This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped, which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.

I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.

I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me, “The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.

I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem

There is no perfect way, to live this life, every day,
Changes will come, and they will pass,
Nothing in this life, will forever last,
Every one’s  trail, curves, many ways,
Somethings , we are to experience, were planned before,
Our first day.
No one’s life is perfect, throughout every year,
For our soul to learn, and grow, we carry it through,
A mixture, from days of smiles, to cloudy moments,
Where we shed our tears.
Accepting  reality,  knowledge, our parts in this life, with age,
Will change, even though, your on the same stage.
We are each to mingle with, all types of people, traveling on our way,
If your lucky to be free, beware of habits, where you limit the growth,
Of your soul exploring, to only certain hours, of night or day.
The clock on the wall, many follow every day, was created by a human,
Some people enjoy, another person, telling them what to do every minute,
During this life’s stay.
The first clock was a pendulum clock, created by, Christiaan Huygenes,  in 1656,
Most humans would not survive, trying to live, as they did, in those lost days…


                                The Original tom Maxwell  ©  07/21/2025 AD

They cut the trees
at the park—
not all of them,
just the ones behind
the baseball field.

Now,
when I drive by,
I can see
all the houses
arching their way
up the hillside.

I don’t think I like that,
seeing all those houses.
I wish
they had kept
the trees.

Foam lines move outwards

From oars that pierce stillness

Spreading just to fade.

From an infant to a child, growing into an adult,
Then working every day, planning for retirement,
Never thinking, it could be one of the hardest parts,
You act out, in this life, as you know it today.
Even if you financially planned, your home, bills are paid,
Changes in society, the loss of family members,
All of mine have passed, along with, many special friends,
That were close, and others who migrated another way.
Often for a smile, you think of memories, of lost past days,
Scanning records, you cherish, stored, in your hippocampus,
In your brains temporal lobe, it would now take twenty four hours,
To just arrange and plan, what you use to accomplish, in one day,
Reminiscing, of old cars, clothes, events, or that special game,
Now realizing, they were pieces, of your puzzle, to where you are today.
Next time you look in a mirror, those lines on your face, you earned,
From tough decisions, to the memories of enjoyment, from days & nights,
When you just could not stop grinning, ear, to ear. Changes to control,
Many man made distractions, in life today, most modern day children,
Could not think of following, the footsteps, you traveled in past days.
For those you love, and those who do you, food for you soul, the part,
Of you, that will survive. Old and young souls around you every day,
There is no way to separate them by age. Born philosopher’s & prophets,
Are still among us, delivering messages, you have many directors as you,
Act out your part, in this life, on planet Earth, which is your stage.
                                                                                                                        The original: Tom Maxwell © 03/27/2025 AD

Nearly midway through April,
Time doesn’t intend to move any slower.
A new chapter will soon begin,
When I’ve just gotten used to the one that I’m in.

I’m going through changes,
Yet, I still feel the same.
Can you even notice,
By my face?
I’m going through changes,
And it’s draining me.
I just hope that the mirror,
Doesn’t show someone I’ve never seen.

Life is building up,
Responsibilities are growing.
I am on the cusp,
And the exertion’s showing.

I don’t know where I’m going,
I feel like I’m lost.
I know that I’m growing,
But at what cost?
Childhood is dying,
Yet, I remain.
Am I really myself,
If everything’s changed?


Whether it be death,
Of family or a platonic friendship.
Never any rest,
Leaving behind relationships.

I hear change is normal,
But does that make it okay?
Constantly counting,
The fading days.
Ticking and ringing,
All around the clock,
Constantly begging,
For it to stop.

The discontement and resentment,
The words people misuse,
The friends people forget,
The love they abuse.

If I could press a button,
And pause it all.
I’d keep the world frozen,
Stop the spinning ball.
I’d enjoy the moment,
Forever slowed.
Perhaps then I’d get it,
And learn to cope.

If changes weren’t so scary,
Maybe I’d be less frantic,
Perhaps the soldier and the poet,
Would love more than they’d ever know.
The wolf and the sheep,
Bound eternally.
Perhaps the old cat lady,
Would’ve been seen more fondly.
The demons we often hide,
And my paradigm.
What happened,
With time?

I’m going through changes,
Yet, I still feel the same,
I just need some patience,
If that’s okay.
Let me catch my bearings,
And hold them close,
They’re all I remember,
From the times I love most.

It’s the crisis of connection,
Why the beggars feel forced to beg.
Why the little tree was hydrophobic,
And the alien searches for a suitable planet.

Pictures are all we,
Can do to protect,
The precious memories,
Our brain forgets.
As we look at the fragments,
Of the past,
Oh, how we long,
For those times to come back.

If I could change the world,
It’d be different, that’s for sure.
Perhaps these changes,
Wouldn’t feel so absurd.

I know hundreds have done this before,
Lived through life,
And walked through all the open doors,
Dodging the strife.
However, one thing,
I’m not sure you see,
Is that none of those millions of people,
Were me.

Fear starts to peak,
As routines reach their endings.
All too quickly,
Is this how it has to be?

I know growing older,
Is just part of the deal.
I just need a shoulder,
Someone to heal.
To let me take a break,
To pause,
But we can’t,
Perhaps peace is just a facade.

Am I worth hearing,
My biggest critic keeps asking,
Pieces of my mind fracturing,
As he just starts laughing.

I’m going through changes,
Yet, I still feel the same.
Can you help me?
Can you point the way?
There’s no need to worry,
Cause I guess I’m doing okay,
The sky’s the limit,
I just have to be brave,
And face these changes…

The weather may change,
So may the ages of time.
The lack of constant,
Is the nature of life.