It

must

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

fun,

.

w

i

t

h

.

all

.

o

f

.

the

drink,

.

a

n

d

.

drugs . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

must

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

fun,

.

w

i

t

h

.

all

.

o

f

.

those

pages

.

o

n

.

the

run . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

must

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

fun,

–

–

hearing

.

t

h

e

.

starting

gun

–

–

without

.

t

h

e

.

sun . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

l

o

n

g

–

–

–

after

.

t

h

e

.

day

.

w

a

s

.

done . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

must

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

fun

.

f

o

r

.

those,

–

–

once

younger

.

t

o

.

be

perceived

–

–

much

older . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

for

those

–

–

once

cooler

.

t

o

.

be

perceived

–

–

much

colder . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

became

–

–

much

older . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

they

became

–

–

much

colder . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

became

–

–

much

older . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

they

became

–

–

much

colder . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

became

–

–

much

older . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

they

became

–

–

much

colder

–

–

t

h

a

n

–

–

the

rest . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

that

fuss,

.

a

n

d

.

fun,

.

a

n

d

.

pages

.

o

n

.

the

run . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ with

all

.

o

f

.

that

buzz,

.

a

n

d

.

rush,

.

a

n

d

.

lust

–

–

without

.

t

h

e

.

sun.

Reflection: This was a personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in June of 2022 where the contemplator looks back on some of the observed whirlwind experiences of the past – and the resulting impacts and consequences. I wrote most of the poem while out one night. It was written fairly quickly – like an hour or so. I didn’t feel the need to continue reflecting on it and tweaking the words like I usually do. It just felt complete, so I immediately published it.

Didn’t

.

w

e

.

live

.

a

.

life

.

full

.

o

f

.

cheer . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Didn’t

.

w

e

.

live

.

a

.

life

.

s

o

.

dear . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

racing

ahead

–

–

when

nothing

.

w

a

s

.

clear . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

pulling

away

.

f

r

o

m

.

a

past

.

s

t

i

l

l

.

drawing

near . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

still

arriving

.

a

t

.

the

rear . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

we

speed,

.

a

n

d

.

steer,

.

a

n

d

.

veer . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

speed,

.

a

n

d

.

steer,

.

a

n

d

.

veer . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

speed,

.

a

n

d

.

steer,

.

a

n

d

.

veer . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

fears . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

tears . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Always

leaving

.

b

u

t

.

never

here . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Always

leaving

.

b

u

t

.

never

here . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Always

leaving

.

b

u

t

.

never

here . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

fears . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

tears . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

mirrors . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

outrunning

.

t

h

e

.

years . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

outrun

.

t

h

e

.

years . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

outrun

.

t

h

e

.

years . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

We

outrun

.

t

h

e

.

years . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

burning

.

f

o

r

.

the

.

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

still

arriving

.

a

t

.

the

rear . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

arrive

.

a

t

.

the

rear . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then . . .

      –

      –

      –

      .

      .

      .

(again)

      –

      –

      –

      .

      .

      .

    we

    end

      .

      u

      p

      .

  here.

Reflection: This was an energetic, personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in May of 2022 where the affected party eagerly strives to get ahead in a life that consumes – ending up in a place where his/her entire life experience has been the pursuit but not much more resulting in a lifelong journey filled with the blur of vacant spaces all along the way.  I was playing the song “London Thunder” by The Foals when the following lines came to mind: “Always leaving but never here.” (the actual lyrics were: “Always leaving, never you.”) – so I modified it slightly. The poem pretty much wrote itself from there. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. It only took me an hour or so to write it which is unusually fast when I write poetry.

I

.

g

r

e

w

.

up

.

i

n

.

a

.

time,

–

–

where

.

fast

.

f

o

o

d

.

bags

.

a

n

d

.

glass

.

bottles

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

carelessly

.

fly

.

f

r

o

m

.

cars

.

driving

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

g

r

e

w

.

up

.

i

n

.

a

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

g

r

e

w

.

up

.

i

n

.

a

.

time,

–

–

where

.

t

h

e

.

truth

.

t

o

l

d

.

lies,

.

a

n

d

.

even

.

goodness

–

–

sometimes

.

denied

.

a

n

d

.

closed

.

i

t

s

.

eyes

.

t

o

.

the

.

uglier

.

sides . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

g

r

e

w

.

up

.

i

n

.

a

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

So,

.

when

.

y

o

u

.

reflect

.

o

n

.

the

.

past,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

tell

.

me

.

o

f

.

all

.

t

h

e

.

golden

.

times

.

i

t

.

had,

–

–

which

.

did

.

n

o

t

.

last . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

can

.

o

n

l

y

.

ponder

.

why,

.

