I

loved

you

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

r

o

m

–

–

–

across

.

t

h

e

.

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

t

h

e

.

moment

moved

.

w

i

t

h

.

the

music

.

o

f

.

the

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

moved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

moved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

.

the

music

.

o

f

.

the

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

pursuit

.

o

f

.

a

tune

.

s

o

.

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

t

–

–

–

consumed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 It

consumed

.

t

h

e

.

mood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 It

consumed

.

t

h

e

.

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

brewing

wish

.

w

i

t

h

.

want . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

rooted

.

i

n

.

gloom . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ It

brewed

–

–

wish

.

w

i

t

h

.

want . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

rooted

.

i

n

.

gloom . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

moment

moved . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

moment

moved

.

w

i

t

h

.

the

music

.

o

f

.

the

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

brewing

wish

.

w

i

t

h

.

want . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

rooted

.

i

n

.

gloom . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ It

brewed

–

–

wish

.

w

i

t

h

.

want . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

rooted

.

i

n

.

gloom . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

I

loved

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

loved

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

loved

you

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

a

tune

–

s

o

–

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

t

–

–

–

consumed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

loved

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

r

o

m

–

–

–

across

.

t

h

e

.

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

t

h

e

.

moment

moved.

Reflection: This is a melancholy-themed poem in which the contemplator is reflecting on someone he or she felt something special for but for some reason could not create the mutual, romantic connection desired – or perhaps did not even really try. I wrote this poem in reflection of watching a drummer in a band when I was at New Smyrna Beach – someone for some reason I just instantly loved. I talked with him briefly and even dreamt about him. He was so fun to watch. Such a cool, cool guy.

I played different songs trying to capture the mood of this poem. In the end, I played the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “First Thing in the Morning” by Secret Sun. This poem took several hours and several iterations to write. So, it didn’t come easy like some of the other poems I have written. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

I

.

wandered

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

came

.

across

.

a

.

name,

–

–

lost

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

.

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

a

s

.

lost

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

.

page,

–

–

hidden

.

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ hidden

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

those

.

yesterdays

.

o

f

.

shame,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

blame,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

same

.

.

o

l

d

.

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ hidden

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

those

.

yesterdays

.

o

f

.

pain,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

gray,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

shadows

.

.

t

h

a

t

.

.

remain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ a

lost

.

name

.

u

p

o

n

.

the

.

page,

–

–

with

.

a

.

face

.

t

h

a

t

.

said

–

–

everything

.

would

.

change

.

a

n

d

.

work

.

o

u

t

.

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

someday . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ everything

would

.

change

.

a

n

d

.

work

.

o

u

t

.

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

someday . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

.

.

.

a

.

n

e

w

.

place,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

in

.

a

.

n

e

w

.

age . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ yes,

everything

.

would

.

change

.

a

n

d

.

work

.

o

u

t

.

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

someday . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

.

.

.

a

.

n

e

w

.

place,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

in

.

a

.

n

e

w

.

age . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

said

.

t

h

e

.

face,

–

–

with

.

a

.

name,

–

–

lost

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

.

page.

Reflection: This is a reflective-themed poem in which the contemplator recalls a forgotten someone who inspired or really meant something to him or her in the distant past when things were not so good. I wrote much of this poem fairly quickly while walking the beach at night in New Smyrna. This poem only took a few minutes of rewrites to finalize. It pretty much wrote itself.

