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.”

I

remember

feeling . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

remember

feeling

.

t

h

i

s

.

way

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

felt

.

t

h

i

s

.

way

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

h

e

n

–

–

–

I

.

f

e

l

l

.

beneath

.

t

h

e

.

floor . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

f

e

l

l

.

beneath

.

t

h

e

.

floor . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

screamed

behind

.

t

h

e

.

door . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

screamed

behind

.

t

h

e

.

door . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

could

.

n

o

t

.

rise

above

.

t

h

e

.

roar . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

could

.

n

o

t

.

rise

above

.

t

h

e

.

roar . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

continued

.

t

o

.

fight

.

t

h

e

.

war . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

continued

.

t

o

.

fight

.

t

h

e

.

war . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now

I

stand

upon

–

–

a

distant

shore . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

stand

upon

–

–

a

distant

shore . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

blisters,

–

–

burns,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

blurs . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

whispered

words

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

hurts . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

arguing

.

f

o

r

.

less

than

.

m

y

.

worth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

for

more

–

–

than

I

deserved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

argued

.

f

o

r

.

less

than

.

m

y

.

worth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

for

more

–

–

than

I

deserved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

was

–

–

more

than

–

–

I

deserved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

was

–

–

more

than

–

–

I

deserved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

was

–

–

more

than

–

–

I

deserved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

I

was

.

a

t

.

my

worst . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

remember

feeling . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

remember

feeling

.

t

h

i

s

.

way

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

felt

.

t

h

i

s

.

way

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

h

e

n

–

–

–

I

.

f

e

l

l

.

beneath

.

t

h

e

.

floor . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

.

 I

.

f

e

l

l

.

beneath

.

t

h

e

.

floor . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

screamed

behind

.

t

h

e

.

door.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem largely reflective of an ongoing, internal struggle – from some kind of trauma that was experienced previously. It continues to resurface and the anxious sufferer senses another episode is on the way. Many people who have either experienced trauma or who have helped others in these regards will probably relate strongly to this poem.

I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “No End to Love” by Orlando Weeks 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.

You

were

.

t

h

e

.

lows

–

–

chasing

highs

.

i

n

.

the

lamplight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

You

were

.

t

h

e

.

rhythm

.

a

n

d

.

the

rhyme

.

i

n

.

the

lamplight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

You

were

.

t

h

e

.

starshine

.

o

f

.

the

skies

.

i

n

.

the

lamplight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

let’s

.

f

a

l

l

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

dance

left

.

t

o

.

right . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

l

l

–

–

–

hours

.

o

f

.

the

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

.

f

a

l

l

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

roll

side

.

t

o

.

side . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

u

n

t

i

l

–

–

–

we

waltz

–

–

with

.

t

h

e

.

sunrise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

.

f

a

l

l

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

.

f

a

l

l

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

.

f

a

l

l

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

climb

.

t

h

e

.

skies

.

t

i

l

l

.

we

find

–

–

a

place

.

t

o

.

hide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

climb

–

t

h

e

–

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

climb

.

t

h

e

.

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

climb

.

t

h

e

.

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

d

i

v

e

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

climb

.

t

h

e

.

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

climb

.

t

h

e

.

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

climb

.

t

h

e

.

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

d

i

v

e

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

wine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

race

.

t

h

e

.

tides

.

o

f

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

race

.

t

h

e

.

tides

.

o

f

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

race

.

t

h

e

.

tides

.

o

f

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

race

.

t

h

e

.

tides

.

o

f

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

wrongs

.

a

n

d

.

the

rights . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

lines

.

a

n

d

.

the

divides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

sighs

.

a

n

d

.

the

cries

.

o

f

.

wintertime . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

w

e

.

have

.

a

l

l

.

night

.

t

o

.

make

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

have

.

a

l

l

.

night

.

t

o

.

live

.

a

l

l

.

the

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ to

live

.

a

l

l

.

the

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

paradise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

You

were

.

t

h

e

.

lows

–

–

chasing

highs

.

i

n

.

the

lamplight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

You

were

.

t

h

e

.

rhythm

.

a

n

d

.

the

rhyme

.

i

n

.

the

lamplight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

You

were

.

t

h

e

.

starshine

.

o

f

.

the

skies

.

i

n

.

the

lamplight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

let’s

close

.

t

h

e

.

blinds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

f

a

l

l

.

