Here

comes

again

.

t

h

a

t

.

mad

martini

moon,
.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all

.

o

f

.

those

sappy,

–

–

drunken

“I love you-s . . .”

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ those

sappy,

–

–

drunken

“I love you-s” . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

which

.

a

r

e

.

nothing

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

.

m

o

r

e

.

than

.

t

h

e

.

old

.

h

i

t

.

tune,

.

.

still

trying

.

t

o

.

sound

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

still

trying

.

t

o

.

relive

.

t

h

e

.

dance

.

o

f

.

its

youth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

.

m

o

r

e

.

than

.

t

h

e

.

stale

–

–

scent

.

o

f

.

booze

–

–

after

.

a

.

confused,

–

–

alcoholic

afternoon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

.

m

o

r

e

.

than

.

t

h

e

.

boring,

–

–

cyclical,

–

–

patterned

story:

–

–

–

.

.

.

morning,

–

–

before

noon,

–

–

before

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

moon,

–

–

before

morning,

–

–

before

noon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

you

know,

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

those

sappy,

–

–

drunken

“I love you-s . . .”

–

–

–

.

.

.

could

.

n

o

t

.

move

.

t

h

e

.

most

desperate

.

o

f

.

fools . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

there

.

a

r

e

.

times

–

–

when

.

t

h

e

y

.

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ there

.

a

r

e

.

times

–

–

when

.

t

h

e

y

.

still

do.

Reflection: This was a fun romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in December of 2017 where the romancer looks back on a brief romantic encounter, and wonders what more could have been said or done to create a more lasting romance.

Youth,

–

–

engages

youth,

.

.

s

o

.

.

many

.

f

r

o

m

.

which

.

t

o

.

choose . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Youth,

–

–

engages

youth,

.

.

s

o

.

.

consumed

.

b

y

.

the

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

with

pursuit,

–

–

pursuing

pursuit,

–

–

pursuing

pursuit . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

the

.

s

o

.

many

–

–

become

.

s

o

.

few . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

.

s

o

.

many

–

–

become

.

s

o

.

few . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

not

.

s

o

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

now

there

.

i

s

.

nothing

left

.

t

o

.

do,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

seek

.

t

h

e

.

sweet

.

o

f

.

something

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

seek

a

move

.

t

o

.

another

moon,

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ seek

a

move

.

t

o

.

another

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

a

blooming

shade

.

o

f

.

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

youth,

–

–

engages

youth,

–

–

engages

youth,

–

–

engages

youth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

although

.

I

.

believe

.

I

.

should

leave

.

h

e

r

e

.

soon,

.

.

I

.

do

.

n

o

t

.

mind

.

t

h

e

.

brew.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in December of 2017 where the affected party is in a constant state of pursuit, and is continually disappointed by the results – leading to a continual, negative cycle of pursuit. This poem was inspired by lines that appeared on the screen of the silent movie “Intolerance.” The woman saw her aging reflection in a mirror and the following lines appeared: “Seeing youth drawn to youth, Miss Jenkins realizes the bitter fact that she is no longer a part of the younger world.” I thought that was a great line which warranted the writing of a poem based on that.

There

is

.
s

o

.

much

more

.

I

.

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ so

many

.

m

o

r

e

.

dreams

.

I

.

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

seen . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

way

.

b

a

c

k

.

then,

.

.

I

.

w

a

s

.

racing

around . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ racing

around

.

i

n

.

candy

apple

.

r

e

d

.

instead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

felt

.

s

o

.

wild

.

a

n

d

.

free,

–

–

moving

.

a

t

.

such

speed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

tomorrow

arrived

today,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

THEN

next

week

–

–

arrived

today,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

THEN

next

month,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

THEN

next

year

–

–

arrived

today . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

!MORE SPEED!

tires

screeching . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

!!MORE SPEED!!

engine

screaming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

!!!MORE SPEED!!!

freeways

streaming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

!!!!MORE SPEED!!!!

!!!!!MORE SPEED!!!!!

!!!!!!MORE SPEED!!!!!!

!!!!!!!MORE SPEED!!!!!!!

.

.

.

.

.

.

==>>>Here

!TOMORROW!

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

there ==>>>

!TODAY!

–

–

–

.

.

.

==>>>Here

!TOMORROW!

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

spinning,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

spinning,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

spinning,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

spinning

.

i

n

.

!YESTERDAY!

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

arrived

==>>>here

.

i

n

.

a

SCREAMING

BLURRR,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

knew

.

n

o

t

.

who

.

o

r

.

where

.