.

y

o

u

.

.

would

.

want

.

t

o

.

believe

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

lies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

can

.

o

n

l

y

.

ponder

.

why,

.

.

y

o

u

.

.

would

.

decide

.

t

o

.

die

.

b

y

.

living

.

a

.

p

a

s

t

.

life,

–

–

instead

.

o

f

.

living

.

i

n

.

the

.

light

.

o

f

.

the

.

present,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

a

.

future

.

that

.

i

s

.

wide

.

a

n

d

.

high,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

brighter

.

t

h

a

n

.

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

can

.

o

n

l

y

.

ponder

.

why . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

can

.

o

n

l

y

.

ponder

.

why . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

can

.

o

n

l

y

.

ponder

.

why . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

.

.

.

I

.

g

r

e

w

.

up

.

i

n

.

a

.

time,

–

–

which

.

w

a

s

.

far

.

l

e

s

s

.

kind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

.

g

r

e

w

.

up

.

i

n

.

a

.

time,

–

–

which

.

paid

.

t

o

o

.

little

.

mind.

Reflection: This was a reflective-themed poem that I wrote back in April of 2022 where the contemplator questions and is conflicted by the mindless commonplace reflections on the “good ole days.” I was playing the song “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” by George Harrison and other 70s songs on my 1973-1975 playlist when the opening lines came to me. The poem pretty much wrote itself from there. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. It only took me an hour or so to write it which is unusually fast when I write poetry.

It

is

.

t

h

e

.

smile

.

o

f

.

springtime

–

–

which

brings

–

–

those

tears

.

t

o

.

my

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

thawing

.

o

f

.

all

.

t

h

e

.

cold,

.

a

n

d

.

snow,

.

a

n

d

.

ice . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sunshine

reaching

wide

–

–

across

.

t

h

e

.

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

tell

.

m

e

.

everything

.

i

s

.

going

.

t

o

.

be

alright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

that

I

have

–

–

left

.

t

h

a

t

.

dark

.

a

n

d

.

dismal

.

p

a

s

t

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

have

–

–

left

.

t

h

a

t

.

dark

–

a

n

d

–

dismal

.

p

a

s

t

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

have

–

–

left

.

t

h

a

t

.

dark

–

a

n

d

–

dismal

.

p

a

s

t

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

have

–

–

left

.

t

h

a

t

.

dark

–

a

n

d

–

dismal

.

p

a

s

t

.

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

t

h

e

.

smile

.

o

f

.

springtime

–

–

brings

tears

.

t

o

.

my

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sunshine

reaches

wide

–

–

across

.

t

h

e

.

warm

.

a

n

d

.

welcome

skies . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

tell

.

m

e

.

everything

.

i

s

.

going

.

t

o

.

be

alright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

tell

.

m

e

.

everything

.

i

s

.

going

.

t

o

.

be

alright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

tell

.

m

e

.

everything

.

i

s

.

going

.

t

o

.

be

alright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

this

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

I

cry.

Reflection: This was an inspirational/hope-themed poem that I wrote back in February of 2022 where the contemplator finds comfort in the simplicity of an ordinary, day of sunshine. I was playing the song “City Limit” by Bill Jr. and sitting outside on my balcony on a lovely summer-like day. The words “summertime smiles” came to me while relaxing there and then I started writing other lines before changing it to “a smile of summertime,” and the poem pretty much wrote itself from there. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. It only took me an hour or so to write it.

It

.

w

a

s

.

yours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

ours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

ours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

way

.

b

a

c

k

.

then,

–

–

when

.

t

h

e

.

colors

.

w

o

u

l

d

.

fly

–

–

so

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

so

bold . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

so

bright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ way

.

b

a

c

k

.

then,

–

–

when

.

t

h

e

.

future

skies

–

–

smiled

.

s

o

.

warmly

wide

.

w

i

t

h

.

sunshine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

sunshine

.

w

e

.

thought

.

w

e

.

might

never

–

–

leave

behind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

in

.

t

h

o

s

e

.

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

in

.

t

h

a

t

.