It

.

w

a

s

.

the

springtime

.

o

f

.

our

lives . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

summer

.

o

f

.

all

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ when

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

cried . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Eyes,

–

–

met

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

cried . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

springtime

.

o

f

.

our

lives . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ in

.

t

h

e

.

summer

.

o

f

.

all

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

the

summer

.

o

f

.

all

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

that

continued

.

t

o

.

shine

.

t

h

e

.

light,

–

–

all

across

.

t

h

e

.

years

–

–

gone

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

across

.

t

h

e

.

pages

.

o

f

.

prize

.

a

n

d

.

price . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

across

.

t

h

e

.

pages

.

o

f

.

pride

.

a

n

d

.

plight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

t

–

–

–

continued

.

t

o

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

continued

.

t

o

.

shine

.

t

h

a

t

.

light . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

time,

–

–

after

time,

–

–

after

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

mile,

–

–

after

mile,

–

–

after

mile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sigh,

–

–

after

sigh,

–

–

after

sigh . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Let

.

i

t

.

shine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

it

.

w

a

s

.

the

springtime

.

o

f

.

our

lives . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

summer

.

o

f

.

all

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

a

s

.

the

summer

.

o

f

.

all

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes,

–

–

met

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

cried.

Reflection: This is a romantic-themed poem in which the affected party looks back fondly on a romance from the distant past. He or she is saddened by the realization that nothing as wonderful has been experienced over the many years since then.

I wrote the lines “it was the springtime of our lives and the summer of all time” and the poem pretty much wrote itself from that. I played the wonderful song “First Thing in the Morning” by Secret Sun and the poem pretty much wrote itself (I played the song repeatedly on low volume to create the “moodset” for the final stages of the poem). If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

I

felt

.

t

h

e

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

gray

–

–

today . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

gray

.

f

r

o

m

.

that

day

.

i

n

.

the

rain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

day

.

i

n

.

the

rain

–

–

when

something

–

–

which

.

a

t

.

first

–

–

seemed

.

s

o

.

strange

.

a

n

d

.

full

.

o

f

.

shame . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

became

.

s

o

.

great

.

o

n

.

the

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

became

.

s

o

.

great

.

o

n

.

the

page,

.

i

n

.

later

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

we

engaged

.

a

n

d

.

restrained . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

engaged

.

a

n

d

.

restrained . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

feelings

awake

.

a

n

d

.

ablaze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

haste

.

o

f

.

a

tender

age . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

engaged

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

everything

changed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

w

e

.

engaged

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

everything

changed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

was

never

.

t

h

e

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

a

s

.

never

.

t

h

e

.

same

–

–

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

felt

.

t

h

e

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

felt

.

t

h

e

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

felt

.

t

h

e

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

r

o

m

–

–

–

that

day

.

i

n

.

the

rain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

day

.

i

n

.

the

rain,

–

–

which

became

.

s

o

.

great

.

o

n

.

the

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

t

–

–

–

haunts

me

–

–

again

today.

Reflection: This was a popular reflective-themed poem that I wrote back in August of 2022 about an awkward, romantic encounter in the days of youth. I played the wonderful, haunting song “First Thing in the Morning” by Secret Sun and the poem pretty much wrote itself from that (playing the song repeatedly on low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem). It was written fairly quickly – like a couple of hours or so. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

You

did

.

n

o

t

.

say . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

I

knew

.

i

t

.

anyway . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

knew

.

i

t

.

anyway . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

knew

.

i

t

.

in

.

t

h

e

.

way,

.

t

h

e

.

days

–

–

would

race

away,

.

a

n

d

.

try

.

t

o

.

escape . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

knew

.

i

t

.

in

.

t

h

e

.

way

–

–

that

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page

–

–

everything 

remained

.

t

h

e

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Everything

remained

.

t

h

e

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

once,

–

–

vibrant

colors

–

–

trading

.

f

o

r

.

grays . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

buying

.

o

f

.

more

lace

.

a

n

d

.

new

games

.

t

o

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

prove

we’re

–

–

still

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

played

–

–

those

games . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 We

played

–

–

those

games . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 We

played

–

–

those

games . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

prove

we’re

–

–

still

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ to

prove

–

–

we’re

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

okay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

even

though

–

–

when

.

w

e

.

embrace

–

–

we’re

far,

–

–

far

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we’re

far,

–

–

far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

the

place

–

–

where

we

.

a

r

e

.

today . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ far

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

that

place

–

–

where

.

w

e

.

wait,

.

a

n

d

.

age,

–

a

n

d

–

watch

.

i

t

.

