Reflections On At Last Seeing Starlight: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

To some
it may seem strange,
having heard poets
and troubadours
wax nostalgic
about seeing starlight
reflected
in still
lake waters,
to have never seen
those lights,
those starry nights.

To have never known
what they spoke of,
to have never experienced
the beauty
of doubled diamonds,
some suspended above,
twins shimmering below,
clear and focused,
shining and waving.

Then,
one clear,
crisp
Wisconsin spring evening,
post eye surgery,
walking on a dock
which extended out
past trees
and lights,
and anything,
just he,
after a half a century,
alone,
suspended between
hundreds of glowing orbs,
times two,
at last seeing,
understanding,
recognizing
what others had sung about
and enthused over
and painted
and immortalized.

At last,
he saw.

Some might think it
strange,
and sad,
almost tragic.
“What he missed!”
they may exclaim.
But to him,
at last viewing,
finally comprehending
and feeling
and floating,
expanding his soul
and blending his
diamond tears
with the lake,
and with witnesses
before him,
and his gasp,
breath of adoration
and joy,
with creators like him,
the wait seemed
a small moment,
but so large
in its connective
worth.

He Hopes She’s Finally Happy: Romantic Blogging Sonnet

The roses were dead once he picked them.
The chocolate, she said, made her fat.
The kitchen wasn’t remodeled like she wanted.
And now look at where she is at.

Remember each time he surprised her
with a new dress that was colored wrong?
Or the theater tickets that were on a bad night?
Or the album that had the wrong song?

Just like that coastal vacation
when she said she’d rather stay home.
Or when he reserved a place at that nice restaurant:
He hopes that she’s happy alone.

She can gaze at her jewels: The few things he got right.
Perhaps they’ll warm her as she sleeps by herself tonight.

OR

The roses were dead once I picked them.
The chocolate, you said, made you fat.
The kitchen wasn’t remodeled like you wanted.
And now look at where you are at.

Remember each time I surprised you
with a dress that was colored wrong.
Or the theater tickets that were on a bad night.
Or the album that had the wrong song.

Just like that coastal vacation
when you said you’d rather stay home.
Or when I reserved a place at that nice restaurant:
I hope that you’re happy alone.

You can gaze at your jewels: At least I got those right.
I hope they warm you as you sleep by yourself tonight.