.

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ let’s

.

.

.

f

a

l

l

.

.

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

rise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

roll

side

.

t

o

.

side . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

l

l

–

–

–

hours

.

o

f

.

the

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

hours

.

o

f

.

the

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

leave

.

i

t

.

all

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

this

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

live

.

a

l

l

.

the

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

paradise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let’s

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

live

.

a

l

l

.

the

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

paradise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

can

–

–

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

can

–

–

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

can

–

–

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

tonight,

–

–

you

.

a

n

d

.

I . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

can

–

–

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

can

–

–

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

can

–

–

roll

.

t

h

e

.

dice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

tonight,

–

–

you

.

a

n

d

.

I . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

l

e

t

.

tomorrow

decide.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem. I wrote most of this poem by reflecting on a hot, hot night I had with someone who shall go by the name of JT. What a wonderful experience! I think about it all the time.

Today,

a

.

n

e

w

.

dream

grows,

–

–

seeded

.

b

y

.

yesterday’s

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ today,

a

dream

grows,

–

–

seeded

.

b

y

.

yesterday’s

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

only

tomorrows

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

the

yesses

.

a

n

d

.

nos . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

the

fasts

.

a

n

d

.

slows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

the

highs

.

a

n

d

.

lows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

which

remains,

.

a

n

d

.

that

which

goes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

which

stagnates,

.

a

n

d

.

that

which

flows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

that

which

dims,

.

a

n

d

.

that

which

glows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

which

dims,

.

a

n

d

.

that

which

glows . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

along

those

–

–

raw,

.

a

n

d

.

rugged,

.

a

n

d

.

restless

roads . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

all

.

t

h

e

.

places

.

w

e

.

would

go.

Reflection: This is a reflective poem written as a reminder that all of the choices we make over the weeks, months, and years influence what we experience later in life – so, choose as wisely as you can at the time and grow that wisdom over the years that go by. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful gem of a song “And So It Goes” by Billy Joel which I played repeatedly in the background at low volume to create the “moodset” for (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

.

in

this

town . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

in

this

house . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

in

this

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

I

knew

.

n

o

t

.

what

.

t

o

.

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

knew

.

n

o

t

.

what

.

t

o

.

do

.

.

i

n

.

.

that

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

now,

–

–

only

.

t

h

e

.

tune

.

o

f

.

echoes

–

–

tells

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

tune

.

o

f

.

echoes

–

–

tells

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

no

matter

what,

.

o

r

.

who,

.

.

o

r

.

.

how

much,

.

o

r

.

how

few,

.

.

i

n

.

.

my

life

–

–

becomes

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

no

matter

–

–

how

frequent,

.

o

r

.

how

distant

–

–

I

try

.

t

o

.

move . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

the

tune

.

o

f

.

echoes

–

–

tells

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

tune

.

o

f

.

echoes

–

–

tells

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

tune

.

o

f

.

echoes

–

–

tells

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

tune

.

o

f

.

echoes

–

–

tells

.

t

h

e

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

consumes

.

t

h

e

.

mood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

consumes

.

t

h

e

.

mood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

in

this

town . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

in

this

house . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

in

this

room.

Reflection: This is a melancholy poem where the sufferer looks back on something that has greatly affected his or her life – perhaps something that he or she could have done something about but was unable to at the time for whatever reason (lack of strength, lack of experience, lack of courage, lack of confidence, whatever). I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “White Gloves” by Khruangbin which I played repeatedly in the background to create the “moodset” for (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.