An eighty-buck hairdo,

an eighty-year face

 

The two now in conflict,

all balance erased

 

With age as a symbol

to search and destroy

 

All vanity coddled,

to plunder and toy

 

Bejeweled and bedangled,

she limps from the chair

 

Her stylist left smirking,

paid well—more than fair

 

These ‘blue hairs’ a staple,

her ticket to fame

 

The stench of the hair dye,

the price of the game

 

The credit card processed,

cash tip in her hand

 

She escorts Miss Edna

to her handicapped van

 

In the mirror she wonders,

as she looks at herself

 

“Am I just a pariah

—stealing dignity’s wealth”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2021)

The question you didn’t have to ask…

the only answer you need

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)

Truth is a question,

all answers abstain

 

Its dream open ended

—wonderments gain

 

(The Book Of Prayers: February, 2021)

To what extent

is reality persuadable

 

Are the fence posts in concrete,

the commas unknown

 

Are the laws of existence

as such, redefinable

 

The axioms fluid

—truth more than is shown

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)

Has evolution

gotten bigger than God

 

 With Darwin the prophet,

a wink and a nod

 

Has almighty reason

rechristened itself

 

To worship false dogma

—in spite of what’s felt

 

(The New Room: February, 2021)  

In the beginning there were cold rocks with

painted animals that chose which way you’d run

toward or away from tomorrow’s undoing

in search of what the present can’t find

looking into the future with blind refusal

at the corner of time and space

taking back what forgiveness wouldn’t share

heating each rock until the images dance

—warming the night of a thousand dreams

—warming the night of a thousand dreams

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)

 

While hidden deep from nature’s wrath,

waiting in disguise

 

Below the ground a season born,

its birthright undenied

 

As winter trees now bare their souls,

whose limbs reach out in pain

 

Tomorrow the most promised wish

—till spring comes back again

 

(The New Room: February, 2021)

Told over and over,

the lie became true

 

As memory inverted,

the falsehood imbued

 

My cornerstone crumbling,

sticks piled with straw

 

A last self-deception

—the fantasy law

 

(Rosemont Pennsylvania: February, 2021)

If nothing can be done

—do nothing

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)

My Pen…

an extension

of my thoughts

and my prayers,

underlining

my feelings

for others

to share

 

The ink

is my history

its tracks

to begin,

a journey

connecting

what’s now

—until then

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2021)