How sad that all things must change. I can relate in some ways just walking out my front door and seeing rows of houses where once woods where we played sat. All my childhood friends left when they heard of other boroughs moving in. They were right. I can imagine how hard it must be for you to go back and see a different world, one not so loving.

This poem is full of gentle nostalgia – the raspberries, the cows, the hills all bring the past vividly to life. It’s quietly profound, and I could almost step into that memory myself. Beautifully done, j

Phenomenally penned, Jacob. Love the nostalgic flavor, and the memories in a small corner of a past universe. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Some say you should never go back. Not me, I am a great one for nostalgia. Things change, not always for the better, but memories last a lifetime. Fabulous poem and your latest book title too. I love our bovine friends. Can remember walking through meadows myself as a child.

Chris

That is a horrible feeling when you think about it. You had it in your hands to write then it gets dashed away.

Did you ever have a really great idea, but you are driving somewhere, and by the time you get where you are going….abracadabra….poof.
the thought has left you?
Ugh!
Thank you, Fia.
j.

Yes, the mojo being torn away or lost. Often it’s the frustration of knowing what could have been that really hurts.

If we weren’t poets, we would probably just say “Oh well.”

But we are, so it hurts deeply when we lose good ideas…and at my age, I really have to catch them fast.

We have all been. I was black coffee with three sugars for years. I cut the sugar and the coffee and many other desired tasty stuff. Sucks. But, I’m only 9 years away from the ages my parents were when they died. I want a bit more time.

Cleverly penned, Jacob. The life of a writer, I think we’ve all been there. Great storytelling my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

If you lose an idea you will always have another. If you have it brewing it will resurface or it will fly on.

A very vivid scene painted with few words

Regards James

I have always found a cup of coffee to be a great conjure of thought. Just like a rainy day that puts you in the mood for film noirs at TCM. Somehow, I just can’t imagine you ever being at a loss for words!

The image that heads this page and these near perfect words will be visited many more time today by me (and I hope many others too ).. Oh’ and believe me, I have no doubt I shall hear & in my mind feel the cool rush of the first rains of autumn again and again .. But enough of that for now ..

I feel compelled to point out that in my opinion, You have poemed a masterpiece and left it here as a gift for all those who either stumble upon it by accident as well as those like me who purposefully made their way here .. I know for a fact I have waited a long time for it to arrive .. but .. & it’s a BIG and true BUT, I could certainly feel it coming .. I only hope, wish and pray that one day, a certain someone will realise or otherwise be made aware that such a beautiful love poem features them in all but their name .. I can only imagine how awesome a feeling that would be .. Wishing You Peace, Love, strong black coffee and All other Good Things from my world to thine .. 🌻⭐💛👍

My absolute pleasure my dear Friend .. 🌻⭐💛👍

The image and aroma of “Frankincense in the early morning/ and sudden rain”, not only ushers in a beautiful love poem but entices the reader to go on a wonderful journey into the colors and wonders of Autumn, to a place “where the heart sings of sentiment”, and where someone can find the “mystic of uncertainty”. WOW!! Such delightful lines of poetry. And I agree with Neville, I too, hope that whoever this poem is for, reads it and comes to “read you every night”, and writes you poetry.

I am so glad that I found this poem, Light (an appropriate pen name), it’s extremely moving.
-Curt

Beautiful writing…sincerely.

You are so sweet, kind and caring my friend, thank You so much for leaving another lovely gift on my poem, deeply appreciated 🤍💖

Tremendous work. I love it.

Beautifully penned, Light. Excellent write with dazzling imagery my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Days shorten
Dreams lengthen

“I am waiting for you,
under a new anticipated poem.
and until October comes,
keep me beautiful beside you.
and read me every night,
a hold of you,
till I fall asleep
and become a vision of love.”

Sighhh!🌿

I’ve been wondering to where such passionately blessed poetesses have vanished? Now, realizing the queen of romantic wonderment has returned, having only been on hiatus, tending to those fortunate enough in her life to receive the incomparable treasures of her gently giving, affectionately caring ⁓ free spirit.

Radiating from the thrilling ambiancel of “a hold of Autumn” I’m gently, irresistibly drifted back to those many moments I could not wait each day to run and read just such enthrallingly captivating sentiments of pure love, pristine beauty, and blissful caresses composed so warmly and tenderly sincere unto luck-lucky me.

Alas, c’est la vie … they live as vividly now as ever; yet, in the yearning depths of my heart’s and soul’s eternally grateful memory.

With a masterful stroke of her artistically-blessed pen, filled by virtue of her magical skills in blending words, phrases, and imagery into endless colours, hues, and textures, she creates a virtual universe that dismisses the world around us, sweeping (ever-so smoothly) every eagerly willing, captively spellbound heart awayyy … annnd, what a perfect photo to set the ambiance of this incomparably wondrous moment.

This illustriously rendered poem stands as testament to how powerfully enchanting a master’s pen truly can be, and ohhh, how I love and miss it so.
Thank you, Dear Ghounwah, from my heart for sharing this spellbinding poetic composition from your depthless well of precious love! ⁓ Richard🖌

Interesting write. I found it quite intriguing.

You painted a picture in perfect detail of places I once visited.
👍

You just nailed doom to this particular page .. enlightening all those passing through on the off chance and those intentionally visiting while simultaneously de-coding a significant percentage of what is left of mystery .. I’m glad I swung by this way Betty .. Warmly yours, Neville

Such a sad tale. Addictions kill and pull people into the gutter only to die. Your poem encapsulates the experience as though Satan were in the room with them.