothing

.

c

a

n

.

replace

.

t

h

a

t

.

chronic

crave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

nothing

.

c

a

n

.

replace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

n

o

r

–

–

–

take

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Nothing

.

c

a

n

.

replace,

.

.

n

o

r

.

.

take

away

.

t

h

e

.

memory

.

o

f

.

the

dancing

–

–

reign

.

o

f

.

yesterdays,

–

–

lost

in

.

t

h

e

.

grace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

lost

in

.

t

h

e

.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

lost

in

.

t

h

e

.

careless

plays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

yesterdays

–

–

lost

in

.

t

h

e

.

grace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

lost

in

.

t

h

e

.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

lost

in

.

t

h

e

.

careless

plays

.

o

f

.

distant

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ distant

days

–

–

lost

.

i

n

.

careless

plays

–

–

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

s

a

w

.

today

–

–

just

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

–

–

faraway

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

s

a

w

.

today

–

–

just

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

–

–

faraway

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

s

a

w

.

today

–

–

just

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

–

–

faraway

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

baked

.

i

n

t

o

.

a

.

laced,

–

–

cinnamon

glaze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

a

s

.

baked

.

i

n

t

o

.

a

.

laced,

–

–

cinnamon

glaze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now,

nothing

.

c

a

n

.

replace

.

t

h

a

t

.

tantalizing

taste . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

nothing

.

c

a

n

.

replace

.

t

h

a

t

.

chronic

crave.

Reflection: This was a forgotten but powerful personal struggle-themed poem where the affected party struggles with the torturous tease and tantalizing aspects of an addiction/compulsion he or she is seeking to permanently overcome. I played the wonderful gem of a song “Jumbo Jet” by Shout Out Louds 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.

A

stream

.

o

f

.

maybes

–

–

wanders

aimlessly . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

seeking

promise

.

a

n

d

.

possibility . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ seeking

promise

.

a

n

d

.

possibility . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

day,

–

–

after

day,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

week,

–

–

after

week . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

play,

–

–

after

play,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

street,

–

–

after

street . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

That

one’s

.

t

o

o
.

green,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

that

one

.

t

o

o

.

peach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

That

one’s

.

t

o

o

.

salty,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

that

one

.

t

o

o

.

sweet . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

everything

.

i

s

.

either

–

–

out

.

o

f

.

reach,

.

.

o

r

.

.

in

between . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ out

.

o

f

.

reach,

.

.

o

r

.

.

in

between,

.

f

o

r

.

maybe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Maybe

wanders

aimlessly . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

seeking

promise

.

a

n

d

.

possibility . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ seeking

promise

.

a

n

d

.

possibility . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

day,

–

–

after

day,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

week,

–

–

after

week . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

play,

–

–

after

play,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

street,

–

–

after

street . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

dream,

–

–

after

dream,

–

–

after

dream,

–

–

after

dream,

–

–

after

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

each,

.

a

n

d

.

all,

.

a

n

d

.

every,

–

–

racing

ahead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ racing

ahead

.

a

t

.

such

speed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

s

–

–

–

to

be

–

–

forever

out

.

o

f

.

reach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ to

be

–

–

forever

out

.

o

f

.

reach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

far

beyond

empty . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ far

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

bankruptcies,

–

–

fed

.

b

y

.

the

hopes

.

a

n

d

.

dreams

.

o

f

.

those

attempting

.

t

o

.

cash

out

–

–

their

fantasies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

those

attempting

.

t

o

.

cash

out

–

–

their

wandering

streams . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ their

wandering

streams

.

o

f

.

maybe.

Reflection: This was a popular personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in November of 2020 where the affected party is scattered by having too many possibilities and too little focus to be able to capitalize on much of any of them. I heard a song that sounded like it had lyrics that said “maybe drives” and liked the use of the word in that context – so that idea helped create the poem.

The

sadness

.

o

f

.

the

sea

.

i

s

.

all

around

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

khaki

.

i

s

.

the

color

.

o

f

.

the

memory . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ the

memory

.

o

f

.

all

that

.

w

a

s

.

once

.

s

o

.

free

.

a

n

d

.

green . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ of

.

a

l

l

.

that

.

w

a

s

.

once

.

s

o

.

free

.

a

n

d

.

green

.