I

.

was . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

arrived

==>>>here

.

w

i

t

h

.

little

fuel

.

t

o

.

burn,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

so

.

m

u

c

h

.

more

.

t

o

.

learn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

arrived

.

w

i

t

h

.

little

fuel

.

t

o

.

burn,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

so

.

m

u

c

h

.

more

.

t

o

.

learn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

!OH!

.

.

.

.

.

.

all

.

o

f

.

those

!THRILLING!

–

–

!!EXHILARATING!!

–

–

!!!TWISTING!!!

–

–

!!!!TURNS!!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

INSIDE

OUT

.

a

n

d

.

OUTSIDE

!IN!

–

–

–

.

.

.

UPSIDE

DOWN

.

a

n

d

.

UP

!AGAIN!

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

all

.

t

h

a

t

.

time,

.

.

w

i

t

h

.

.

the

twilights

–

–

dimming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

.

t

h

a

t

.

time,

.

.

w

a

s

.

.

I

.

o

n

l

y

.

dreaming ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

the

days

.

o

f

.

before

.

a

r

e

.

filled

.

w

i

t

h

.

nothing

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

more

.

t

h

a

n

.

echoes

.

a

n

d

.
blurs . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

echoes

.

a

n

d

.

blurs . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

echoes
.

a

n

d

.

blurs . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

each,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every,

.

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

.

could

not

.

b

e

.

sure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Candy

apple

.

r

e

d

.

is

taunting

.

m

e

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Candy

apple

.

r

e

d

.

is

teasing

.

m

e

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Candy

apple

.

r

e

d

.

is

haunting

.

m

e

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

even

.

w

i

t

h

.

all

.

o

f

.

those

WASTED

years,

.

.

o

f

.

.

WILD,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

RECKLESS,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

SENSELESS

SPINNING . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

sometimes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

sometimes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

sometimes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

love

.

t

o

.

go

reeling,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

freewheeling,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

gear

shifting

–

–

behind

.

t

h

a

t

.

revving,

–

–

racing,

–

–

windshield

again.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in November of 2017 where the affected party is addicted to the thrills of exhilarating pursuit – not realizing the speed that life can pass, and how little value, connection, or satisfaction is gained as the memories blur.

It

may

.

a

t

.

times

–

–

seem

.

s

o

.

bare,

.

.

i

n

.

.

places

where

–

–

tomorrowlands

reign,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

rejoice

–

–

instead

.

o

f

.

despair,

–

–

should

.

y

o

u

.

find

little

–

–

inspiration

there . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

you

might
.

h

a

v

e

.

grown

.

t

o

.

the

point,

.

.

w

h

e

r

e

.

.

the

heroes

.

o

f

.

your

youth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

 ~ where

the

heroes

.

o

f

.

your

youth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

h

a

v

e

–

–

–

since

become

you.

Reflection: This was an inspirational/hope-themed poem that I wrote back in November of 2017 in reflection of the later years of life when heroes seem much harder to find – and came to realize personal growth is probably a key contributor to why this happens.

Do

.

y

o

u

.

remember

when . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

what

didn’t

happen

.

.

did,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

what

did

happen

.

.

didn’t . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ what

did

happen

.

.

didn’t,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

what

didn’t

happen

.

.

did . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Do

.

y

o

u

.

remember

when . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Do

.

y

o

u

.

remember

when . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

I

would

love

.

t

o

.

live

those

–

–

days
again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

would

love

.

t

o

.

live

those

–

–

days

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

back

when

.

t

h

a

t

.

which

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

sure,

–

–

would

merge

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ back

when

–

–

sudden

tides

–

–

would

toss,

.

a

n

d

.

tumble,

.

a

n

d

.

turn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

storm

waters

surge,

–

–

where

wanted

words . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

wanted

words . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

e

r

e

–

–

–

pictured

.

a

s

.

whispered

.

o

r

.

heard.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in November of 2017 where the romancer looks back fondly on romantic adventures of the past.

For

all

.

o

f

.

those

–

–

“!Look at me-s!”

–

–

–

.

.

.

screaming

.

i

n

.

flickering

yellows

.

a

n

d

.

greens . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

well,

.

.

t

h

e

.

.

louder

.

t

h

e

y

.

scream . . .
–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

more

.

t

h

e

y

.

stream

.

t

h

e

i

r

.

flash

.

a

n

d

.

tease . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

the

.

m

o

r

e

.

distant

.

t

h

e

y

.

become

.

f

o

r

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

bring

.

m

e

.

shy

subtlety

.

a

n

d

.

sweet

humility,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

watch

.

t

h

e

.

stirring

seas

.

o

f

.

restless

want,

–

–

storm

.

a

n

d

.

stammer,

.

