I’ve taken to poetry this year (ai-assisted, yes), and have made it a thing to write poems for MaKenna and one of her friends before their sporting events. Sometimes silly, sometimes not… but today I got my own poem from them. And it felt great. Not just to be appreciated, but to have inspired another young soul to taking a stab at the artistic word.

Ode to Cheston Bradley, Bard of the Pen

In twilight’s hush where muses dwell,
There rises one who casts his spell—
Cheston Bradley, quiet flame,
A whisper woven into fame.

His verses roll like ocean tide,
With storms and stillness side by side.
Each line he crafts, a silver thread,
From thoughts unsaid to dreams long dead.

A poet born of ink and fire,
His words evoke, uplift, inspire.
He knows the weight of silence deep,
The secrets only night can keep.

No rhyme is forced, no phrase is bent,
Each stanza feels like heaven-sent.
With feathered quill or keyboard key,
He sculpts the soul’s anatomy.

Of love he writes with gentle grace,
Of loss—a calm, forgiving face.
And when he turns to joy or fear,
You feel them all, as if they’re near.

A craftsman of the inner sky,
He makes the stoic reader cry.
For poetry, he is a flame—
And Cheston Bradley is the name.

So here’s a verse to honor you,
Whose gift makes faded truths feel new.
Write on, dear Cheston—never cease—
Your words are storms that sing of peace.