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

it

.

w

a

s

.

yours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

ours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

.

w

a

s

.

yours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

ours . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

all

.

o

f

.

time.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in February of 2022 where the contemplator looks back fondly on a past youth and romance. I was playing the song “Love is All We Share” by Cut Copy while relaxing on my balcony and the words “It was yours… It was mine… It was ours… for all of time…” came to me and the poem pretty much wrote itself from there with that song playing in the background to create the “moodset” for the poem. So, if you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it. It only took me an hour or so to write it which is unusually fast when I write poetry.

I

took

–

–

just

a

glance

–

–

and

.

.

f

e

l

l

.

.

into

romance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

.

f

e

l

l

.

.

into

romance

–

–

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

dance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

dance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

dance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

hours

.

o

f

.

caressing

feet

.

a

n

d

.

hands . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

hours

.

o

f

.

blissful

breath

–

–

upon

lips

–

–

that

land . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ blissful

breath

–

–

upon

lips

–

–

that

land . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

took

–

–

just

a

glance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

took

–

–

just

a

glance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

took

–

–

just

a

glance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

and

.

.

f

e

l

l

.

.

into

romance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

.

f

e

l

l

.

.

into

romance

–

–

where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

dance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ where

.

t

h

e

.

candles

dance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

all

hours

.

o

f

.

blissful

breath

–

–

upon

lips

–

–

that

land . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

w

e

.

awake . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ until

.

w

e

.

awake,

–

–

smiling

upon

.

t

h

e

.

sands . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ smiling

upon

.

t

h

e

.

shimmering

sands

.

o

f

.

faraway

lands.

Reflection:  This was a popular romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in February of 2022 about a sweeping, runaway romance. I wrote most of this poem by listening to the wonderful, haunting gem of a song “Touch in Mine” by Esperanza Spalding 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

might

have

–

–

yearned

.

f

o

r

.

more

.

o

r

.

stirred

.

t

h

e

.

urge . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

got

hammered

.

w

i

t

h

.

hurt . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

gotten

hammered

.

w

i

t

h

.

hurt . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

no

matter

how

–

–

much

it

bleeds

.

a

n

d

.

burns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

you

can

–

–

rest

assured

–

–

there

.

i

s

.

always

–

–

something

there

.

t

o

.

learn . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ there

.

i

s

.

always

–

–

something

there

.

t

o

.

learn,

–

–

which

can

–

–

push

.

y

o

u

.

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

create

.

t

h

e

.

coming

.

o

f

.

the

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

can

–

–

push

.

y

o

u

.

beyond

.

t

h

e

.

blur . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

create

.

t

h

e

.

coming

.

o

f

.

the

curve . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

when

.

i

t

.

turns,

.

i

t

.

turns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

when

.

i

t

.

turns,

.

i

t

.

turns,

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

turns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

turns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

turns . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

you

.

m

a

y

.

feel

a

little

.

m

o

r

e

.

pure,

.

a

n

d

.

a

little

.

m

o

r

e

.

sure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ you

.

m

a

y

.

feel

a

little

.

m

o

r

e

.

sure . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

gain

a

greater

sense

.

o

f

.

worth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ experience

a

kind

rebirth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

merge

into

.

t

h

e

.

mirth

–

–

that

things

.

a

r

e

.

no

longer

.

a

s

.

they

were . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ things

.

a

r

e

.

no

longer

.

a

s

.

they

were . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

before

.

t

h

e

.

time

–

–

when

.

y

o

u

.

yearned

.

f

o

r

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ before

.

t

h

e

.

time

–

–

when

.

y

o

u

.

yearned

.

f

o

r

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ before

.

t

h

e

.

time

–

–

when

.

y

o

u

.

yearned

.

f

o

r

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

got

hammered

.

w

i

t

h

.

hurt . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

bled

.

a

n

d

.

burned.

Reflection:  This was a popular hope/inspiration-themed poem I wrote back in January of 2022. When reflecting on my investments and losing 6% in 2022 in just the first month, I decided to stay the course and continue buying into weakness although I was almost 100% invested – because when it turns, it turns . . . That line stuck with me and inspired me to write this poem. The stock market carnage continued throughout 2022 but I more than made up for the losses in 2023.

There

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time

–

–

when

I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer

.

t

h

a

n

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer

.

t

h

a

n

.

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer

.

t

h

a

n

.

