All Heaven In Sight

As a writer,

I create my own freedom

 

And as a writer,

I invent my own friends

 

As a writer,

I espouse my own truth

 

And as a writer,

my will never bends

 

As a writer,

I travel the world

 

And as a writer,

that journey’s within

 

As a writer,

I dive for more pearls

 

And as a writer,

each moment begins

 

As a writer,

the moon rises at dawn

 

And as a writer,

the sun burns through the night

 

As a writer,

my words play immortal

 

And as a writer

—all heaven in sight

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Not A Child In Sight

A stitch past nine on borrowed time,

 memories come rushing back

 

The Wolf is feasting in Grandma’s bed,

Red Riding Hood a snack

 

A Cow gets ready to jump again,

but the moon drops from the sky

 

Humpty Dumpty a mess on the floor,

Tweedle-dum starts to cry

 

The candle burns for Jack’s last jump,

a quickening funeral pyre

 

The stepmother screams, Cinderella hides,

her daughter’s dress on fire

 

Little Jack Horner abandons his corner,

curds harden and whey runs aground

 

As Mother Goose watches the Grimm Brothers die

—not a child in sight to be found

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Disowned

Like leaves in the wind,

words scatter about

 

From the woods and high grass,

they call and they shout

 

“Come find us, come free us,

we’re out here alone

 

“The Muse has deserted

—and left us disowned”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)