Walking around a

Mythical town

That doesn’t exist

Looking for what

I would never find

I trod those same streets

That I had been down

In my dreams before

The sky barren

Except for the sound

Of the exodus

Of wings

Hovering over people

All moving away

The backs of their heads

The only thing visible

As they marched off

Into the dark

With faces and eyes

Mortgaged….

   To pay for all the things

       that they would never do

   In debt to one last promise

       they will never keep

   The terms of their indecision

       written in the blood of repetition

     The movement of the hawk

       —another’s wind to blow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

I’ve left it on rock ledges

in elevators and bars

Taxicabs, backpacks,

motorcycles near and far

It’s laid on the Great Wall,

as I started to walk away

And fell out of the raft

in Wyoming that day

It flew on the airplane

after I had gotten off

And spent two days in Key West

with Fedex as the cost

It’s kept me in touch,

that’s important I know

But the voice it records

into words

   —much more so

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

   ‘My Cell Phone Voice Recorder’

                 Commercial success                 

A spirit repressed

Your shell now

The substance below

The glittering fame

Of a deepening shame

Darkened shards at the surface

To glow

Commercial success

Demanding spiritual redress

The light burning down

To its core

With the evening in shade

And emotions now grave

Your soul choking on its

new lore

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Envy is a curse

with the darkest shadow

Its yearning left unsettled

in a greenish cast

Jealousy its evil twin

beyond veracity’s purview

Coveting the burning torches

—of all darkness past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

There once was a time when women could cook

and men knew how to dance

Education was by the book

no fuzzy math or creative finance

Parents visited their own parent’s homes,

as the grandchildren came along

And life was so much better then

new words to every song

There once was a time when women could cook,

and men knew how to dance

Hearts were pure as dogs roamed free

neighbors talked across the fence

Everyone shared those values true

family mattering most of all

Because in the end, a community of friends

—let you rise and then stand tall

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Each day moving forward

   —plus one looking back

Every new morning

—offering all that I lack

Night brings new cover

—the stars peeking through

These moments a gift

—as I spend them with you

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

To some

reality comes early,

to others

it comes late

The lucky

get a pass,

where the facts of life

will wait

With truth

backed in the corner,

and fantasy now

to reign

No love

to go asunder,

no past relived

again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

I met him on a summer’s day,

when life seemed very far away

A home once mine when as a boy,

I’d lived and loved and searched for joy

Twas taken cruelly from my grasp,

the black sheep son, now left askance

As I walked past this house so tall,

a dark haired man in t-shirt called

“How are you today” he said and smiled,

my burden lightened, my mood beguiled

I knew that instant, my Angel named,

and in that moment we friends became

With all the magic in his heart

my life rebuilt, he drew the chart

For two short years he gave me all,

and fifty more I still recall

How at a crossroads he there stood

a lighthouse shining, and always would

I owe so much to that young man

who took me in and took my hand

And saved me from a life unhinged,

and me a stranger—but not to him

Bob may be gone, but deep inside,

his smile stays, his goodness shines

If I may live another year,

his words I’ll carry close and dear

And thank my Brother from the sun,

—for the grateful man that I’ve become

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February 12. 2018)

      ‘Read At Bob’s Funeral, 2/24/18’

Stop trying to be clever,

and try to be smart

The coyote said

to the fox

The hunters are coming,

the bounty’s been offered

Their traps are all baited

and boxed

Stop trying to be clever,

and try to be smart

The coyote to the fox

said again

There’s a reason your fur

is always in season

And mine, never coated

—or skinned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

                                    ‘For My Grandchildren’

Poetic verse, to praise or curse,

its edge to save or wound

Now less than dear, on fewer ears,

   whose silence will entomb

A finer point, the words anoint,

when fired both straight and true

Its arrows sharp, to hit the mark

—the past again renewed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)