Category Archives: College memories


Stranger outcomes happen,

When opportunity’s tapping,

Wanting in

And you begin

Writing ideas you’re trapping!

He’s written ’bout Christ and trains–

Weather seems worth one’s pains….

Fashion poems are new

As something to do,

And the challenge takes working brains!

I’d say it is channeling energy,

Most of which has left me….

Shapes and sizes

And stylish surmises,

Still need a bard’s entrée.

“An eye for the women.” one said,

Focusing on their clothes instead..

“Clothes make the man”

And women, and can

Leave little more to be said!

YET–a poet describes,

Details that emanate vibes…

Along a track

That likes feedback,

Both positive and wise!

–Jonathan Caswell





He calls himself “fashion poet”,

One or two others know it…

In pursuits

Avoiding lawsuits,

He certainly doesn’t want to blow it!

Him being man and all,

Must carefully judge his call…

With less passion

Than stereotypical fashion,

Not being the Beast at the ball.

Gender matters to him,

Especially if women…

They’re the kind

He most has in mind,

Do they mind if he tiptoes in?

–Jonathan Caswell


People we miss and love,

Missing or taken above…

Oh how we miss

Their joy or hiss,

Their gentle comments or rough!

Among them is Esther Ling,

She was in the lesbian thing…

Opposite were we

But she was a Mommy,

Ran to her when figuratively I needed mothering!

Numerous friends I had in school,

Have slipped or drove away (I’m the fool)…

Some I drove away

Or ignored to this day,

Elementary through college kept only two

Bloggers–many follow some not–

Never sure of how many give you thought…

Over a thousand mine

To whom I give little time,

Just a handful  of their blogs I’ve sought!

Surrounded by my family we are,

Been slow to contact any (my par)…

Younger ones I don’t know

As familiar ones go,

What can I do, having delayed thus far?

Does any of this make sense,

Is loss of your friends as immense…

I’m sure it is–

Friends we miss,

We remember  our friends in the past tense!

–Jonathan Caswell


When J. J. NISSEN folded,

My image of a bakery molded…

Its replacement too big

So I had to dig,

To see what research “beholded”.

My past is in two places–

It one ever traces–

The lines of “me”


For personal data chases!

Massachusetts, New York State,

My two major windows of fate…

Born here

But raised over there,

Memories in both are great.

One of my faves was Monks Bread,

A Trappist Monastery did…

And still does

The bread funds their cause,

Producing jams, jellies, plus all kinds of bread!

A model flat against the wall,

Leaves hardly space at all…

Have to use what I have

Of plastic walls saved,

Modeling a bakery et. al.

So I thought of TRAPPIST FOODS,

A catch-all title to use…

Producing bread

And conserves, I said,

Switching different train cars is a ball!

Specifically, flour and fruit,

Corn syrup and sugar to boot…

Isn’t enough?

They brand other stuff,

The question of a brewery—moot.

MONKS BREAD  from Western New York,

From that Trappist Abbey of course…

A college friend

Heading toward that end,

Found a wife and went in another!

–Jonathan Caswell


Consumers of caffeine strong,

Sometimes get it wrong…

Imbibe too late

Face the “all-nighter” fate,

Complete with great big yawn!




He’ll neer say directly

But he dreams of you…

Very introspective,

He dreams of you in blue!

Green velvet brings out your eyes,

Pencil skirts would be great….

If help is needed to find a size

He’d gladly participate.

Day dreams go only so far

Exciting although they be…

You are the height of his daydreams

Even if you he’ll never see!

–Jonathan Caswell



A Ford Focus to rent,

It’s timing was heaven-sent…

Had to park,

Find things in the dark,

Like where was the headlight locus?

Confirmed things in daytime,

Some lights had no reason or rhyme…

Dome reading lamps

Gave me cramps,

Keeping them on was a crime!

Took the car back thee next day—

Maybe the dealer knew the way..

.It was connected

To the dash light switch detected,

The dealer knew what buttons to play.

–Jonathan Caswell



A Lehigh Valley RS-3
Arrived in the mail…
N scale and weathered,
It brought back a memory trail.

Of my college days
And of a certain friend…
Stubborn branchline trains
That were run until the end.

David Fairbanks was
The church organist I knew….
Introduced by the Youth Pastor
We found the other liked trains, too!

The Delaware, Lackawanna and Western
Was Dvid’s forte’…
Plus the Lehigh Valley
Ran through Cortland (NY), by the way.

David, old as my Dad, or more
Was into D,L & W steam…
Which he photographed fron youth’
For me a pleasant dream.

He took pictures of “those diesels”
But a foamer he’d always be…
Which was perhaps an acquired taste
For such as young as me!

Still he shared his bounty
With a young diesel man like me…
Copies of his pictures
And of others he’d give gladly

He had an “O-27” layout
In his basement down the stairs…
After admiring and running it
We came up to sample fresh eclairs.

He was a tidy man who never married,
Taught piano on the side for change…
If he had a lesson scheduled
My visiting time rearranged.

Last time I was up his way
David Fairbanks was gone…
But thanks to a local society
His history will live on.

He’ll be playing the organ for his Lord
For perpetuity…
And I suspect when I get there
He’ll remember me.

–Jonathan Caswell