Though happy when wealthy
I’m happy when poor
my happiness fluid
and flows from the core
The riches inside me
their bounty implied
with love as the constant
rejection denied
All queens in their castles
each king on his throne
their gentry in waiting
court jesters bemoan
True joy in the notion
not fashioned by whim
That our souls were imbued
—and sainted within
(The First Book Of Prayers: December, 2021)
Poets believe
they were born out of time,
each era too early, too late,
out of rhyme
Creations main doctrine
for those so inclined
connects what’s unspoken
—to a far greater mind
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
I walked the same path I had always walked,
but the flowers and the bushes were changed
The birds had stopped singing, the woods became dark,
and my memory a tiger untamed
I came to that spot where tomorrow began,
but the gates to its entry were closed
The path veering inward where remembrance escaped
—to wander both free and alone
(St. David’s Pennsylvania: December, 2021)
The artist may tarnish,
but his art remains clean
His intention stays ageless,
his wishes pristine
Though rust covers over
what’s harder to see
The base is still there
—and the spirit still free
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
We turn a deaf ear
as they live with the pain
of those who we cancel
with biting disdain
Unable to rise
above selfish intent
with opioid bias
our progeny bent
Pontification
colors the flow
young ears once thought distant
to reap what we sow
The world as we leave it
our tracks in the sand
forever to haunt us
—as children disband
(Radnor Pennsylvania: December, 2021)
The Agent Intellect…
God speaking loud
Aquinas his servant,
empirically proud
Action is needed,
the soul lies in wait
The body left wanting
—new pearls for the gate
(Villanova University: December, 2021)
I rest in the memory
of things that I’ve loved
where time is not finite
below or above
These pockets of joy
hold the key to my fate
as the dreams of my father
in slumber gestate
To live past tomorrow
diving deep in the past
with time still a virgin
the moment to last
And rise resurrected
each day with the sun
knowing fortune awaits me
—when sleep again comes
(Rosemont Pennsylvania: December, 2021)
If the message complex,
the delivery simple
The meaning the magic,
the words zero-sum
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
This word or that word,
the length of the line
The meter, the rhythm,
to rhyme or not rhyme
Each voice comes unsettled,
new phrases diverse
Is it this way or that way
—when penning the verse
(The New Room: December, 2021)
The bark of my knowing
is rotting away
With grain left exposing
what memory betrays
Those things I pushed outward
root deeply within
As the oldest of wood
—makes the best violin
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
An Anthology Of Perception 