Moon shadows
danced
a partnerless
waltz
As the sun
lay asleep
in its
cave
Sashaying
in place
to flirt
in the night
Spinning
and twirling
alone
on parade
To dance
until morning
when light
will emerge
And usher
them
into
the past
Where time
beats a
cadence
its metronome wound
With only
the
music
— to last
(Dreamsleep: October, 2026)
Giving time
a voice
The moment
set free
Giving time
a voice
A fait
accompli
Giving time
a voice
The past
greets today
Giving time
a voice
Tomorrow
— in play
(The New Room: September, 2026)
Movies
were the dream
merchants
of America
As people
flocked daily
to their local
big screen
Envisioning
life
in those celluloid
images
Seeing
themselves
come alive
— and redeemed
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
A fetching title
can save a poem
Like a fiery maestro
can free a song
Its marching orders
endorse each line
And beat a cadence
that words define
To set the page
and clear the way
It stakes a claim
to all you say
While some may tout
“It’s Just A Name”
The Sage reminds us
— its crown reclaims
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
The human voice
is different
from every other sound
Imploring nature
and its Lord
to which our souls are bound
Each word expressed
to stand alone
alive inside the din
To free what noise
would only hide
— in echoes whispered thin
To be judged
not as good
as his parents
To be known
for the things
he was not
His legacy
paled
in the afternoon light
With a name
that misfortune
— had wrought
(The New Room: September, 2026)
The power of poetry
the world is our Muse
No part unimportant
no win and no lose
Alive and unending
she waits to be born
Inside what we’ve written
with joy — and forlorn
From Everest to Mariannas
her messages lie
Above and below us
to welcome inside
Reborn with each musing
her power to save
inside every passage
— from birth to the grave
(The New Room: September, 2026)
Our truth
a painful fusion
Without it
but illusion
Tatanka
flees the mighty grass
Our future
— in the past
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: September, 2026)
I never thought
I would get this old
I never thought
I would feel this cold
I never thought
that my sight would fail
I never thought
I would lose the trail
I never thought
that my friends would die
I never thought
that the truth could lie
I never thought
that the time would come
I never thought
— that my race had run
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
Emily was born
inside of a poem
Without the belabor
of words in her knowing
Ending each lyric
before it began
No start and no finish
— in place where she ran
(Amherst Massachusetts: September, 2026)