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 We

watch

.

i

t

.

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 We

watch

–

i

t

–

fade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

romance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

rhythm . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

rhyme . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

carelessly

rolling

.

o

u

t

.

with

.

t

h

e

.

tide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

rolls

.

o

u

t

.

with

.

t

h

e

.

tide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

rolls

.

o

u

t

.

with

.

t

h

e

.

tide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

rolls

.

o

u

t

.

with

.

t

h

e

.

tide . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

without

.

s

o

.

much

.

a

s

.

a

–

–

somber

sigh . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

–

–

pale

goodbye . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

–

even

a

–

–

warming

word

.

t

o

.

write . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

You

did

.

n

o

t

.

say . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

I

knew

.

i

t

.

anyway . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

knew

.

i

t

.

in

.

t

h

e

.

way,

–

–

the

days

–

–

raced

away,

.

a

n

d

.

tried

.

t

o

.

escape . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

knew

.

i

t

.

in

.

t

h

e

.

way

–

–

that

page,

–

–

after

page,

–

–

after

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

everything 

remained

.

t

h

e

.

same.

Reflection:  This was a popular romantic-themed poem I wrote back in July of 2022 about a fading romance and the subtle cues along the way. I wrote much of this poem at Daytona Beach (at least a good draft). The opening words came to me and the poem sort of wrote itself from there. At home, I refined it using the song “Picture You” by The Amazing playing in the background at low volume 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

.

went

.

.

d

o

w

n

.

.

that

.

road

.

w

h

e

r

e

.

the

.

shadows

.

roam . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

went

.

.

d

o

w

n

.

.

that

.

road

.

o

f

.

all

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

places,

–

–

I

.

used

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

places

–

–

I

.

used

.

t

o

.

go,

.

w

h

e

r

e

.

smoke,

.

a

n

d

.

sex,

.

a

n

d

.

blow,

–

–

would

.

fight

.

f

o

r

.

control

.

o

f

.

the

.

soul . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

would

.

fight

.

f

o

r

.

control

.

o

f

.

the

.

soul . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

smile,

.

a

n

d

.

moan,

.

a

n

d

.

echo . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

smile,

.

a

n

d

.

moan,

.

a

n

d

.

echo . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

smile,

.

a

n

d

.

moan,

.

a

n

d

.

echo . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

smile,

.

a

n

d

.

moan,

.

a

n

d

.

echo . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

.

again

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

I

.

again

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

go

.

back

.

.

d

o

w

n

.

.

that

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

would

.

g

o

.

back

.

.

d

o

w

n

.

.

that

.

road

.

o

f

.

smoke,

.

a

n

d

.

sex,

.

a

n

d

.

blow,

.

.

t

h

a

t

.

.

smiled,

.

a

n

d

.

moaned,

.

a

n

d

.

echoed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

leading

.

f

a

r

.

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

home . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ leading

.

f

a

r

.

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

home . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

d

o

w

n

–

–

–

that

.

relentless

.

a

n

d

.

ravishing,

–

–

rapturous

.

road,

.

.

w

h

e

r

e

.

the

.

shadows

.

roam.

Reflection: This is a personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in July of 2022 where the affected party cannot seem to break out of a negative cycle of temptation flirtations that repeatedly consume the soul. I was looking back on the age of disco, and the rampant smoke, sex, drugs, drink, and such as the primary influence when writing this poem. I used the song “Rock On” by David Essex to play in the background at low volume 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.

Never

plateau . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Always

.

b

e

.

bold,

.

a

n

d

.

grow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Take

.

t

h

a

t

.

road

.

a

n

d

.

!go!

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ even

.

i

f

.

you

do

.

n

o

t

.

