Self-Owned

Remember
the day
you became entitled
to yourself

No debts to pay
no last charade
the circle closed
— indwelt

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)


Reflection

Do we just recall
a memory
Or its cause
and its effect

Is consciousness
a chain of links
To front load
— or dissect

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)


Beatitude

The deeper you question
the more you constrain
God’s true existence
to never explain

Loosen your grip
on what holds you back
Surrender to glory
— Divinity’s tack

(1st Book of Prayers: May, 2025)


The Only Thing

Winning is always
undefeated
Score
to tell the tale

The victory plum
is zero sum
With glory
— to regale

(The New Room: May, 2025)


All Is Now

Unplugging tomorrow
recharging today
Conscripting the moment
— inside which we pray

(1st Book of Prayers: May, 2025)

Forbidden Ground

Wandering
beyond the limitation
of death
Trespassing
through the back gate
of forever
Maundering
alone in a ******
wilderness
Witnessing
the future destruction
—  of time

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)



Bookends

Enough to be absent
he fumbled the words  
His mind ever vacant
new truancies heard

Those spaces beyond him
those spaces behind
Bookends of fruition
— unspoken defined

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)



Sognefjord Waiting

A mile
past tomorrow
a glacier
lies at rest
New memories stored
within its fjord
awaiting
— our behest

(The New Room: May, 2025)

Religion ...
*****
of the poor
And roadmap
of the forever
— lost

(1st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)

Some go
through life
in a sophomoric
zone

Knowing about
strangers
while being
alone

To ever
quote names
or that face
in the crowd

Aggrandizing
self
as their folly
— astounds

(Reading Market Philadelphia: May, 2025)

A Poet dies
and
the world lives
to mourn
Rereading his
words
a new spirit
is born

In paradigms
searching
for hope and
reprieve
His memory
calls out
to those
— who believe

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Wrap your poem
around nothing
its bow mocked
in relief
Each word
but a gesture
of empty
deceit

Wrap your verse
in a vacuum
where all speech
is abhorred
The power
of emptiness
alone
— and unscored

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Days beyond memory
born in perfection
Light unrefracted
teasing the sun

Time without numbers
thought unencumbered
Lost in beginnings
— never to end

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Immortality
a panacea
if not for the cost
— mortality

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

I heard
death call
before seeing
its face
Far in
the distance
it sent
its embrace

Each sound
an omen
betrothed
deep inside
Announcing
the groom
awaiting
— the bride

(The New Room: May, 2025)

YEARS
into months
MONTHS
into weeks
WEEKS
into days
DAYS
into hours
HOURS
into minutes
MINUTES
into seconds
SECONDS
into moments
MOMENTS
— sublime

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

The bow of
God’s wrath
is restrung in
the dark
To target
injustice
and hate
as its mark
Each arrow
His judgment
of life
in the main
And striking
dead center
He frees us
— again

(1st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)

In the end
we die alone

In the end
no blade to hone

In the end
do Angel’s call

In the end
when rhythm stalls

In the end
which deck unstacks

In the end
our health attacked

In the end
we pray for more

In the end
but fate endures

In the end
one final change

In the end
whose face remains

In the end
the bonds break free

In the end
— one last decree

(Radnor Pennsylvania: May, 2025)

Can you hope
to guarantee
the truth
of conclusion

The paradox
of confirmation
the duality
of illusion

Can you swear
on ten bibles
only lying
on nine

With assurances
granted
before losing
— your mind

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Perception
is the potion
where pudding
holds the proof

The details
get bedeviled
Martini’s
all Vermouth

A good girl
or a bad girl
the wind
can blow both ways

Looking right
or looking left
the truth
— not on display

(The New Room: May, 2025)

“Handmaid of Patriarchy”  
the garden rezoned
Embattled virility
misogyny cloned
As Delilah revolts  
a new Samson on scene
One half of the whole
left to drown in the stream
Each genders new quotient
to minus the plus
A He without Her
— the destruction of us

(Saint David’s Pennsylvania: May, 2025)

All the pure thinkers
are slave to the Poet
Their theories self-serving
whose quotients divide

With ‘facts’ that convict them
to prisons constructed
From every transcendence
— their numbers can’t hide

(Saint David’s Pennsylvania: May, 2025)

In their formative
moments
artists live alone
Sharing themselves
only when
the pain has dulled

