I've been writing poetry for over forty years. Sometimes it flows out of me like air other times like ice. I used to think of myself as a "word Weaver" I find writing poetry as the weaving of words to make a tapestry of colorful prose. Writing poetry runs in our family. It seems there are a number of Snyders that have been great writers and poets. One of them was my Dad. I was born and raised in San Francisco, and was interested in art at an early age. I was especially interested and turned on by the bohemians, beatniks then later by the hippies that made San Francisco their Mecca. Today I still question authority, particularly about "Big Brother".
One of my poems, "Oscar" was about a cat who adopted me in 1995, at he age of five, to care for him. Sadly, he is no longed on this physical rhelm, but on a higher, more defined rhelm elsewhere. I miss his signs of affection and his tender companionship.
Last year I gave up being a life long bachelor. The woman of my dreams came into my life and we share a remarkable love of the mountains and the outdoors. She has brightened my smile and dazzles my heart. My last poem, "Joey", was written for one of her cousins who "passed on" two years ago. He too loved the mountains and he fly fished for trout. I wrote the poem as a tribute to him a couple of days after he passed. My wife and I had visited him a week before, and when he and I talked of the places he once traveled to, I could see the love he had for these places sparkle within his eyes. I could also see something he could not express, which was, he knew he would never again see or feel these places again . So in that brief time we spent talking about our love for the same things I gazed into his eyes and saw him travel the thousands of miles to these places for the last time. It is my belief that Joey is there now expierencing the thrills once more. I think we all know that this is not the "last ride" or last "E-ticket ride" there are more interesting rides to come.