The vineyard has ripened
new words on the vine
The meanings have deepened
new blessings Divine
The verses fermented,
I drink unto thee
Consecration so sacred
the blood pouring free
The vineyard has ripened
fresh words on the vine
With faith still unshaken
—my thoughts and prayers, Thine
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
An abundance of denial,
your mind turns away
What spirit embraces,
choice hides and delays
“The dignity of the old man
in worn tattered clothes
Frayed pants covering high
button shoes, but not toes
“He wanders among us
just over the line
As eyes fail to see
what souls hope to find”
An elegance to rival
your white tie and tails
Where life now stripped free
of false richness—prevails
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Nocturnal flower
In need of sleep
Your petals wilt
The count for sheep
New dawn unpromised
The die is cast
A croupier blocking
Sun’s setting mask
Through endless courtship
Dreams on the run
A jester whispers
Till sleep has come
The meadow sparse
Its reaper gone
New light unspoken
—your buds in song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
If you think it’s just one thing
while believing it’s not
Or you hope it’s another,
then folly’s your lot
If you swear it sits outside,
as you dream from within
All meaning encrypts
—and your eyes close again
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
A chorus of enlightenment….
she’s woken up again
With sheets still warm, my heart she bathes,
ablution wet within
Through steam I see her message clear,
the mirror does confirm
My words now washed, fresh thoughts to dry
—new melody to learn
(Court At KOP: February, 2016)
I always felt
when it was time to die
The Muse would know
before you or I
The hours borrowed,
the moments loaned
Return to feelings
and verse unflown
With eyes never clearer,
or heart so bold
I make my exit
—with words untold
(Schuylkill Expressway: February, 2016)
The Muse continues to punish me,
whenever I write prose
Her slaps severe with pain heartfelt
—no fury ‘hell hath known’
She sentences me to endless nights,
and days when words won’t come
Until I succumb to writing verse
—and she, my breath becomes
(The Court at K.O.P: February, 2016)
The string is broken,
the past is lost
A road forgotten
—fresh winter’s frost
All memory erases,
new thoughts to spin
The distance thawing
—another Spring
(Court At KOP: February, 2016)
Do you have that place,
that place where you hide
So tranquil and peaceful,
and hidden from eyes
Do you have that place,
looming close but concealed
Where your essence rests freely
—where your soul can congeal
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Dreams carry me across
a mysterious land
Where the voice of my fathers
so gently commands
It echoes now softly,
in words only sung
A joyous recital,
rewoven and spun
I never can stay there,
I’ve begged till I weep
And with barely a whisper,
I’m roused from my sleep
But when darkness befalls
on my world once again
A new dream will come calling
—to guide me within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)
