The music in the YouTube video below, Forgotten Memory of a Dying Dream, has utterly captivated me. Its delicate piano notes, scattered like raindrops, lull me into a trance, much like the gentle patter of autumn rain. I find myself playing it on repeat, mesmerized by its melancholic beauty. The music is both soothing and evocative, drawing me into a realm of reflection and relaxation. Inspired by this, I felt compelled to offer a poetic response—an embrace, of sorts, to the mood it evokes. But please, I encourage you to listen to the music to fully appreciate the inspiration behind the poem—I have had it on repeat for days.
Autumn’s Forgotten Dream
The keys fall soft, like autumn rain, A whispered sigh in quiet refrain. Each note, a droplet, cool and clear, Tells of dreams that disappear.
The melody drifts, a mournful breeze, Through branches bare of summer’s leaves. It echoes long, then fades away, Like shadows at the edge of day.
In every pause, the silence hums, A memory of what never comes. The piano weeps in gentle streams, For forgotten hopes and dying dreams.
This sunny July morning, a dragonfly graced my backyard, flitting about in the sun. These creatures are truly marvelous, appearing as if crafted eons ago with a design that defies flight. They are unequivocally my favorite insect. Their ability to hover, dart, and flit brings me endless delight, matched only by their enthralling colors.
Facts worth knowing: Before they take flight as dragonflies, living for only about six months, they spend anywhere from two months to five years or more as larvae in the water. Their remarkable flying abilities are considered by some to symbolize poise and elegance. According to the beliefs of others, encountering a dragonfly flitting around you signifies impending change, while one landing on your person is seen as a sign of good fortune. Exploring the dragonfly’s symbolism online or at the library reveals countless interpretations, both auspicious and inauspicious.
Stenciled Velvet, c. 1902–10. Tiffany Studios. (America, New York, 1902–1932) Designer, Dorothy Marshall Hornblower (American, 1886–1968). Cleveland Museum of Art.
For my part, I hold the dragonfly in such high regard that I have included it in my personal emblem, preferring it over more traditional images, such as lions and crosses. This preference stems from its ability to achieve flight—an improbable feat given its construction. For me, the dragonfly represents not only the triumph of grace over physics but also the boundless possibilities inherent in life if only one dares to try.
Inspired by the dragonfly I saw earlier, I attempted the following poem:
Dragonfly with Wings of Sheen
In morning’s golden light it flies, A creature from ancient skies, Dragonfly, with wings of sheen, In hues of emerald and marine.
Born of water, from nymph to winged sprite, To dance on air, in pure delight, With grace that mocks the laws of earth, They flit and dart, in joyous mirth.
Their eyes, like gems, do catch the sun, As through the reeds they deftly run, A world of beauty in their flight, A fleeting glimpse of pure delight.
O dragonfly, in summer’s glow, Your dance of life, a magic show, A whisper from a distant age, With every wingbeat, nature’s sage.
So fragile yet so strong and free, A marvel of biology, In every swoop, in every leap, A secret of the waters deep.
Fly on, dear dragonfly, so grand, Across the waters, o’er the land, In every glint, we see in you, A symbol of resilience true.
On Sunday evening, as the sun had just receded and I returned home, I found myself in my backyard. There, I witnessed the flicker of light from the tail of a lightning bug, the first I had seen this summer. In that instant, a crash of childhood memories, from so many decades ago, flooded my mind. It is remarkable how a single sight, much like a familiar smell, can trigger memories from so long ago.
The next morning, still smiling from the memories elicited by that twinkle in the night, I quickly sketched out the recollections that had cascaded through my mind in that luminous instant. I then spent a little time shaping them into form. For better or for worse, here is the result. I imagine only my siblings can fully appreciate these memories, as they are so deeply family-centric.
Memory Fragments of a Mahoning Valley Childhood
In the heart of summer, lightning bugs glowed bright, Church festivals thrived, Saint Luke’s, Saint Pat’s in the night. The Canfield Fair’s grand end of summer delight, A crush of people, crash-up derby, under starry twilight.
Handel’s Ice Cream, a seasonal treasure so sweet, A&W root beer floats, a frothy, chilled treat. Sunday drives through Mill Creek Park’s serene retreat, Fresh bread’s aroma from Schwebel’s bakery street.
Poulakos donuts after Sunday mass, divine, Pierogies with butter and onions, St. Stan’s line. Idora Park’s Wild Cat, Jack Rabbit in summertime, Learning to swim at the downtown Y, feeling fine.*
Downtown shopping at Woolworth and Strouss, a spree, Barney Bean, Gilligan’s Island, and more on TV. Isaly’s chip chop ham sandwiches, more than we’d plea, Dad’s Friday night football games on AM frequency.
Bowling leagues, Dusi Music, Conti Dance’s beat, Mom at ceramics studio, weekly meet. Family dinners nightly when Dad came home to eat, Vegetable garden’s bounty, homegrown treats so neat.
Bicycles, unicycles, basketballs in the drive, Chalk drawings, sandboxes, tree forts where dreams thrive. Imagination abundant, throughout the neighborhood we’d roam, Mahoning Valley memories, forever our home.
*In truth, I disliked the swimming lessons at the Y, the water was so cold that I shivered incessantly, teeth chattering and lips turning blue, every lesson — oh, and let me tell you that the smell of chlorine was overwhelming!
Inspired by a brisk winter walk in the Cleveland, Ohio area.
LYRICS
The birch tree braves the winter’s icy grip, Its branches bare, white stark against the sky. It does not mourn the loss of leaves or gold, But waits with patience for the spring to nigh. The birch tree knows the seasons wax and wane, Each carries purpose, beauty, grace, and pace. It does not fear the frost, the ice, the rain, But greets each one with elegance and grace. My soul, like birch, endures and perseveres, To rise from earth to heaven’s radiant light. It stands unbowed, unbroken by the cold, But shines with faith and courage through the night. From birch I learn to face life’s change and strife, To trust in self, let faith and courage guide.
