The Wanderer, A Poem

I've always written poetry, something I dabbled with in elementary school where I had a notebook filled with them. I looked forward to our English and reading assignments that involved haikus or writing a lyrical poem and I would store them into my notebook. I even took photo with my work for school contests. Cue the embarrassing photos which can be seen here from a previous post.

My poetry continued in high school, college and adulthood (I wrote a poem for my goddaughter's wedding in 2014 in Cape Code. ) I began keeping the poems in journals. Many, many journals.

As I took an afternoon stroll today and felt the cool gentle Miami breezes tickle my face, I remembered this poem that I wrote when I was about 21 at F.I.U. in Miami I remember sharing it with a reporter whom looked up to and he said how amazing it was. (That meant a lot to me because I had a crush on him and his writing.) 

The poem was inspired by late night walks in South Beach with different buddies after hitting a club. I would wander around and take in the bright lights of the hotels and closed shops as we talked about whom we thought was cute and who hooked up with whom. I kept the poem all these years and even found a great spot to slip it into my third novel, Miami Manhunt. So now I present you a poetry throwback, The Wanderer. 

He walks alone amid the shadows and lights, 

Wanders aimlessly around town. 

A half moon is in sight.

He rounds a corner to find a soul to harbor him for a night. 

He passes closed shops, 

Crosses wet-dewed streets. 

Crowds flock. 

People walk. 

Simmering stars so high. 

Another night he had to lie.

Passersby stare. 

Marveling his chiseled profile. 

A deep loneliness he tries to hide. 

Through his bashful smile. 

His innocent eyes. 

Good looking, shy.

He continues his journey. 

Not knowing where to go. 

Can't figure out the present. 

He just doesn't know. 

Looks to the past. 

Forgets the future. 

He hopes the nights will always last.

He thinks of a chum.

So smart and nice.

He's cute and cool.

He envies his life.

So masculine and straight.

Nothing like me,

a gay, people hate.

Fear brews inside.

Hope is sometimes near.

Innocence fades away.

The soul remains young,

The face gets older.

Tormented, alone, afraid.

Life's getting colder.

He slinks into a club.

Eyes meet his.

An octopus of hands reaches out

They try to grab, to hold, and to touch him.

He dances away into a world he knows.

Where he forgets the future, the past.

The life he loathes.

He sways to the left.

Swirls, sweats, alive.

Beats pulsate inside.

Sounds resonate.

Life feels right.

No pain, pure fun.

No feelings to fight.

Alone he continues to wander.

The shadows are gone.

Thoughts still brood.

The night has turned to day.

It's another episode being

Unhappy, young and gay.

The Poet Within

Before I began writing articles in The Miami Herald when I was 16, I loved creative writing. Whether it was haikus in elementary and middle school or writing short stories for my high school Creative Writing class, words seemed to naturally flow out of me and onto paper.  I remember I had a notebook filled with my poetry, which mostly rhymed.

My teachers submitted my creative writing pieces to compete in the Miami-Dade County Youth Fair where I won ribbons in elementary school.  In the photo below, I won third place for a short story I wrote about a blind girl who finally had the chance to see again, thanks to a new experimental surgery. (I think I was watching too much "General Hospital" at the time.)

I won first place for telling a story through art on a pillow. It featured two workers in Egypt, the subject we were studying at the time,  If you look closely, you can see the sun and clouds over the workers.  I even sewed the pieces together. (Was I gay or what?)

I also included one of my college poems titled "The Wanderer" in my second novel "Miami Manhunt." There is a scene where Ray the movie critic character finds a small square of folded paper which opens up to a poem written by his promising love interest Ronnie. (p. 167 of the book.)

He walks alone amid the shadows and lights,
Wanders aimlessly around town.
No destination
A half moon is in sight.
He rounds a corner,
Hoping to find a soul to harbor him for a night.