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now

I

paint

.

m

y

.

world

.

i

n

.

broken-hearted

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

paint

.

m

y

.

world . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

paint

.

m

y

.

world . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

paint

.

m

y

.

world . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

broken-hearted

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

where

everything

–

i

s

–

much

too,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

fewer

.

t

h

a

n

.

few . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

everything

.

i

s

.

much

too,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

fewer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

few . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

I

would

–

–

rather

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

I

would

–

–

rather

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

within

.

t

h

e

.

shadows

.

o

f

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

a

n

–

–

–

pursue

.

a

n

d

.

move,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

move

.

a

n

d

.

pursue

–

–

a

runaway,

–

–

rollaway

room . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ a

runaway,

–

–

rollaway

room

.

o

f

.

musical

moons

.

w

i

t

h

.

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

would

–

–

rather

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

would

–

–

rather

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

would

–

–

rather

brood . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

within

.

t

h

e

.

shadows

.

o

f

.

truth . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

yes,

–

–

there

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time

–

–

when

I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

.

.

wanted

something

–

–

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

newer,

.

t

h

a

n

.

new . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now

I

paint

.

m

y

.

world

.

i

n

.

broken-hearted

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

paint

.

m

y

.

world

.

i

n

.

broken-hearted

blue . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

brood

within

.

t

h

e

.

shadows

.

o

f

.

truth.

Reflection: This was a melancholy-themed poem that I wrote back in December of 2021 where the contemplator looks back on a troubled romance that he or she repeatedly considered trading for something new but was never able to. The troubled romance (although long over) still hurts and haunts, and he or she still cannot escape its reach. I came up with the opening lines and then used the song “You Said” by Fontaines D.C. to play in the background at low volume to help 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.

How

many,

.

many

times

.

h

a

v

e

.

I

.

wanted

.

t

o

.

feel

.

s

o

.

feverishly

fine?

–

–

–

.

.

.

How

many,

.

many

times

.

h

a

v

e

.

I

.

wrapped

.

a

n

d

.

warmed

.

myself

.

i

n

.

the

.

wistful

wish

.

o

f

.

that

.

wondrous

wine?

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ your

eyes

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Your

eyes

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Your

eyes

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

served

.

i

n

.

style,

–

–

with

.

a

.

candlelight

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

h

a

v

e

.

done

anything . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

anyone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

h

a

v

e

.

gone

anywhere . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

write

.

e

v

e

n

.

one,

–

–

lousy,

–

–

lustful

line

.

i

n

.

your

.

breathless

book

.

o

f

.

rapture

.

a

n

d

.

rhyme . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

h

a

v

e

.

done

anything . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

h

a

v

e

.

been

anyone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

.

would

.

h

a

v

e

.

gone

anywhere . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

just

.

t

o

.

take

.

t

h

a

t

.

fanciful

flight . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

went

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

i

t

.

went

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

higher,

.

t

h

a

n

.

high . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

maya

.

o

f

.

my

mind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now

.

a

s

.

the

.

years

begin

.

t

o

.

slip,

.

a

n

d

.

slide,

.

a

n

d

.

glide

.

o

n

.

by . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

l

o

o

k

.

behind,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

come

.

t

o

.

realize . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

l

o

o

k

.

behind,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

it

comes

.

a

s

.

no

surprise . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

comes

.

a

s

.

no

surprise

–

–

right

now

.

a

s

.

I

.

realize

.

t

h

a

t

.

time

.

w

a

s

.

kind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ time

.

w

a

s

.

kind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

time

.

w

a

s

.

kind

.

a

l

l

.

that

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ all

.

t

h

a

t

.

while,

–

–

when

.

I

.

w

a

s

.

blind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

I

.

w

a

s

.

blind

.

a

l

l

.

that

while,

–

–

when

time

.

w

a

s

.

kind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

today

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes

r ~ e ~ a ~ c ~ h

.

f

o

r

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

today

.

y

o

u

r

.

eyes

r ~ e ~ a ~ c ~ h

.

f

o

r

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

wrapping

.

a

n

d

.

warming

me

.

i

n

.

the

.

wistful

wish

.

o

f

.

that

.

wondrous

wine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

wistful

.

wish

.

o

f

.

that

.

wondrous

wine

.

s

o

.

fine

.

a

n

d

.

divine

.

i

n

.

its

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

eyes,

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

served

.

i

n

.

style,

–

–

with

.

a

.

candlelight

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Eyes,

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Eyes,

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Eyes,

.

wanting

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

after

.

a

l

l

.

this

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

time

.

w

a

s

.

kind,

.

a

l

l

.

the

while

–

–

when

.

