To write poetry on the battlefield

is to write poetry from the heart

Words to cover the scars and wounds

grief peeling back like bark

Each verse fired like a rifle

with bayonet attached

Its volley sharpened and to the point

   the blood spilled—turning black

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

The ribbon is cut
The die is cast
The cement is dry
Yet nothing lasts
The brazen rewarded
The hero a fool
All reason outdated
New fury the tool

A journey presented
Your ship to go far
With doldrums eclipsed
By the light of new stars
The lands will seem foreign
The people most strange
But they’ll smile as you pass
And call you by name
You run and you run
And you run from it all
With no map to guide you
The albatross calls
And then sweet intention
Returns from respite
Rephrasing the unmentioned
Where maybe you might
In fear of the tonic
All healing disdained
Right, left-side disjointed
The cork from the drain
The covers pull back
Your bones are now bare
The tiller is slack
And there’s nobody there
So you take to the helm
Hands firmly in place
And you care not a whit
If it’s all empty space
As a raven is perched
On the yardarm so high
A land bird that lurches
Cawing all truth a lie
And you wonder then maybe
Have you wandered too far
As you ladle the future
From a long empty jar
The wind starts to move
A gift from the moon
What’s whole has been halved
And the sun almost noon
The rigging is creaking
The mast ever tall
The wind has died down
With no new ports of call
The feeling still burns
In the fire within
To find that one thing
That unfound—to you sings
The ocean is flat
The seas become calm
The seasons repeat
From reflection embalmed
The night sky is clearest
The darkest the days
The winds have escaped you
Adrift you now stay
But then just a wisp
Of a breeze on your cheek
Portends of a magic
And the vision you seek
It strengthens and gushes
Throughout all the night
As the red sky last evening
Had hinted it might
As the headsails go up
The big linen comes down
And you climb up the mast
Stepping over a frown
The creak of the lapstrake
Splashes over the bow
The present’s in sight
Incarnate right now
You look down on a lifetime
In this moment of joy
As the smell of the brine
Covers anything coy
And an Island approaches
From the mist up ahead
As the stillness reproaches
And retreats to its bed
The wonder returns
All speculation begins
Of the magic you’ll find
In this newness again
At the top of a mountain
Strange trees then appear
In a shape that’s uncertain
Neither familiar nor clear
The closer you get
The more they seem to move
As their shapes become giant
And your hopes then behoove
Now anchored offshore
With the dinghy in place
You can see them more clearly
Each shape and each face
Like monolithic Gods
They reign high on the hill
Looking down on who enter
With a warning that’s shrill
But where are the people
The Island is bare
Just giant stone carvings
That linger and stare
As you land on the beach
The ground starts to shake
And from deep in your heart
The primordial aches
The mountain then trembles
All paths become closed
With the thunder a warning
Any trespasser knows
As you run to the dinghy
Its been stolen and gone
And your ship is now missing
In its place just a song
Calling out in those words
That you already know….

“A price not paid dearly
     is only for show”

You turn back to the mountain
And in an explosion of light
You’re lifted up to the heavens
Spun around in a fright
Then shooting straight downward
Toward the mountain below
With force you are planted
Along monument row
And now that you’ve joined them
All questions abide
The distance and separation
In heaven collide….

“Can I leave, am I destined
   to be left here entombed ?”

And in language you recognize
You hear back so soon
From those pillars immortal
Voices start to be heard
Your welcome now total
Reborn in their words

“You can leave if you want to
  the choice is now yours
  but this mountain goes
  with you
  all places defer
  you’ve reached
  through the mystery
  you’ve passed your own test
  the tonic’s within you
   —the raven has fled”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2013)

Knowledge first gained
  —the burden of youth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2013)

A Big Wave Poem
—it breaks off the page

And swells in your memory,
  now hollow with rage

Its blank pages churning
  new sounds fill the air

Deep ink you are coursing
  as breathless you dare

Its words a tsunami
  they tumble and maul

Crushing all but the fearless
  watching consonants fall

Tightly closed up inside
  you compress for the light

And hope at the end
  you are saved in the fight

When giant verse calls
  hope and fear you befriend

Your line now committed
  —a write to the end

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)

Dancing to the music
  inside a mountain garage
   —Laura became my partner

Lost within her melody
  found within her words
   —never to be alone again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2014)

Convincing myself of my own importance
  —I became an audience of one

(Bryn Mawr College: Pennsylvania: January, 2014)

Coming from nowhere
Going the same
The tracks in front
Pointing to
Tracks behind
The wind on the lake
Reminding
That I am still a guest
The snow on the ice
An invitation
Begging acceptance
New Hampshire Winters
Are white
In my memory
And frozen in their
Clarity
Even whiter
Dawns
Out of the stillness
A Moose crashes
Through the snow
Never acknowledging
My presence
His majesty
Confirming everything
That unfound I’ve lost
His spirit cries out
And with quiet respect
I follow him across
The frozen lake
Leaving tracks of memory
One final time
—never to be seen again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

Our memory—the enemy
Remembering back
To when we were stronger
To when we attacked
But now in our weakness
Remembering when
Our tide was still rising
Our will stronger then

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

To share in Creation
—is to become Divine

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

While looking for a bridge
  to cross over tonight

Connecting time honored values
  to internet blight

I thought and I pondered,
  as I surfed on the net

But the things that it offers
  are sadly abject

Where is the laughter
  the thrill of the chase

Through forest and meadow
  with all of your mates

Gone is the connection
  looking eye into eye

Replaced now with distance
  and its virtual lie

The children are programmed
  their bits and their bytes

With screens the new playgrounds
  their couches—their life

Where all of this leads,
  I’m fearful to know

As I look for that bridge
  where our youth can still go

To return from the chaos
  to a welcoming time

Where friendships were made
  in a tree you just climbed

But the harder I search
  the dimmer it gets

Quicksand reinvented
  their souls it collects

Though cards stack against me,
  I remain on my quest

The young are still worth it
 —and hope never rests

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)