In corners
of dark musings  
their spirit’s hide
Calling out  
whenever the lights go down
— and the rush is gone

(The New Room: May, 2025)

I had
all the wealth
And I had
all the fame
I had all
the glamour
One life
could contain

I had
all the friends
And I had
all the foes
That now sit
as equals
On the end
of my nose

I had
all these things
But one message
rings true
To have
and to hold
Is but folly
— adieu

(Rhymes From The Nursery: May, 2025)

The older
I get
the simpler
it seems

Each day
growing freer
divorced from
my dreams

Each year
brings the seasons
of Summer
through Spring

And months
in transition
new changes
they bring

The answers
I chased for
those questions
I asked

Rest quietly
dormant
in the future
and past

As time
now a mistress
no longer
a wife

My world’s
come full circle
in this magic
— called life

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

The loss of
each simple
thing
hurting the most
When drama
subsides
and time slows
to its worst
Your shadow
still living
inside of my
pain
To darken each
heartache
again
— and again

(The New Room: May, 2025)

Sebastian
couldn’t live
without saving
the walls
His paint
covering over
dire messages
scrawled

All passersby  
witnessed
each canvas
restored
Reframing
dark alleys
with hope
evermore

Sebastian
a warrior
of brush
and stroke fame
Graffiti
a pockmark
his quest
to disclaim

Alone
in his wander
where shadows
hold court
Each wall of new
slander
his palette
— retorts  

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

What stays
unwritten
silence claims
forever
— to remain unchanged

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Not so much
a lie
with little
truth to tell

Not so much
goodbye
with greetings
gone to hell

Not so much
romance
with feelings
dead or pawned

Not so much
to dream
with sleep
— bereft and gone

(Bryn Mawr College: May, 2025)

When verses
run dry
do you hide
in despair
When the Muse
is on fire
only ashes
you’ll bear
With silence
embedded
on each
empty page
Your fear
is the foundling
that kindles
— the rage

(Ronald McDonald House: May, 2025)

Trimming fat
off his soul
he searched
for the bone

With every
new slicing
his consciousness
honed

All waste in
the fire
to sizzle
and fry

Excesses
like smoke
rise forgotten
— incised

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Tall grass above
a sleeping dream
Hiding what
His promise deems

Embedded deep
within the blades
New whispers seed
as life conclaves

The sun to mirror
God’s new day
Each ray He grants
new hope in play

That rises softly
through night’s travail
An open petal
— as Grace prevails

(1st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)

First
Last
(and)
Always
— say something

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Do you have
enough scars
to help others
heal

Or wounds
that stay open
the past
uncongealed

Did you suffer
in silence
each moment
of pain

Did all hope
leave you orphaned
alone
and profane

Is your counsel
of value
when the weak
come to call

Can you see
through the trauma
and cushion
— their fall

(1st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)

Snippets
of the truth
being a
little bit pregnant

In the
promise
of a dream
eternity sleeps

Freeing
tomorrow
with each moment
recaptured

All time
in an instant
as the music
— begins

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

He died
in a whisper
alone
in its presence

The call of death
weaker
than what he’d
been told

Wading into its
shallows
each step
took him deeper

Reluctance
and acceptance
both swimming
in turn

Each voice
every motion
he passed
toward the bottom

The pressure of
choosing
now
drifting away

In denial
and waiting
the past
floating above him

But the end
of its
shouting
— had finally begun

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Every act
is a link
in tomorrow’s
chain

Connecting
our promise
again
— and again

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

We can’t make
all the bad things
good
Just knowing
all that didn’t
should

We can’t wish
what stays real
away
Or lie
to keep the truth
at bay

Yesterday
today
tomorrow yield
The leavened
‘Word’
forever sealed

Ad infinitum
minus
one
Salvation’s
path
— is zero sum

(Sister Marcella: 8th Grade Religion Class, 1962)

Only a few
make a pact
with the wind

Only a few
know the joy
there within

Free of the shadow
that follows
and stalks

Escaping
tomorrow
in moments recaught

Horizons lie waiting
as pilgrims
embark

Voices like magnets
pull light
from the dark

Only a few
hear the music
on high

Through handlebar
portals
— embraced by the sky

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

A higher
but hidden presence
than God
Surrounds his nature
eternity’s
pod

Existing over
and deep
within
Its seminal essence
forever
begins

Averse to our choosing
and freedom
blind
Professing nothing
but itself
in kind

And blacker
than the
blackest hole
Obverting time
remains
— untold

(Villanova University: May, 2025)