I was reminded of my love of creative writing recently when I wrote a piece for the New York Times about the town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire where the Covid-19 advisories are released each Sunday with a poem from the city's poet laureate.  Whether she includes a free verse about the importance of the summer tradition of fishing in New England or an ode to a new class of nurses in Japan, poet laureate Tammi Trux helps break up the somber Covid-19 news while allowing residents a chance to reflect on something else other than the pandemic.

I had fun with the story and was inspired to write my own haiku which opens the story. The poetry also reminded me of one of the biggest honors I had in regards to creative writing. In 2014, my goddaughter Jessica and her then fiancee Billy asked me to write something special for their wedding on Cape Cod. They asked me to capture through my words how they met and fell in love.

It was a tall order. I kept thinking, what if they didn't like what I wrote? I remember spending weeks interviewing them and writing and writing rewriting. When I felt like I was done, I shared it with Jessica's mother, my cousin/godmother Mari, who said "it is perfect. Don't do anything to it. They are going to love it."  I received a standing ovation after I read it at the wedding. And I all could think of was "Whew! They liked it! I didn't ruin the wedding."

Because of my daily news writing and occasional blog entry here, I don't write nearly enough poetry as I did. But every now and then, when I'm inspired, I will pen a poem just as I did as a kid.

A Poem From the Heart

Writers write in all forms. Short stories. Books. Essays. Blog entries. Poems.  News articles. Although I mostly write daily stories for the Sun Sentinel about whatever is trending or what people are talking about on social media each morning, I really enjoy creative writing whether that's writing novels or poetry. 

My interest in poetry began in elementary school for school assignments but I found myself writing my own at home in a Trapper Keeper notebook.  I enjoyed writing poems that rhymed, experimented in the short form haiku. The challenge and fun for me was trying to compact what you wanted to say in a lyrical way (hey, that rhymed.)  That interest and curiosity continued in middle school, high school and college.  I saved all my poems in my journals. And every now and then, I pen a poem out of inspiration or for a special occasion. (again, another rhyme).

One of those special occasions was for my lovely goddaughter Jessica and her husband Billy. Four years ago, they asked if I could write something to read at their wedding on Cape Cod.  I was truly touched and honored. I knew they had read my Boston Globe articles over the years and maybe one of my books.  But a poem for a wedding? Where would I start? This was new to me and I'm no Richard Blanco. I thought, this is a really BIG responsibility and I had to get it just right (or write.) And what if they don't like it? Again, a huge creative assignment for a one time occasion. I couldn't mess this up. If I did, I would be permanently exiled from Massachusetts and perhaps New England...FOREVER!

So I did what I usually do when I start working on a story or a book, I did some research by interviewing them.  We set up a time after work and we chatted on speaker phone - they in Weymouth, MA and me in my little apartment in Coral Gables. I asked them how they met, what sparked their interested in one another, their first date, second date, their upbringings, the big proposal.  Some of it I knew from memory but I wanted to hear it in their words so I could incorporate that into the copy. They also didn't want me to share the poem with them ahead of time. They wanted to hear it for the first time in front of their guests.  More pressure!

After a few weeks of writing and rewriting in my notepad, I presented this to Jessica's mom Mari who is my godmother and first cousin (more like a fabulous and loving older sister to me.)  I emailed her the poem and she called me right back and said in her sweet Boston-Cuban accent, "It's perfect, Johnny. Don't change a thing. They are going to love it."

And with the huge vote of confidence, I rehearsed reading the poem out loud a couple of times at home and then in front of the mirror at the Hampton Inn Cape Cod the night before the wedding and the day of. (the selfie down below was taken in between my takes in front of the mirror before the wedding.)

When the big day came that May 30, this is what I read at the podium before the guests on a sunny breezy May afternoon by the water of Harwich, Massachusetts.  I was nervous, excited and honored all at the same time. It was a day I will never forget.  And I think I got some future requests as a wedding poet for hire. The poem starts on the jump page below. (A heads up as you read it, Mac and Cam refer to two English bulldogs and the Pats are the New England Patriots.)