The tyranny of the majority,

democracy oversold

 

The power of the people to cut and paste,

 fat cats in control

 

‘Oh Ye Of Little Faith’ we are,

like rats inside a maze

 

Our government serving to best itself,

entitlement ablaze

 

The curtain rises for one last act,

this play now eons old

 

As despots steal the final scene

—where freedom’s bought and sold

 

(St. David’s Pennsylvania: March, 2021)

 

From here to eternity,

breakfast to lunch

The distance bespoke,

new hole card to punch

 

As yards change to meters,

fruition in sight

All travel inherent

—day changing to night

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

The story of a Poet,

more tragic than his words

 

What then in fact his deeds conscript

—his writing leaves infirm  

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

To never make a lot of friends,

 though enemies were scarce

 

And keeping both arm’s length away,

my words alone repaired

 

Splitting the difference tween comrade and foe,

the measurement obscured

 

One to the other, together as one

—my loneliness endured

 

(Berkshires: January, 2015)

Bravery and recklessness

 riding together

 

Death as the arbiter

—glory abused

 

(Crow Agency Montana: July, 2009)

Your form is strong,

but your content is weak

 

Desire flowing,

 experience meek

 

Trying to fake it

with meter and rhyme

 

Words never ripen

—green apples in time

 

(Dream Sleep: March, 2021)

 

Fear exposes the underside

of courage

 

The weakest point of strength

—a darker shade of truth

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

I stole from myself,

never paying me back,

rich in the spoils of war

 

Identity gone,

the body count total

—larcenous guilt to endure

 

(The New Room: March, 2021)

When time overcomes memory,

and vision retracts

 

The past sits in judgment,

its verdict exact

 

With yesterday’s reason,

tomorrow to blame

 

All hope left in ashes

—truth mourning the flame

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

When the world was small

my heroes were big

living on a 12’’ screen

the telephone operator knew me by name

when the party line was open and free

on Tuesdays it was the bread man

on Wednesdays came meat

Friday mornings the Fuller Brush man rang twice

Saturdays were baseball, bleacher seats for a buck

and on Sunday to church on my bike

when on Monday the Nun asked where the black eye was from

I smiled and said “ran into a door”

while all the while knowing this was the time of my life

—a time when the world was so small

 

(Conshohocken Pennsylvania: March, 2021)