Prate is to
poetry
as death is to
life

Dilletante
graveyards
lie marking
the site

Where words
never weighted
whose wings
couldn’t fly

Unmarked
without headstones
condemned here
— to die

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

A vessel
of transference
my doors
never close
All windows
stay open
where light
can impose
A constant
refilling
with verse
to the brim
Whose message
of hope
forever
— within

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

My ear
to the asphalt
My nose
in the wind

My mind
on tomorrow
Escaping
my sins

The road bends
before me
It twists
and it turns

Where truth
waits forbidden
And love stays
unearned

The voices
grow faint
In this gale
to escape

In front
and behind me
Both early
and late

As the mountain
implores me
Still calling
my name

With fate
at its limit
And death
— here to claim

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Wielded
like a
loaded gun
His phone
was thrusted
forth

Proof
of what
I knew
was false
Refusing
all
discourse

Armed
with but
an empty
tweet
Chosen
by a
bot

His mind
was trapped
inside a myth
Whose fiction
dearly
— bought

(Rosemont College: April, 2025)

Poetic trattoria  
a feast for the eyes
Visionary smorgasbord
of what — and then why

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

You can’t make a deal
with a Judas
As tenured
they govern on high

Like the British
who sought our indenture
With graft and self-interest
they lie

You can’t play the game
any longer
When rules only favor
the few

Where freedom is held
as a hostage
And verity’s fairness
— askew

(The New Room: March, 2025)

We often reach the future
by sailing in the past

Our course in life a distant breeze
— that steps tomorrows mast

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Don’t tell
me
what I
already know

Don’t give
me
what I
already have

Don’t take
me
where I’ve
already been

Don’t play
me
what I’ve
already heard

Dissuading
moments
when left
unbound

Preempt
the silence
a devil’s
sound

But deep
inside
satanic
winds

A Savior
whispers
beyond
— the din

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Why are you
waiting
your house
is burning
Run while
you can
from the blaze
inside

What will
be left
in the morning
after
But naked
ashes
and tears
— uncried

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Shepherds
of echo  
sirens
that call
Masters
of legend
trapped
in the Fall

Moonlight
on ice fields
whispering
still
Voices
stay buried
destiny’s
will

Sunlight
awakens
mountains
that sigh
Hidden on
summits
new answers
there hide

But with
every Spring
a melting
ensues
Flowing
life’s message
recalled
— and renewed

(Memories Of Absaroka: May, 1997)

The eggs had been colored
and scattered about
The baskets were hidden
the children to shout…
“Was he here Mom, was he here”
they yell from upstairs
“Come down and find out”
she says—nary a care
Their little feet rush
taking two steps at once
Wide eyes dart all over
playing their hunch
Living and dining rooms
they tear with a fever
No corner is safe
from the incursion of either
“I found it, I found it"
the bigger one said
The smaller one saddened
their heart filled with dread
“The Bunny forgot
there's no candy this year”
From across the big room
the first start of a tear
“The Bunny never forgets”
their mother cried out
"You have to look harder
both inside and out”
As the front door was opened
the little one chimed ...
“Mom, he didn’t forget
— it was here all the time”

(To My Grandchildren: Easter 2017)

Upon reaching the top
I found a new bottom
Polarity lies
with the truth ill begotten
Direction a ruse
in misguided fruition
As searchers take flight
— in their new destitution

(The New Room: January, 2025)

When I was
a young man
I wrote as
a young man

Needing music
and art
to deal
with the times

But now
as an old man
my heart
chases neither

While dwelling
inside
what this moment
— has found

(The New Room: April, 2025)

You remind me
of a person
I’ve never
met

Of an
idea
that I’ve
never had

Of a
feeling
never mine
to feel

In a
moment
forever
— lost to time

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Bury a prophecy
— resurrection assured

(The New Room: April, 2025)

‘Normalcy’
has its
depression
built in

Mundane
and ill formed
life hiding
from sin

Each day
like the former
unseasoned
and bland

With time
in the freezer
hope frozen
— and canned

(The New Room: April, 2025)