The changing face of a poem.

​“A decade can quietly reshape the syntax of our lives. Recently, I looked back at a poem I wrote in 2016 and felt the urge to revisit it—not just to polish the words, but to see how ten years of living might soften the edges. Here is where I began.”

​2016: The Blueprint

Ode to my life.

​I cope with my  life in my own tried and tested ways

Spreading out my love and keeping fears at bay.

I know that I have a boundless store of love to give

So no need to horde it, I can let it live.

I am less certain about receiving love

Or sharing other parts of me – some of me is bluff.

My dreams are horded close and rarely shared

 Illusions, I try to spot then change or kill

But some exist against my will.

My tolerance is kept in a box

I try my best to keep it unlocked.

Diplomacy is sometimes in short supply

My bag of diplomacy often seems to run dry.

Irreverence and humour come from a well

I drink from it regularly I am under its spell.

My inhibitions pop into my mind

Stay with me during the daily grind.

I cope with my life in tried and tested ways

Trying to change some of my excessive forays.

During it all I remain unique

The pluses and minuses of this priceless antique

Trying to live, love and be fulfilled.

Learning from life I am maybe becoming more skilled!

2026 The expansion

​“Ten years later, the rhythm changes. The boxes open. Leaning into the natural music of the words—the euphonics—this is where that same life stands today.”

Ode to My Present Self (Euphonic Version)

I carry my life in ways long learned

slow, steady rhythms shaped by years,

soft habits stitched through quiet mornings.

I let my love spill lightly now,

no longer locked or kept in corners.

It breathes, it blooms,

it moves where it is needed.

Receiving love still stirs a tremor

I open, then pause,

my breath held in the half‑lit space.

Some parts of me bluff their bravery,

but I cradle them gently,

letting their small truths rise.

My dreams stay near,

not hoarded tight,

but humming low like lanterns

waiting for the right wind.

Illusions flicker

I catch them quicker,

their thin light fading

as I name them.

My tolerance rests in its familiar box;

the latch lifts easier now,

though it clicks on colder days.

Diplomacy deepens in me

the dry bag fills again

with quiet, calm,

and the long breath of restraint.

Irreverence and humour

still well up warm

I drink from that deep spring,

its ripple keeping me light

when the world grows heavy.

My old inhibitions drift in and out,

no longer clinging

to the grind of daily hours.

They come, they nod,

they loosen,

and I let them go.

I live my life in ways reshaped

ways refined,

ways released,

ways reclaimed.

I change what strains me,

and forgive what stays.Through it all,

I remain wholly myself —

the bright and the broken,

the polish and the crack,

the living antique

still learning,

still loving,

still becoming,

still skilled

in the slow art of being human.

Over to You

Have you a poem from yesteryear that could be repurposed and given a new slant? Care to share in the comments?