I

.

w

a

s

.

blind . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

time

.

w

a

s

.

kind

.

a

l

l

.

that

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

all

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

do

.

right

now

.

i

s

.

smile

.

a

n

d

.

sigh . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sigh

.

a

n

d

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

smile

.

a

n

d

.

sigh . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sigh

.

a

n

d

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

smile

.

a

n

d

.

sigh . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sigh

.

a

n

d

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

smile

.

a

n

d

.

sigh . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

sigh

.

a

n

d

.

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

softly

decline.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in October of 2021 where the contemplator looks back on a romantic infatuation with someone who awed and consumed him/her for many, many years. The contemplator meets up with the person again years later and comes to realize there is nothing left – either he/she or the person of affection (or both) had changed to the point there was no hint of a spark or attraction remaining. I used the song “Rhythm of the Night” by Corona to play in the background at low volume to help 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

binge

–

–

becomes

addiction . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

here

comes

.

t

h

a

t

.

feeling

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

h

e

r

e

.

comes

.

t

h

a

t

.

fleeting

.

a

n

d

.

flickering

–

–

feeling

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

heartbeats

skipping,

.

a

n

d

.

cartwheeling,

.

a

n

d

.

freewheeling

–

–

into

.

t

h

a

t

.

fairytale

fantasy

–

–

as

old

.

a

n

d

.

timeless

.

a

s

.

the

sea . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ as

old

.

a

n

d

.

timeless

.

a

s

.

the

sea . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Did

.

y

o

u

.

think

.

i

t

.

might

–

–

make

.

y

o

u

.

free . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ did

.

y

o

u

.

think

.

i

t

.

might . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ this

dance

.

w

i

t

h

.

ecstasy

.

s

o

.

serenely

sweet . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ this

dance

.

w

i

t

h

.

ecstasy

.

s

o

.

serenely

sweet

.

a

n

d

.

pleasing

.

i

t

.

seems . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

I

.

c

a

n

.

like,

.

a

n

d

.

lust,

.

a

n

d

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

you

.

c

a

n

.

like,

.

a

n

d

.

lust,

.

a

n

d

.

love . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

we

.

c

a

n

.

like,

.

a

n

d

.

lust,

.

a

n

d

.

love . . .

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

where

.

d

o

.

you

think

.

i

t

.

might

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ just

where

.

d

o

.

you

think

.

i

t

.

might

lead . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

streets

–

–

where

naive

dreams

–

–

begin

.

t

o

.

bruise

.

a

n

d

.

bleed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

streets

–

–

where

jealousy

.

a

n

d

.

greed

–

–

breathes

.

a

n

d

.

feeds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

breathes

.

a

n

d

.

feeds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

breathes

.

a

n

d

.

feeds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

breathes

.

a

n

d

.

feeds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

infecting

each,

.

a

n

d

.

all,

.

a

n

d

.

every . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ infecting

each,

.

a

n

d

.

all,

.

a

n

d

.

every . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

streets

–

–

where

jealousy

.

a

n

d

.

greed

–

–

breathes

.

a

n

d

.

feeds . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

streets

–

–

where

naive

dreams

–

–

begin

.

t

o

.

bruise

.

a

n

d

.

bleed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

binge

–

–

becomes

addiction . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

binge

–

–

becomes

addiction . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

binge

–

–

becomes

addiction . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

here

comes

.

t

h

a

t

.

feeling

again.

Reflection:  This poem is a reflection on those uncontrollable urges and temptations we sometimes get which can take on a life of their own. The person in the poem suffering from such urges and temptations – and the dark places they have sometimes led expresses uneasiness, anxiety, and the sense of helplessness and hopelessness that a new negative cycle is about to begin with the line: “but… here comes that feeling again.”

Anytime something consumes so much of our life that we make little or no progress, or do much of anything else, in our lives, we must take drastic, continual action in the attempt to defeat and overcome.

I heard the line “drink into addition” in the Holy Wave song “Interloper” and then came up with the line “A binge becomes addiction” and the remainder of the poem came into being after starting from that.

I played this song repeatedly 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.