Great men

stand taller

than the countries

they serve

Honor

and courage

the bureaucrats

scourge

To sacrifice

self

without

question or pause

And champion

the weak

in defense

— of their cause

 

(Independence Hall: July, 2025)

 

Only

a coin toss

standing

between them

Fame

the divider

with fans

to embrace

Caught

in the essence

as twins

symbiotic

One

in the limelight

the other

— ungraced

 

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

 

To campaign

in poetry

but govern

in prose

Words stretch

till breaking

integrity

blown

 

Promising

everything

sins

unconfessed

Bombast

and pander

the charlatans

— best

 

(The New Room: July, 2025)

 

 

Memories

of Formica

kitchens

And 2-burner

Hotpoint

stoves

Lipstick on

a menthol

butt

Costume

pearls

in rows

Perfume

from the

five and dime

Drive In’s

on the

field

A promise

made

a promise kept

And

love

— that time can’t steal

 

(Listening To Patsy Cline: July 4^th, 2025)

Writing

in margins

where words never go

The meaning

bipolar

whose ink doesn’t show

Living

inceptive

divorced from the light

Married

to emptiness

— unstringing my kite

 

(The New Room: July, 2025)

Brian died

taking

part of me

with him

 

The part

that he

lent me

in 1966

 

Brian died

and the

colors

diminished

 

The notes

out of rhythm

and time

— left unmixed

 

(Pet Sounds-Ocean City N.J.: July, 1966)

And in the end

as it was

at the beginning

Only and forever

as spoken

— The One

 

(1^st Book Of Prayers: July, 2025)

Through all

of his failings

and all

of his faults

His memory

redemptive

his conscience

set free

 

Through all

of the battles

and all

of the scars

His soul

still a virgin

his heart

— is pristine

 

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)

That vacuum

inside you

once in it

you’re trapped

Insular

nothingness

too late

to look back

 

What’s empty

imprisons

no reference

in space

Where freedom

and choice

become duly

— erased

 

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

Music first played

on the heartstrings

of God

Whose chorus

of Angels

 carries beyond

A melody sacred

each note

comes from He

Whose flute calls

us closer

Whose harp

— sets us free

 

(1^st Book Of Prayers: July, 2025)