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Writing poetry, for me, began in the late 1970’s. My Creative Writing professor, Pat Urbas, made a point of encouraging me to consider “writing as a vocation.” I was a Business Management student with a major in accounting. I could not wrap my mind around “writing as a vocation.”

Ah, to go back with the knowledge I now possess, I would heed Pat’s sage advice. The passion for writing that grew in me from that moment of encouragement still burns bright in my life. The poetry that flowed from my pens, pencils, crayons (yes, inspiration waits for no writing utensil) onto napkins, receipts, papers of various sizes, shapes and structural integrities, stood the test of time and made publication on September 19, 2009.

The book, Loves Lost and Found, has snagged three Royal Palm Literary Awards for the poems Rendezvous (1st Place 2009), Melody of a New Dawning (1st Place 2010), and No One’s There (2nd Place 2010) in the Published Poetry category. Much of this poetry had aged over 26 years before publication.

I’ve noted that often a poem appears ageless. The flavor and expression and emotion maintain their youth, power, vitality, etc. Many novels are overtaken by time and progress. Modernization relegates fiction, and much nonfiction, to the backseat of ‘old news’ or passe writing. Some of the great novels of all time are less accessible today because they read so slow and so full of overwhelming description.

Today, with computers, phones, internet, etc., our ability to visualize lies as close as our nearest electronic device. Our need for speed in delivery of our stories as well as nonfiction works causes us to blanch at pedantic, over described scenes and situations.

Poetry’s depth and intrinsic values maintains freshness, impact, and the ability to touch the reader’s emotion no matter what era. This encapsulates some of the charm and vibrancy of poetry.

Last words – I’ll just travel back to early Spring, 1982. Two o’clock in the morning, outside, under a bevy of newly leafed trees, an impassioned writer felt he must, MUST write. The moment, for my lifetime, permanently resides in my mind, heart and soul. Returning to this poem returns me to those trees, that night, that age, and that passion. My hope remains that the poem may do for others what it achieves for me.


 I sat,

Waiting for the trees to dance.

Leaves filled the air with their tuneful romance.

Wind swept my ears this night in haunting fury.

Mind at its rest, no need to hurry.

A moment,

Recaptured from days in my youth.

Feeling life in my lungs,

Hearing it whisper through the trees …

over the pond…

Then I lost it,

It was gone.

Life and I,

We meet now and then,

When I am alone.