I discovered his Second Piano Concerto when I was 11 or 12, and have been a fan ever since. The Preludes are also a favorite and Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini is lush enough to fill every heart
Jay bird soars a splash against blue as ashes fly to set fire moths away from today with music that sonorous sound that Janus creates opening the doors to perception.
In the quiet hours of dusk, when shadows whispered soft and low,
A task was handed down to me, a challenge I had yet to know.
“Go forth,” they said, “and do this deed. It’s yours to see it through.”
Yet there I stood, in silent thought, with time’s constraints and fear’s taboo.
I could’ve seized the moment then, with courage in my heart.
I would’ve woven wonders. I would’ve crafted art.
If only I should’ve braved the storm and dared to take the leap.
Instead, I watched the minutes fade, as dreams and doubts did steep.
I could’ve scaled the heights unknown and touched the stars above.
I would’ve danced with destiny, I would’ve cherished love.
If only I should’ve faced my fears and let my spirit soar.
Perhaps I’d find the strength within, to open every door.
I could’ve harnessed fire’s light and shaped it in my hands.
I would’ve spun a tale of hope on life’s vast shifting sands.
If only I should’ve walked that road, and left regret behind,
I’d find the peace in knowing, that life is undefined.
Now here I sit in quiet thought with lessons carved in time.
I could’ve chased the fleeting dream. I would’ve made it mine.
If only I should’ve held the pen and wrote my story clear.
Instead, I linger in the past where “if onlys” reappear.
But life is not a tale of woe nor chains that bind my soul,
For in each moment here and now, I still can play my role.
I could’ve, would’ve, should’ve learned that time is always new.
And every task and every dream, begins with what I do.
So let me rise with strength reborn and cast aside my fear.
I will embrace the tasks at hand, with purpose strong and clear.
For in the echoes of the past the future’s seeds are sown.
And in the journey here and now, true growth is always shown.
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Launched 10 days ago
I'm an eighty-year-old white man, married to my lovely wife for 56 wonderful years. I teach two Poetry and Creative Writing classes at the Senior Action Center in Greenville, SC.
Excellent choice on the artist who is playing the Rachmaninoff. I am really digging this listen, Fotini. I feel a little foolish asking for specific elucidation about the details of poems, but as much as I love the musicality and feeling of a poem, as I do here, I feel like I am disingenuous with my comments when I don't know enough. If you feel like offering, who is "He" here? I looked up Rachmaninoff in case there was a clue there, but I couldn't make any solid connections. Thank you.
As I wrote to Paul, Rachmaninoff came out of the blue. The music has nothing to do with the poem but my inner state, although those two can be related. I don’t know; maybe subconsciously, I wanted to offer something more than words. This piece, this piece performed by this artist, speaks of things I cannot name.
As for the “He” of this poem, well, he could be anyone. For he is the abstract “He”, whose life can’t fit in a poem, but whose circumstances, however vague, are the stepping stones for the creation of this poem. And I truly hope the poem can stand on its own without the extra info.
But I don’t want to leave your question unanswered. J stands for John, for John (born and died in January) was my dad whom I dearly loved.
Thank you, Fotini. I feel a bit ungainly here for as it is an exquisite poem and does stand on its own. I meant no disrespect by asking. I tend toward curiosity in this way, and I appreciate your response as it illuminates my experience re-reading.
I had a similar exchange with another poet a couple of days ago, and he very kindly declined my request for additional information, saying that he was happy with the interpretation that I came up with on my own and it was his intention and desire to have that happen in the first place.
Interpretational flexibility and liberty is one of the great gifts of our craft.
I will probably still ask at times, but in future cases, please feel free to leave my question unanswered.
I have written poems I thought were pretty straight-forward but from reader’s comments I could see that their interpretation was something I never saw it coming. It’s all in the game. And it is a game I enjoy so much.
I withheld the reference to my dad for I didn’t wanted to limit the poem to the certain theme of family. Love comes to us in many guises. I guess the song was misleading, but hey, I am still learning this game :) And I am glad I have such good company!
Oh wow, really love the sounds and line breaks in this, and how it lifts and moves to the end. (A marvel!) The music creates this arthouse atmosphere. Just read the comment on your Dad. Extra poignant. It's nice to access the 'meet the author' in the comment discussions. Like a back stage pass. We all learn so much in comments as well as the pieces as stand alone.
