Backround information,

footnotes of the weak

Substantiating all excuse,

data incomplete

Reasoned explanation,

wishful thinking’s tool

For dilettante’s to build a stage

—to dance and play the fool

(New Hope Pennsylvania: September, 2020)

Delivering what we said we wanted,

wrapped in dirt and mud

The politician slashed and burned,

and each time drawing blood

He tapped into our memory,

with fear and recompense

Reminding what the past was like,

with promises incensed

He sang old songs, romanced the strong,

the weak then cast away

The jungle’s laws put back in place

—our hopes and wishes preyed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2020)

I was twenty,
you were nineteen,
that day along the mall

When I heard a guitar
from deep inside,
that round auditorium hall

Up on stage with legends,
Son House, Muddy,
Johnny Winter too

A red haired, freckle faced,
blue eyed girl
commenced to sing the blues

You started with an apology,
saying you were outclassed
and over matched

But once that voice
left your heart and flew
….in nothing did you lack

I followed you out
that afternoon,
in the late State College Fall

And after fifty years of looking back,
every moment
I recall

I walked you to the bus
as you said:
“We’re in Harrisburg tonight

“Why don’t you come,
it might be fun,
from there I catch a flight”

The bus was full,
my eyes looked south
as I hitchhiked down #322

Fate unexplained,
life forever changed 
-that special gift from you

(Villanova Pennsylvania: Looking Back- March, 2018)

Lobbying through Hell,

the politician remanded

To the Devil he stated:

“Your program’s too thin

“You need to refigure

and turn up the heat

“His word’s getting through,

and the Angels all sing”

“It’s not about numbers,

Lucifer cried from the furnace

“It’s not about losses,

but what’s mine to gain

“If only one soul’s

to be trapped here forever

“Your indenture my focus

—let the suffering begin”

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)

I sleep with Saint Anselm,

but wake with Aquinas

My dreams to envision

what the morning will say

Creativity’s twins,

imagined then stated

Epiphany’s birth

—morphing night into day

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)

Should I share my truth with you,

or take it to the grave

And bury what my life has been…

the fearful and the brave

Should I share a final word,

before my name is called

To pour your cup into that stream

—that runs beyond the falls

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)

Do we worship a concept

we cannot define

Do we dig for a treasure

that we’ll never find

Is the belief that it’s there,

enough to forge on

In perpetual failure,

no words to our song

Do we feel we’re the closest

when the bottom falls out

To be left further back,

and then bandied about

Does it even exist,

is it worth all the pain

The searching and fighting,

and what’s there to gain

Enduring the hardship

its pilgrimage holds

Because life without truth,

all body—no soul

To die unenlightened

and scarred from the search

Still a legacy worthy

—in veracity’s church

(Augustinian Cemetery: September, 2020)

Prophesy,

that sphere beyond reason

Belief as its bridgework

—faith as its troll

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)

Time an illusion,

to make sense of reality

Reality an illusion,

to order and place

Order an illusion,

to all that’s a given

What’s given Divine

—indefinable Grace

(Villanova Chapel: September, 2020)

‘A Tribute To Augustine’s 3 Tenses Of Time,

Present Past—Present Present—Present Future’

The suddenness of desertion,

the emptiness of time

Abandoning each moment,

as clocks strike their chime

And wherego the hours,

once used and cast off

Are there auctions and markets

for each second that’s lost

And who’s to recount

the old wishes unprayed

With days ever changing,

and voices relayed

The end a beginning,

the beginning an end

To drift in its circle

—time never respent

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)