DOWSING FOR LIGHT

It occurred to me earlier this year that, in less than two years time, I will be twice the age I was when my mother passed away. I get curious about what she would have thought about my writing. Sure, she read what little I had written back then, some of which was decent for the age I was when it was written. I can only hope she never found any of my terribly bad, love-sick poems from high school — I can’t even stand to read those now. I’m just curious if she would have enjoyed what I’ve written in the past few years.

I wasn’t writing much around that time, mostly just song lyrics. These were my poems set to music, words I limited to rhyme and rhythm. I’ve written very few poems since then, but once in a while the inspiration hits and I crank out a few lines. Nothing amazing, nothing so very noteworthy, but something just enough to clarify my thoughts, just for me.

But, hey! I have a blog! So why not share my depressing poetry with the rest of you?

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17

Four more seasons have come and gone
And still no reasons that rhyme
Just life unbridled, unexpected
Fabricated memories of grand moments I will never have
And the ugly, real ones I will never be rid of
It won’t be long before I’ve spent more time without her than with