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ even

.

i

f

.

the

.

s

u

n

.

does

.

n

o

t

.

show . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ even

.

i

f

.

the

pace

–

–

seems

slow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

you

feel

.

a

l

l

.

alone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Never

plateau . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Never

plateau . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Never

plateau . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Always

.

b

e

.

bold,

.

a

n

d

.

grow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Take

.

t

h

a

t

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Take

.

t

h

a

t

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Take

.

t

h

a

t

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

!go!

–

–

–

.

.

.

!go!

–

–

–

.

.

.

!go!

Reflection:  This was a popular inspirational/hope-themed poem I wrote back in July of 2022. I wrote and posted the phrase: “Don’t plateau… Be bold and go!” and then added the word: “grow.” I then quickly turned that into a poem.

You

might

.

a

t

.

times,

–

–

feel

.

s

o

.

cold

.

a

n

d

.

alone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

.

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

rough

.

a

n

d

.

rugged

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

along

.

t

h

a

t

.

rough

.

a

n

d

.

rugged

.

road . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

leading

lower,

–

–

than

lower,

–

–

than

low . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

.

only

.

t

h

e

.

shadows

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

I

.

w

a

n

t

.

you

.

t

o

.

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

always

.

b

e

.

there

.

t

o

.

hold

.

t

h

e

.

end

.

o

f

.

the

.

rope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

will

.

never

.

l

e

t

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

w

i

l

l

.

never

.

l

e

t

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

no

matter

.

how

far,

.

.

o

r

.

.

how

low,

.

o

r

.

how

deep

–

–

you

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

always

.

b

e

.

there

.

a

t

.

the

.

crossroads . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

will

.

gently

–

–

tow,

.

a

n

d

.

tug,

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

tow,

.

a

n

d

.

tug,

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

tow,

.

a

n

d

.

tug,

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

tow,

.

a

n

d

.

tug,

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

u

n

t

i

l

–

–

–

you

.

release

.

t

h

a

t

.

heavy

.

load,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

are

.

ready

.

t

o

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ even

when

.

t

h

e

.

journey

.

i

s

.

painful

.

a

n

d

.

slow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ even

when

–

–

there’s

.

nothing

.

b

u

t

.

sleet

.

a

n

d

.

snow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ even

after

–

–

blow,

.

u

p

o

n

.

blow,

.

u

p

o

n

.

blow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

nothing

.

b

u

t

.

shame

.

t

o

.

show . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

there

.

i

s

.

never

.

a

.

place

.

s

o

.

devoid

.

o

f

.

soul,

.

.

t

h

a

t

.

.

you

.

c

o

u

l

d

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

which

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

shake

.

m

y

.

boundless

.

belief

.

o

f

.

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

a

t

.

.

.

I

.

w

i

l

l

.

tug

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

tug

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

tug

.

a

n

d

.

tow . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

e

–

–

–

end

.

o

f

.

that

.

rope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

t

–

–

–

the

.

crossroads . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

someday

.

bring

.

y

o

u

.

home.

Reflection: This was a popular inspirational/hope-themed poem I wrote back in July of 2022 to reflect a strong and undying commitment of helping someone through his or her life-struggle until a brighter time arrives. I used the song “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” by The Hollies to play in the background at low volume 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

.

thought

.

a

b

o

u

t

.

you,

–

–

when

.

I

.

turned

.

a

n

d

.

tuned

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

turned

.

a

n

d

.

tuned

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

moon,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

moved

.

d

o

w

n

.

those

.

avenues,

–

–

where

.

dreams

.

a

r

e

.

brewed

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

blues . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

moved

.

d

o

w

n

.

those

.

avenues,

–

–

where

.

dreams

.

a

r

e

.

brewed

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

blues

.

o

f

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then,

.

.

I

.

thought

.

a

b

o

u

t

.

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

thought

.

a

b

o

u

t

.

you,

–

–

who

.

w

a

s

.

always

.

one

.

o

f

.

the

.

few,

.

.

