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.

I

still

–

–

recall

the

.

f

a

l

l

.

of

wintertime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

it

.

w

a

s

.

the

.

f

a

l

l

.

of

wintertime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes

–

–

burned

.

s

o

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes

–

–

burned

.

s

o

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

with

a

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

another

guy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Your

eyes

–

–

burned

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Your

eyes

–

–

burned

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Your

eyes

–

–

burned

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

with

a

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

another

guy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

still

–

–

recall

the

.

f

a

l

l

.

of

wintertime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

still

–

–

recall

the

.

f

a

l

l

.

of

wintertime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

still

–

–

recall

the

.

f

a

l

l

.

of

wintertime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

that

.

w

a

s

.

the

.

l

a

s

t

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

that

.

w

a

s

.

the

.

l

a

s

t

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

saw

–

–

your

eyes

–

–

burn

.

s

o

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

with

a

smile.

Reflection:  This was a popular melancholy-themed poem written back in March of 2024 about a fading romance and the sinking feelings that can come with it. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “Your Worst Song is Your Greatest Hit” by The Reds, the Pinks and Purples 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.

It

.

w

a

s

.

hard

.

t

o

.

tell

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

everything

that

.

w

a

s

.

badly

burned

.

a

n

d

.

buried

.

i

n

.

the

deep . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

hard

.

t

o

.

tell

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now,

I

.

c

a

n

.

see

.

a

n

d

.

feel

a

peace

–

–

within

reach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

c

a

n

.

see

.

a

n

d

.

feel

a

peace

–

–

within

reach . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

beneath

the

seas

–

–

where

anxiety

sleeps . . . 

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

I

can

.

n

o

w

.

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

can

.

n

o

w

.

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

can

.

n

o

w

.

believe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

dream . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

while

.

i

t

.

still

–

–

newly

breathes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ while

.

i

t

.

still

–

–

newly

breathes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ while

.

i

t

.

still

–

–

newly

breathes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

before

.

i

t

.

begins

.

t

o

.

bleed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

hard

.

t

o

.

tell

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

everything

that

.

w

a

s

.

badly

burned

.

a

n

d

.

buried

.

i

n

.

the

deep . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

hard

–

t

o

–

tell

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now,

I

.

c

a

n

.

see

.

a

n

d

.

feel

a

peace

–

–

within

reach.

Reflection: This was an inspirational/hope-themed poem which largely reflects the rush of hope and relief a sufferer secretly carrying a heavy burden can experience when he/she is finally able to find someone to share it with. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful song “Hard to Tell You” by Warpaint 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.

Curiosity

crumbles

.

t

h

e

.

walls

.

o

f

.

hostility,

–

–

–

.

.

.

judgment,

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

jealousy . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

leaps

.

f

a

r

.

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

valleys

–

–

that

blame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

shame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

defame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

demean . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

celebrates

–

–

every

direction

.

o

f

.

differing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

every

color

.

o

f

.

diversity . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

loves

.

a

n

d

.

values

–

–

everyone

.

a

n

d

.

everything . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

clearly

sees

.

a

n

d

.

warmly

believes

–

–

that

every

–

–

form

.

o

f

.

humanity

.

i

s

.

free . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

clearly

sees

.

a

n

d

.

warmly

believes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

clearly

sees

.

a

n

d

.

warmly

believes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Curiosity

clearly

sees

.

a

n

d

.

warmly

believes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

every

life

–

–

that

breathes.

Reflection: This was an inspiration/hope-themed poem. I wrote most of this poem by reflecting on a Yahoo Finance article featuring an interview with Scott Shigeoka – a curiosity expert and author of the new book “Seek: How Curiosity Can Transform Your Life and Change the World.”