Comments get me out of my private enclosure. And sometimes the interaction in the comment section leads to new poems. I have said it many times before, but I tend to repeat myself: we need each other. I will make this my mantra :)
LOVERS UNITED AND EXPOSED. IN TWILIGHT'S TENDER EMBRACE THEY MEET. TWO SOULS DRAWN TOGETHER, HEARTBEAT BY HEARTBEAT. THEIR LOVE, A SYMPHONY OF WHISPERED VOWS, A DANCE OF SHADOWS BENEATH THE MOON'S SOFT BOWS. HAND IN HAND THEY TREAD THE PATH OF DREAMS, WHERE PASSION BLOOMS LIKE A WILDFLOWER STREAMS. THEIR LAUGHTER ECHOES THROUGH ENCHANTED GLADES, AS SUNSETS PAINT THEIR LOVE IN GOLDEN CASCADES. BUT BEWARE, FOR UNITY BEARS ITS WEIGHT: THE MERGING OF LIVES, DESTINY ENTWINED, A DELICATE BALANCE ON LOVE'S FRAGILE LINE. FOR EVERY KISS SHARED, A SECRET REVEALED, AND EVERY PROMISE MADE, A BOND FOREVER SEALED. CHOOSE YOUR PATH, DEAR LOVERS, WITH OPEN EYES, FOR BOTH UNITY AND EXPOSURE HOLD THEIR PRIZE. IN THE END, IT'S THE HEART'S COMPASS THAT GUIDES, WHETHER HIDDEN IN SHADOWS OR UNDER SUNLIT SKIES.
I'm sure you already know but you have a way with words. They make me feel ecstatic and melancholic, like flying and drowning, at the same time. And the romanticism of this line in particular? Did I mention I live for romance? The wide and open romance that includes flirting with life itself, not just people. I *absolutely* love your craft, Fotini!
Hehe, every time I reply to you, I end up writing a comment that I love. So expressive of my inner states. You not only write fabulously, but you also seem to bring out the best of my words.
To remember springs after the fall.
Much love.
To remember with love.
Thank you, Mahdi.
This poem beams like clear blue skies, Fotini—the Rachmaninoff is a nice touch, too! 😊
Thank you so much, Paul. Rachmaninoff came out of the blue…
I discovered his Second Piano Concerto when I was 11 or 12, and have been a fan ever since. The Preludes are also a favorite and Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini is lush enough to fill every heart
I saw last April Nikolai Lugansky performing live the Piano Concerto No. 3. That was something!
I love Thursdays.
with eyes
as blue as June he carried summer to its death.
I love January too.
I love him too…
Jay bird soars a splash against blue as ashes fly to set fire moths away from today with music that sonorous sound that Janus creates opening the doors to perception.
a brief flight
life seems
it hurts
it cries
it loves
and then
it flies
To discover a companion, clasp hands and light walks, love life so short yet see eternal bliss waiting.
Let eternal bliss wait. Shall we go for a walk now?
Yes. Have not been out of house for days; except to water plants . Crave a pie and may walk to store. Love to hold hands stop time for a moment.
Bliss came from the sky yesterday. Two hooded crows were mobbing a peregrine falcon. I should get out more often. And stop to look.
There’s poetry waiting. I’ll write something on “Endless “ Fiction Dealer post later. 70 words prompt.
Never let a lady waiting :)
Coffee or tea? Cheers
POETRY AND PROSE: A CONUNDRUM
Would've, Could've, Should've
Pepper Miller
Jan 05, 2025
In the quiet hours of dusk, when shadows whispered soft and low,
A task was handed down to me, a challenge I had yet to know.
“Go forth,” they said, “and do this deed. It’s yours to see it through.”
Yet there I stood, in silent thought, with time’s constraints and fear’s taboo.
I could’ve seized the moment then, with courage in my heart.
I would’ve woven wonders. I would’ve crafted art.
If only I should’ve braved the storm and dared to take the leap.
Instead, I watched the minutes fade, as dreams and doubts did steep.
I could’ve scaled the heights unknown and touched the stars above.
I would’ve danced with destiny, I would’ve cherished love.
If only I should’ve faced my fears and let my spirit soar.
Perhaps I’d find the strength within, to open every door.
I could’ve harnessed fire’s light and shaped it in my hands.
I would’ve spun a tale of hope on life’s vast shifting sands.
If only I should’ve walked that road, and left regret behind,
I’d find the peace in knowing, that life is undefined.
Now here I sit in quiet thought with lessons carved in time.
I could’ve chased the fleeting dream. I would’ve made it mine.
If only I should’ve held the pen and wrote my story clear.
Instead, I linger in the past where “if onlys” reappear.
But life is not a tale of woe nor chains that bind my soul,
For in each moment here and now, I still can play my role.
I could’ve, would’ve, should’ve learned that time is always new.
And every task and every dream, begins with what I do.
So let me rise with strength reborn and cast aside my fear.
I will embrace the tasks at hand, with purpose strong and clear.
For in the echoes of the past the future’s seeds are sown.
And in the journey here and now, true growth is always shown.
Subscribe to Pepper Miller
Launched 10 days ago
I'm an eighty-year-old white man, married to my lovely wife for 56 wonderful years. I teach two Poetry and Creative Writing classes at the Senior Action Center in Greenville, SC.
Welcome to Substack and to my tiny patch of land.
It is beautiful!
Excellent choice on the artist who is playing the Rachmaninoff. I am really digging this listen, Fotini. I feel a little foolish asking for specific elucidation about the details of poems, but as much as I love the musicality and feeling of a poem, as I do here, I feel like I am disingenuous with my comments when I don't know enough. If you feel like offering, who is "He" here? I looked up Rachmaninoff in case there was a clue there, but I couldn't make any solid connections. Thank you.