I

.

did

.

n

o

t

.

have

.

t

o

.

choose

.

o

r

.

prove . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

thought

.

a

b

o

u

t

.

you,

–

–

who

.

w

a

s

.

one

.

o

f

.

the

.

few,

–

–

who

.

always

.

h

a

d

.

the

.

time

.

a

n

d

.

the

.

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

always

.

h

a

d

.

the

.

time

.

a

n

d

.

the

.

room

.

f

o

r

.

fools,

–

–

who

.

lose

.

a

n

d

.

choose

.

t

o

.

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

lose

.

a

n

d

.

choose

.

t

o

.

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

only

.

remember

.

w

h

e

n

.

they

.

turn

.

a

n

d

.

tune

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

turn

.

a

n

d

.

tune

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

move

.

d

o

w

n

.

those

.

avenues,

–

–

where

.

dreams

.

a

r

e

.

brewed

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

blues . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

move

.

d

o

w

n

.

those

.

avenues,

–

–

where

.

dreams

.

a

r

e

.

brewed

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

blues

.

o

f

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

an

.

old

.

b

u

t

.

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

.

youth,

–

–

resumes

.

a

n

d

.

becomes

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

too

.

much

.

a

n

d

.

too

.

many

.

t

o

.

pursue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ that

old

.

b

u

t

.

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

.

youth,

–

–

resumes

.

a

n

d

.

becomes

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

too

.

much

.

a

n

d

.

too

.

many

.

t

o

.

pursue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

those

–

–

who

.

move

.

d

o

w

n

.

the

.

avenues,

–

–

where

.

dreams

.

a

r

e

.

brewed

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

blues . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ for

fools

.

w

h

o

.

lose,

.

a

n

d

.

choose

.

t

o

.

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ for

fools

.

w

h

o

.

lose,

.

a

n

d

.

choose

.

t

o

.

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ for

fools

.

w

h

o

.

lose,

.

a

n

d

.

choose

.

t

o

.

brood

.

d

o

w

n

.

those

.

avenues . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then,

–

–

turn

.

a

n

d

.

tune

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

turn

.

a

n

d

.

tune

.

i

n

t

o

.

the

.

moon . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

think

.

a

b

o

u

t

.

you.

Reflection: This was a reflective-themed poem that I wrote back in August of 2022 where the contemplator looks back on a wonderful experience he or she had with someone in the past – whether a friendship, romance, or something else. I played the wonderful song “Feels So Good” by Chuck Mangione (especially the more melancholic intro to the album version of the song) and the poem pretty much wrote itself from that (playing the song repeatedly on low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem). It was written fairly quickly – like a couple of hours or so. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.

The

sunset

fades

–

–

those

carefree

days

.

o

f

.

passionate

plays

.

a

n

d

.

shimmering

champagnes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

carefree

days

.

o

f

.

passionate

plays

.

a

n

d

.

shimmering

champagnes

–

–

that

somehow

–

–

got

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

somehow

–

–

got

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

those

carefree

days

.

o

f

.

passionate

plays

.

a

n

d

.

shimmering

champagnes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

carefree

days

.

o

f

.

passionate

plays

.

a

n

d

.

shimmering

champagnes

–

–

that

time

erased . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

those

yesterdays

–

–

that

got

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

got

away

.

a

n

d

.

time

erased . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

.

I

can

sometimes

–

–

still

see

–

–

the

pristine

places

.

a

n

d

.

the

smiling

faces . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

can

sometimes

–

–

still

see

–

–

the

pristine

places

.

a

n

d

.

the

smiling

faces . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

even

feel

the

–

–

warm

embraces . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

I

can

–

–

even

feel

–

–

the

warm

embraces . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

those

carefree

days

.

o

f

.

passionate

plays

.

a

n

d

.

shimmering

champagnes

–

–

that

somehow

–

–

got

away.

Reflection:  I was playing the wonderful song “Times of Your Life” by Paul Anka and the poem pretty much wrote itself – when I played the song repeatedly on low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem. The poem was written fairly quickly – like an hour or so. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.