.

i

n

.

.

the

spring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ so

free

.

a

n

d

.

green

.

.

i

n

.

.

the

spring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

was

.

t

h

e

.

all

.

a

n

d

.

everything

.

o

f

.

what

we

–

–

thought

we

–

–

could

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ of

what

we

–

–

thought

we

–

–

could

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now

only

–

–

echoes

know

–

–

how

.

i

t

.

truly

feels

.

t

o

.

let

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Only

echoes

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Only

echoes

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Only

echoes

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

how

.

i

t

.

feels

.

t

o

.

let

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

sadness

.

o

f

.

the

sea

.

i

s

.

all

around

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

sadness

.

o

f

.

the

sea

.

i

s

.

all

around

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

sadness

.

o

f

.

the

sea

.

i

s

.

all

around
me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

khaki

.

i

s

.

the

color

.

o

f

.

the

memory,

.

o

f

.

all

that

.

w

a

s

.

once

.

s

o

.

free

.

a

n

d

.

green . . .

–

–

.

.

.

  ~ of

.

a

l

l

.

that

.

w

a

s

.

once

.

s

o

.

free

.

a

n

d

.

green

.

.

i

n

.

.

the

spring.

Reflection: This was a popular, reflective-themed poem I wrote back in October of 2020. The contemplator looks back on a free-wheeling freedom that is no longer present in his/her life.

I used the song “Diamonds and Rust” by Joan Baez which I played in the background at low volume to create the “moodset” for the 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.

The

nighttime

.

s

k

y

.

opens

.

i

t

s

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

nighttime

.

s

k

y

.

opens

.

i

t

s

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

dream

desires

.

a

n

d

.

sweet

delights . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

.

w

i

l

l

.

only

.

b

e

.

a

.

little

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

i

l

l

.

only

.

b

e

.

a

.

little

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

before

this,

.

a

n

d

.

all,

.

a

n

d

.

everything,

–

–

comes

alive . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ before

everything

.

comes

alive

.

tonight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ reaching

far,

.

a

n

d

.

wide,

.

a

n

d

.

deep,

.

a

n

d

.

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ reaching

far,

.

a

n

d

.

wide,

.

a

n

d

.

deep,

.

a

n

d

.

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

pouring

.

a

.

fine,

–

–

divine

wine

.

o

f

.

starshine

.

a

l

l

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

twilight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

by,

.

a

n

d

.

by,

.

a

n

d

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ dream

desires

.

a

n

d

.

sweet

delights

–

–

racing

’round

.

a

n

d

.

’round . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

side

.

b

y

.

side . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

moment

.

b

y

.

moment . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

mile

.

b

y

.

mile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

.

c

a

n

.

never

.

b

e

.

enough . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

there

.

c

a

n

.

never

.

b

e

.

enough . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

dream

desires

.

a

n

d

.

sweet

delights

.

never

.

g

o

.

out

.

o

f

.

style . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

.

t

h

e

y

.

never

.

g

o

.

out

.

o

f

.

style . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ calling

.

a

l

l

.

night,

–

–

every

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ every

moment

.

racing

against

.

t

h

e

.

haze,

.

o

f

.

a

.

haze,

.

o

f

.

a

.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ racing

against

.

t

h

e

.

haze,

.

o

f

.

a

.

haze,

.

o

f

.

a

.

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

vague

.

rush

.

o

f

.

speedways,

–

–

chasing

.

t

h

e

.

faraways . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ chasing

.

t

h

e

.

faraways

.

t

h

a

t

.

still

remain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

collect

.

t

h

e

.

days,

.

u

p

o

n

.

days,

.

u

p

o

n

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

yesterdays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yesterdays

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

yearn

.

a

n

d

.

merge

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

burn

.

o

f

.

the

urge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

merge

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

burn

.

o

f

.

the

urge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

nighttime

.

s

k

y

.

opens

.

i

t

s

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

nighttime

.

s

k

y

.

opens

.

i

t

s

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

nighttime

.

s

k

y

.

opens

.

i

t

s

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

dream

desires

.

a

n

d

.