.

a

n

d
.

.

stammer

.

a

n

d

.

storm . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

endlessly,

–

–

relentlessly,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

effortlessly

deep.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in October of 2017 reflecting some of my personal romantic experiences and observations.

It’s

.

y

o

u

r

.

lead,

.

.

m

y

.

.

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

.

y

o

u

r

.

bait,

.

.

m

y

.

.

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

swallow

.

d

o

w

n

.

the

twisting

rounds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

swallow

.

d

o

w

n

.

the

ups

.

a

n

d

.

downs . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I
swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

.

y

o

u

r

.

bait,

.

.

m

y

.

.

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

.

y

o

u

r

.

lead,

.

.

m

y

.

.

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

I

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

follow

you

.

d

o

w

n

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

wandering

turns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

follow

you

.

d

o

w

n

.

into

.

t

h

e

.

whirling 

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

.

y

o

u

r

.

lead,

.

.

m

y

.

.

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

follow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It’s

.

y

o

u

r

.

bait,

.

.

m

y

.

.

swallow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

swallow.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in January of 2017 where the affected party repeatedly falls victim to outside influences – and has difficulty breaking the negative cycle.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

see

.

t

h

e

.

sunset 

s-c-r-e-a-m-i-n-g . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

sunset 

s-c-r-e-a-m-i-n-g . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

out

.

t

o

.

you

.

a

n

d

.

me,

.

.

f

r

o

m

.

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

sea . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

end

.

o

f

.

summer

.

i

s

.

drawing

near . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

autumn

.

o

f

.

our

days,

.

.

w

i

l

l

.

.

soon

.

b

e

.

here . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

autumn

.

o

f

.

our

days,

.

.

w

i

l

l

.

.

soon

.

b

e

.

here . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

see . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

feel . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

the

sweet,

–

–

teasing

ecstasy

–

–

between

you

.

a

n

d

.

me,

.

.

w

i

l

l

.

.

never

.

d

a

n

c

e

.

again

.

w

i

t

h

.

such

.

storming

intensity . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

=>>>>!ADVANCE!=>>>>

<<<<=!RETREAT!<<<<=

–

–

–

=>>>>!ADVANCE!=>>>>

<<<<=!RETREAT!<<<<=

–

–

–

=>>>>!ADVANCE!=>>>>

=>>>>!ADVANCE!=>>>>

=>>>>!ADVANCE!=>>>>

<<<<=!RETREAT!<<<<=

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

the 

thundering . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

the 

thundering . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

the 

thundering . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

all

.

a

n

d

.

everything

.

y

o

u

.

mean 

.

t

o

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

see

.

t

h

e

.

sunset 

s-c-r-e-a-m-i-n-g . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

see

.

t

h

e

.

sunset 

s-c-r-e-a-m-i-n-g . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

see

.

t

h

e

.

sunset 

s-c-r-e-a-m-i-n-g . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

always

comes

.

t

h

e

.

end . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

always

comes

.

t

h

e

.

end . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

always

comes

.

t

h

e

.

end . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

nothing

–

–

could

ever

.

b

e

.

as

.

good

again.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in September of 2016 where the contemplator looks back with sadness on a wonderful romance had in the past when realizing nothing else since has even come close to being as good. This was the third of three poems I wrote that were largely inspired by the movie: “Holding the Man.” I actually hated the title of this movie, but thought it was an excellent movie overall.

Together

.

w

e

.

walked

away

.

i

n

.

a

dazed,

–

–

shell-shocked

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

once,

–

–

angry

guns

.

o

f

.

blistering

.

r

a

g

e

.

pounding

.

o

u

r

.

resounding

love

.

o

f

.

nonconforming

disgrace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

day,

.

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

.

night,

.

.

a

f

t

e

r

.

.

