Through all

of his failings

and all

of his faults

His memory

redemptive

his conscience

set free

Through all

of the battles

and all

of the scars

His soul

still a virgin

his heart

— is pristine

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

That vacuum

inside you

once in it

you’re trapped

Insular

nothingness

too late

to look back

What’s empty

imprisons

no reference

in space

Where freedom

and choice

become duly

— erased

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

Music first played

on the heartstrings

of God

Whose chorus

of Angels

 carries beyond

A melody sacred

each note

comes from He

Whose flute calls

us closer

Whose harp

— sets us free

(1^st Book Of Prayers: July, 2025)

Two halves

 from the middle

each end joins the past

Memory’s essence

the moment recast

Each second

or hour

lost victims of fate

 Time off the table

— not early or late

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

I was a

poet

you

were a sailor

Waves

came in couplets

words

in the brine

I was

reborn

with the ocean

in rhythm

Released

in its wonder

forever

— in rhyme

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

Downwind

of my perception

Upwind

before the fall

Immune

in my protection

From dullards

at the mall

The past

remains in focus

The future

but a myth

My words

fall out of judgment

Each phrasing

to enrich

To read

with understanding

To hear

beyond the din

To feel

beyond the senses

To love

beyond the rim

Released

without containment

On wings

not leased or loaned

Into

the inner sanctums

With time

— Goliath’s stone

(The New Room: June, 2025)

The only child

but favorite

of two ‘outlaws’

mare and stud

He bucked each

gelded moment

on their wild ride

of love

Until that day

he up and left

their branding iron

of pain

To wander high

and lonesome

mongst the free 

and tumbling sage

In search of one

last bronc to mount

that one last

horn to make

And spur the wreckage

of his youth

as Angels

— pull the Gate

(Pendleton Round-Up: June, 1993

Elko Nevada: Cowboy Poetry Reading: January, 1994)

 “No Man Is An Island”

but that was before smart phones

To text and to tweet

technology’s drones

With ear buds in place

these Stepford’s march on

Virtually connecting

— to what’s already gone

(University of Pennsylvania: June, 2025)

Built on envy

and city lights

The vagrant actor

alone at night

In hidden alleys

with tinsel thorns

On celluloid

new lies are born

A big screen promise

of broken dreams

The waitress car hop

on Wilshire scheme

Drugged on stardom

with toxic friends

What footlight’s start

— the darkness ends

(The New Room: June, 2025)

The staff of my Father enjoining the past

futurity’s herding a bleating morass

The bloodline of orphans forever is linked

tattooing the flock with invisible ink

The first time the last time when nearing the end

tomorrow’s ungifted excuses portend

And times better nature is better untimed

 beginning and ending forever conjoined

Eternity’s fenceposts hem in with disdain

all future inclemency fire and rain

But just as that last final sheep stays unsold

— my Father returns to re-shepherd the fold

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)