As I wrote to Paul, Rachmaninoff came out of the blue. The music has nothing to do with the poem but my inner state, although those two can be related. I don’t know; maybe subconsciously, I wanted to offer something more than words. This piece, this piece performed by this artist, speaks of things I cannot name.
As for the “He” of this poem, well, he could be anyone. For he is the abstract “He”, whose life can’t fit in a poem, but whose circumstances, however vague, are the stepping stones for the creation of this poem. And I truly hope the poem can stand on its own without the extra info.
But I don’t want to leave your question unanswered. J stands for John, for John (born and died in January) was my dad whom I dearly loved.
Thank you, Fotini. I feel a bit ungainly here for as it is an exquisite poem and does stand on its own. I meant no disrespect by asking. I tend toward curiosity in this way, and I appreciate your response as it illuminates my experience re-reading.
I had a similar exchange with another poet a couple of days ago, and he very kindly declined my request for additional information, saying that he was happy with the interpretation that I came up with on my own and it was his intention and desire to have that happen in the first place.
Interpretational flexibility and liberty is one of the great gifts of our craft.
I will probably still ask at times, but in future cases, please feel free to leave my question unanswered.
Ask away, Jed. Curiosity opens us up.
I have written poems I thought were pretty straight-forward but from reader’s comments I could see that their interpretation was something I never saw it coming. It’s all in the game. And it is a game I enjoy so much.
I withheld the reference to my dad for I didn’t wanted to limit the poem to the certain theme of family. Love comes to us in many guises. I guess the song was misleading, but hey, I am still learning this game :) And I am glad I have such good company!
Those last three lines are romantic in such a tragic way.
Like life sometimes.
Oh wow, really love the sounds and line breaks in this, and how it lifts and moves to the end. (A marvel!) The music creates this arthouse atmosphere. Just read the comment on your Dad. Extra poignant. It's nice to access the 'meet the author' in the comment discussions. Like a back stage pass. We all learn so much in comments as well as the pieces as stand alone.
Comments get me out of my private enclosure. And sometimes the interaction in the comment section leads to new poems. I have said it many times before, but I tend to repeat myself: we need each other. I will make this my mantra :)
Viva John, and January......
🙏
Another poem for reflection!
LOVERS UNITED AND EXPOSED
Poetry
Pepper Miller <peppermiller3011@gmail.com>
Fri, Jan 10, 6:41 PM (6 days ago)
to me
LOVERS UNITED AND EXPOSED. IN TWILIGHT'S TENDER EMBRACE THEY MEET. TWO SOULS DRAWN TOGETHER, HEARTBEAT BY HEARTBEAT. THEIR LOVE, A SYMPHONY OF WHISPERED VOWS, A DANCE OF SHADOWS BENEATH THE MOON'S SOFT BOWS. HAND IN HAND THEY TREAD THE PATH OF DREAMS, WHERE PASSION BLOOMS LIKE A WILDFLOWER STREAMS. THEIR LAUGHTER ECHOES THROUGH ENCHANTED GLADES, AS SUNSETS PAINT THEIR LOVE IN GOLDEN CASCADES. BUT BEWARE, FOR UNITY BEARS ITS WEIGHT: THE MERGING OF LIVES, DESTINY ENTWINED, A DELICATE BALANCE ON LOVE'S FRAGILE LINE. FOR EVERY KISS SHARED, A SECRET REVEALED, AND EVERY PROMISE MADE, A BOND FOREVER SEALED. CHOOSE YOUR PATH, DEAR LOVERS, WITH OPEN EYES, FOR BOTH UNITY AND EXPOSURE HOLD THEIR PRIZE. IN THE END, IT'S THE HEART'S COMPASS THAT GUIDES, WHETHER HIDDEN IN SHADOWS OR UNDER SUNLIT SKIES.
Beautiful.
Thank you, Margaret 🙏
“as blue as June he carried summer to its death.” — beautiful Fotini.
Thank you, Michael 🙏
♥️ for the J's in January
🖤 for you
"...with eyes
as blue as June he carried summer to its death."
This and Rachmaninoff - you touch hearts and souls dear Fotini - oh mail la tristesse! 🎵
🖤 🖤 🖤
Carried summer to its death?
His summer is never to return, Haram. Yet I carry the blue of his eyes through all the seasons of my life.
I'm sure you already know but you have a way with words. They make me feel ecstatic and melancholic, like flying and drowning, at the same time. And the romanticism of this line in particular? Did I mention I live for romance? The wide and open romance that includes flirting with life itself, not just people. I *absolutely* love your craft, Fotini!
Hehe, every time I reply to you, I end up writing a comment that I love. So expressive of my inner states. You not only write fabulously, but you also seem to bring out the best of my words.
Terrific.
Summer dies, but it's the way it has to be.
And it's not as if winter is just standing by whistling; he carries summer to death.
And the echo of the blue joins them as comrades.
The blue is always here, whatever the season. Thank you, Edgar!
Well, that’s a good point. I’d assumed it was the sky.