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

.

silent

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

rubble

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

remained . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

rubble

.

o

f

.

all

.

t

h

e

.

presentable,

–

–

acceptable,

–

–

respectable

–

–

ways . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

e

–

–

–

once

learned

.

t

o

.

embrace

–

–

within

.

t

h

e

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

within

.

t

h

e

.

days

.

o

f

.

yesterday . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

were

.

t

h

e

r

e

. 

with

.

t

h

e

.

haunting 

haze

.

i

n

.

the

air . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

attempting

.

o

u

r

.

escape,

–

–

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

gates

.

o

f

.

bitter

judgment

.

a

n

d

.

hate . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

suddenly

.

w

e

.

broke 

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

suddenly

.

w

e

.

broke

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

suddenly

.

w

e

.

broke 

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Freedom

came

.

o

u

r

.

way

.

t

h

a

t

.

day,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

we

.

w

i

l

l

.

never

return

.

t

o

.

that

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

take

.

m

y

.

hand,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

let’s

pick-up

.

t

h

e

.

pace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

the

exhilarating

wave

.

o

f

.

our

.

n

e

w

.

future

waits,

–

–

where

.

w

e

.

can

live,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

love,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

gaze,

–

–

without

shame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

.

w

e

.

can

live,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

love,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

gaze,

–

–

without

shame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

our

days,

–

–

which

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

remain.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in September of 2016 where the romantic parties bravely and unashamedly claim and passionately pursue their nonconforming love – even against the overwhelming forces of family and societal resistance. This was the second of three poems I wrote that were largely inspired by the movie: “Holding the Man.” This poem was primarily inspired by a specific scene in the movie: John leaves his home with Tim much to his father’s dismay. I actually hated the title of this movie, but thought it was an excellent movie overall.

I

still

.

remember

.

t

h

e

. 

turning

.

o

f

. 

the 

turn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the 

yearning

.

o

f

.

the 

yearn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

hurts . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

even

.

a

s

.

one,

.

.

o

u

r

.

.

hearts

.

h

a

v

e

.

parted,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

we

.

c

a

n

.

never

return

.

t

o

.

the

.

w

a

y

.

things

started . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

h

e

n

–

–

–

we

.

h

a

d

.

breathless

pages

.

y

e

t

.

to

discover,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

so

feverishly

wished

.

f

o

r

.

none

.

b

u

t

.

each

other . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

At

first

.

t

h

e

.

curse

was

.

t

h

e

.

yearning 

turn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

later

became

.

t

h

e

.

turning 

yearn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

yearning 

turn

.

f

o

r

. 

something 

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

turning

yearn

.

f

o

r

.

the

days

.

o

f

.

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

turning

yearn

.

f

o

r

.

the

days

.

o

f

.

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

hurts . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

we

.

c

a

n

.

never

return

.

t

o

.

the

.

w

a

y

.

things

started,

.

.

w

h

e

n

.

.

eager

hearts

thundered

.

d

o

w

n

.

the

runways

charted . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

hurts . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

hurts

because

.

w

e

.

will

never 

laugh,

–

–

dance,

–

–

frolic,

.

.

o

r

.

.

play,

.

.

t

h

e

.

.

way

.

w

e

.

did

.

i

n

.

those

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

sun

.

w

i

l

l

.

solely

remain

.

i

n

.

that

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

never

shine

. 

t

h

a

t

.

way

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

i

l

l

.

never

shine

. 

t

h

a

t

.

way

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

turn

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

turn

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Today

.

w

e

.

share

.

t

h

e

.

hours

.

w

h

i

c

h

.

remain,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

it’s

not

.

t

h

e

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

it’s

.

n

o

t

.

the

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

search

.

f

o

r

.

that

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

search

.

f

o

r

.

that

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

search

.

f

o

r

.

that

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

forevers

.

s

o

.

warmly

embraced,

–

–

before

.

t

h

e

.

change . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ before

.

t

h

e

.

change,

–

–

when

.

t

h

e

.

bet

. 

w

a

s

.

placed,

.

.

t

o

.

. 

gamble

away

.

t

h

e

.

golden

grace,

.

.

o

f

.

.

a

.

young

romance

.

i

n

.

a

dance

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

dancing,

–

–

within

.

a

.

daydream 

trance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ a

dance

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

dancing,

–

–

within

.

a

.

daydream 

trance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

still

.

remember

.

t

h

e

. 

turning

.

o

f

. 

the 

turn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the 

yearning

.

o

f

.

the 

yearn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

hurts.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in August of 2016 where the contemplator is haunted by, and looks back with, heavy regret on a wonderful romance experienced in the past – where some kind of change happened or was introduced at some point. And once that change occurred, the romance never had the same magic, warmth, passion, or luster ever again. The contemplator repeatedly revisits and, with a heavy heart, longs to go back and do something different so the change never happens – but there is no going back, and nothing can help in any way because the damage was done, and the change is now permanent. This was the first of three poems I wrote that were largely inspired by the movie: “Holding the Man.” I actually hated the title of this movie, but thought it was an excellent movie overall.