sweet

delights . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

time,

–

–

after

time,

–

–

after

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

mile,

–

–

after

mile,

–

–

after

mile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

collecting

.

t

h

e

.

days,

.

u

p

o

n

.

days,

.

u

p

o

n

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

yesterdays

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

yearn

.

a

n

d

.

merge

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

burn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

merge

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

burn

.

o

f

.

the

urge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

blur.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in October of 2020 where the affected party becomes addicted to the whirlwind excesses of the disco age – and the days and nights get consumed into a blur. I played the songs “Boogie Nights” by Heatwave and “Love to Love You, Baby” by Donna Summer in the background 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. I first drafted an initial poem to the Donna Summer song, drafted a separate poem to the Heatwave song, and then merged the two poems together playing the Heatwave song for the remainder of the process.

I

search

.

t

h

e

–

.

alleys

.

a

n

d

.

skid

row

–

–

streets

.

t

h

a

t

.

scream,

.

a

n

d

.

bleed,

.

a

n

d

.

soundly

defeat . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

even

though

–

–

I

know

.

y

o

u

.

would

never

–

–

travel

.

t

h

e

s

e

.

alleys

.

a

n

d

.

streets

.

f

o

r

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

love

.

i

s

.

love

–

–

a

n

d

–

–

offers

.

n

o

.

in-betweens . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

love

.

i

s

.

love

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ it

moves

.

w

i

t

h

.

steady

ease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

through

even

.

t

h

e

.

snow

.

a

n

d

.

sleet . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now

I

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ yes,

now

–

–

I

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

travel

.

a

n

y

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

carry

.

a

n

y

.

load . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

.

w

i

l

l

.

carry

.

a

n

y

.

load . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

love,

.

i

s

.

love,

.

i

s

.

love,

.

i

s

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ it

has

.

a

.

reach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

offers

.

n

o

.

in-betweens . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ it

simply

feeds

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

n

–

–

–

memories . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ it

simply

feeds

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

n

–

–

–

memories . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

how

things

–

–

used

.

t

o

.

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

how

things

–

–

used

.

t

o

.

be . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ yes,

love,

.

i

s

.

love,

.

i

s

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ it

simply

feeds

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

n

–

–

–

memories . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

glimmers

.

a

n

d

.

glows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

even

.

t

h

e

.

palest

.

o

f

.

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

even

.

t

h

e

.

palest

.

o

f

.

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

I

.

c

a

n

.

find

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ that

I

.

c

a

n

.

find

you

–

–

out

there . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

someway . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

somewhere . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

someday . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

raw

.

a

n

d

.

rugged

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ that

I

.

c

a

n

.

find

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ that

I

.

c

a

n

.

find

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

raw

.

a

n

d

.

rugged

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

somehow

bring

.

y

o

u

.

home.

Reflection:  This poem was written in reflection of those we deeply love but who tend to struggle in life. We might strongly believe in them and see great potential, and would do anything to help them to find a more positive path – because we know they could do well in life if they could only find the path.

I used the wonderful song “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” by The Hollies to play repeatedly in the background at low volume as 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.

In

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

o

f

.

dancing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

in

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

o

f

.

dreaming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

everything

.

came

.

s

o

.

easily . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

everything

.

came

.

s

o

.

easily . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ everything

.

s

o

.

easy,

–

–

in

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

o

f

.

dancing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

in

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

o

f

.

dreaming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Instant

cash

.

a

n

d

.

instant

success . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Instant

flash

.

a

n

d

.

instant

press . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Instant

begins

.

a

n

d

.

instant

ends . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Instant

sex

.

a

n

d

.

instant

regrets . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

s

a

w

.

you

.

o

n

c

e

.

by

.

t

h

e

.

sea,

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

i

t

.

was

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

i

t

.

was

.

we . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

i

t

.

was

.

three . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

then

.

i

t

.

was

.

three . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

.

t

h

e

.

daring

.

a

n

d

.

dazzling

fantasy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

.

t

h

e

.

tease

.

o

f

.

drugs

.

a

n

d

.

drink . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

now

.

i

t

.

seems . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

now

.

i

t

.

seems

we’re

.

merely

drifting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we’re

.

merely

drifting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

no

longer

.

sailing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we’re

drifting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

no

longer

.

sailing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

e

–

–

–

days

.

o

f

.

dancing

.

a

n

d

.

dreaming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

now

.

i

t

.

seems

.

we’re

drifting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

no

longer

.

sailing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

e

–

–

–

days

.

o

f

.

dancing

.

a

n

d

.

dreaming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

has

.

t

h

a

t

.

ship

.

o

n

c

e

.

boldly

steaming,

–

–

–

.

