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”

And 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)

Deeply hidden within thoughts
that linger

A centuries old message
to know and then feel

Remembrance crying out
from the darkness approaching

In a voice so familiar—our fortune
to steal

It calls to us silent
as it waits for an answer

It calls to us closer
as all distance revokes

It calls from within us
in a voice our breath fosters

It calls us beyond all past
anguish and hope

The air now grows heavy
with a mist that induces

Words mate in the fog
as the letters reverse

The ending comes first
as the beginning still chases

Sleep only forgiven
as new memories rehearse

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

The sentence was death, terminally sure,

to pack my bags, adieu

As reds have never looked so red,

and greens, the greenest hue

The wine the sweetest on my tongue,

as birds sing sweeter still

The children’s laughter I embrace,

their joy I’ll keep until…

In thinking back on what I’ve missed,

my mind then draws a blank

Every wish and every hope, twice over,

with my thanks

A hundred days to say goodbye,

and voice my first hello

No tears have I for broken dreams

—as I prepare to go

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: April, 2020)

Return to the sky,

our moon, Bakunawa

Masked Haliya has been called,

the tree circled again

Balyana is dancing,

the heaven’s in darkness

By the goddess of moonlight

—you’re condemned to the sea

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2020)

Social Distancing not so strange,

I’ve been doing it for years

The world a feelings length away,

old lovers left in tears

I shared what I shared early,

with my short pants not yet off

Trusting in my family first,

I learned—but Oh the cost

For fifty years I’ve cloistered,

my psyche left to roam

Acquaintances to come and go,

true feelings mine to own

As harbormaster of this port,

one ship is anchored deep

To sail the inmost seven seas

alone—myself to keep

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2020)

Fighting against you, attacking with words,

hatred my weapon inscribed

Fountains of blood each chapter exudes,

keeping you distant—forever alive

(Penn Medicine Radnor: April, 2020)

Her hair blown free,

with eyes ablaze

She walked toward me,

through morning haze

Her steps unmeasured,

her cutoffs tight

Eyes palest blue,

the lightest light

Would I speak first,

would she respond

In ten more seconds,

her image gone

Our shoulders brush,

she passes by

My arm goes numb,

my heart on fire

I had no choice,

I’d lost control

My breathing stopped,

I’d play the fool

And looking back,

all fear defied

An all-star waited

—her ‘Chucks’ untied

(State College Pennsylvania: June, 1969)

Why try to write like somebody else,

by others passion driven

A watered down copy, trespassing free,

to alien words you’re smitten

A copycat artist who mimics the sounds,

your voice a toast unbidden

While somebody’s pain and somebody’s joy

—the stolen horse you’ve ridden

(Rosemont Pennsylvania: April, 2020)

I would look through the window at feeble old men

and secretly smirk

and secretly pity

Now the widow looks back and its message is clear

that old man is you

and the picture’s not pretty

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2020)

Run away from the what, 

let the how lead the way

Keep the questions before you

and the answers at bay

Deem your motion perpetual

with all stops left behind

As those presents unwrapped

open up in your mind

May the wind rise to greet you

and your sun never set

On those places now virgin

and a lover unmet

May the wisdom of sages

be your rallying cry

As you course through the ages

—ever wondering why

(Train-New Haven: March, 2015)