HeyJaredW. Lorenzo Cromwell
After decades of silence, I rediscovered 103 poems from my youth. Editing them reignited a passion long dormant. Now, as a senior in Niagara, I write again—older, wiser, and inspired by the wonder of rediscovery and second beginnings.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Aug 27, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 6, 2026
Latest issues
Goodbye To What Was (opens the original)
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Goodbye To What WasThere have been wounds—not the kind that fade beneath the skin,but the kind that settle deep,unseen, unspoken,bruises on the soul.I have traced the edges of our history,held it in my hands,weighed it against the weight of my own worth.And I can no longer be the one who bendswhile you remain unshaken.There are doors I have closed,not in anger,but in quiet self-preservation.There are voices I have silenced,not in cruelty,but in the need for peace.You have written your version of
Further By Now (opens the original)
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Further by NowI came upon the sentenceas one comes upon a mirrorunexpectedly—I should be further by now.Further toward what?Who placed the mile markersalong this road?Who decided where a lifeshould stand by seventy,or what should already have beenleft behind?Perhaps the young man believedthat by this agethe books would all be written,the invitations sen… Read more
Let Me Be In Your Story (opens the original)
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Let Me Be in Your StoryWhen you write your next poem,can I be in there—a shadow in the margin,a breath between the lines,a hush before the final rhyme?When you tell your next story,can I be a character—not the hero, not the villain,but the one who walks beside,steady as the tide?In your next movie,can I have the leading role—not on the screen,but in the warmth that flickerswhen the lights go low?When you're talkingaround the campfirewith your grandchildren,will you tell them a talewh
Untying The Knot (opens the original)
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Untying the KnotsIt was not the knot of marriage,nor the legal severing of a life;it was older than vows,older than signatures,older than the names we gave our sorrow.It was the rope around the spirit,the quiet tether at the ankle,the cord tied softly at firstuntil we forgot it was there,until we mistook its pullfor the shape of our own walking.Shame had a ribbon.Hurt had a ribbon.Unwantedness had a ribbon, too,threaded through the ribs,tightened by handsthat may not even rememberwhat they did.<
The Man Behind The Curtain (opens the original)
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The Man Behind the CurtainThere are always so many mysteries in life,and often they are hiddeninside the things we are toldare plain.The doctrines of life,the settled sayings,the rules that sit upright in their chairsas though they were born before time,are not to be questioned.And if you ask why,if your voice riseseven slightly above obedience,you feel the stareof everyone in the room.There is a hidden objectivity,or so they say,a cold and polished certaintykept behind glass,where no one is all
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