My Faith Will Move On

My cupboards a mess,

  my sink filled with lye

 

My stables now empty,

  my well has gone dry

 

My pastures left fallow,

  my timber all burned

 

My streams have been fished out,

  and what have I learned

 

The cupboard can be restocked,

  the sink can be cleaned

 

A new well can be dug,

  a new colt can be weaned

 

As the dams are reopened,

  new roe will then spawn

 

These troubles will pass

  —and my faith will move on

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

     ‘From The Book Of Prayers’

My Spirit Enthroned

Surrendering very little back to life,

 the time became solely my own

 

Which I spent on myself and the ones I loved,

 protecting what inside was my home

 

The years raced along with my memory endowed,

 regrets being seldom and few

 

Each choice that I made—every promise I kept,

  my spirit enthroned sovereign and new

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

 

New Forests Call

My leaves fall distant from her tree

 and flee along the ground

 

Stripping bare a summer tryst

 old promises unbound

 

Set to ride the Autumn wind

 like all those times before

 

New forests call, as Spring awaits

 —my love to loan once more

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

 

 

 

Beyond

 I purposely avoid

   all words to impress

 

No ‘genre’ or ‘penchant’

  ‘couture’ or ‘egress’

 

The meaning embodies

  what each letter foretells

 

To be spoken forever

 —beyond heaven or hell

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

 

 

 

A New Path

What will be your legacy,

 can it forever speak the truth

 

Do the words describe your finest hours,

 were your labors nobly used

 

Will your memory linger and grow in strength

 as it prepossesses time

 

Can it wrap its love around borders quelled

   —a new path for all to find

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

A Robin Will Sing

Those at my behest…

 know that limits persuade

 and words orphaned alone

 into emptiness hide

  with the snow passing on

 a new robin will sing

  each breath left forgotten

 until spoken aloud

 as memories fall from grace

   —in the silence unnamed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

 

Death Wades

Our lives were of this moment…

 the wave made sure of that

 

Winter nineteen sixty-nine

 Waimea’s fury spat

 

Thirty feet and building

 the giants all had come

 

Their lips four stories high above

 too late to cut and run

 

The paddle out a nightmare

 the ride a waiting terror

 

The drop in looming zero-sum

 the wall the devils mirror

 

We made it down and set our fins

 to climb the face again

 

Our ears were deaf, eyes frozen wide

 once more to climb the mountain 

 

On top we leaned and split the crest

 last turn to surf the violence

 

The beach in sight, through foams delight

  —death wading through the silence

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

           ‘Memories Of Waimea’