.

.

only

.

b

e

e

n

.

fleeting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ only

.

b

e

e

n

.

fleeting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

slowly

sinking.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem I wrote back in September of 2020 where the contemplator looks back on the early days of a present relationship and ponders where the magic, dance, and dream had gone – and whether he/she will ever be able to bring it back or experience such days again. I played the wonderful gem of a song “Different Now” by Chastity Belt 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.

Did

you

really

–

–

think

today,

–

–

that

–

t

h

e

–

words

you

–

–

would

say

–

–

might

make

–

–

everything

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ might

make

this,

–

a

n

d

–

all,

–

a

n

d

–

everything

–

–

–

.

.

.

g

o

–

–

–

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ make

it

all

–

–

–

.

.

.

g

o

–

–

–

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ make

it

all

–

–

–

.

.

.

g

o

–

–

–

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

–

o

f

–

those

hurricanes

–

a

n

d

–

thundering

rains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ all

.

o

f

.

those

ghastly

grays,

–

–

waiting

–

i

n

–

the

shade

–

o

f

–

shame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ waiting

.

i

n

.

the

shade

–

o

f

–

rage

–

a

n

d

–

blame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

blame

–

a

n

d

–

rage . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

what

could

–

–

have

been

–

–

better

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ those

ghastly

grays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ those

ghastly

grays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

waiting

–

i

n

–

the

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ waiting

.

i

n

.

the

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ waiting

.

i

n

.

the

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

shame,

–

a

n

d

–

rage,

–

a

n

d

–

blame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

what

could

–

–

have

been

–

–

better

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

wiped

away

–

a

n

d

–

forever

erased . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

y

–

–

–

only

–

t

h

e

–

words

–

y

o

u

–

say . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

y

–

–

–

only

–

t

h

e

–

words

–

y

o

u

–

say . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

today.

Reflection:  I wrote this poem in reflection of a much-loved song at the time (“15” by Petal). So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

dance ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

dance

inside

.

a

.

dream ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

dance

inside

.

a

.

dream

.

o

f

.

some

flashy,

–

–

flaunting

–

b

u

t

–

fleeting

–

–

feeling . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

where

.

y

o

u

.

might

–

–

rather

be ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

of

some

–

–

guilty

sweet

.

b

u

t

.

sexy

scene,

–

–

where

.

y

o

u

.

could

.

b

e

.

so

free ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ well,

“not me”

.

y

o

u

.

tease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

it’s

only

.

s

o

m

e

.

silly

fantasy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it’s

only

.

s

o

m

e

.

seed

.

o

f

.

ecstasy,

–

–

this

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

only . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

only . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

only . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

m

e

–

–

–

moving

memory . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ some

.

.

moving

memory

.

o

f

.

how

things

.

m

i

g

h

t

.

have

been,

–

–

this

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

that’s

.

n

o

t

.

the

way . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

that’s

.

n

o

t

.

the

way

.

i

t

.

seems . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

even

when

.

y

o

u

.

leave,

–

–

it’s

always

.

within

reach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

even

when

.

i

t

.

breathes

.

a

n

d

.

feeds,

.

.

y

o

u

.

.

cannot

.

s

a

y

.

a

.

thing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ you

cannot

.

s

a

y

.

a

.

thing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

you

.

c

a

n

.

never

.

s

a

y

.

a

.

thing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

y

o

u

.

dance

inside

.

a

.

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

especially,

–

–

when

.

y

o

u

.

dance

inside

.

a

.

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

me.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem I wrote back in July of 2020 where the affected party cannot escape an addiction or compulsion of some kind – because it is always in the back of his/her mind: taunting, teasing, and haunting. I played the wonderful gem of a song “Particle” by Hundred Waters 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.