Climbing each rung of the rotting ladder,

my wishes snapped one by one

 

The beanstalk looming high above,

its vines blocked out the sun

 

Grounding my desires and aspirations,

like a bird with broken wings

 

My hope tried one last blind ascent

—to where the Angel’s sing

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2020)

The world your editor,

each season your pen

Heartache your publisher,
verse to amend

 Days left to punctuate,
nights misconstrued

Memory the binding
—time as the glue

 (Dreamsleep: April, 2020)

As my body stoops with age,

youth lulls upon the page

 

Where words forever young,

cry willful to be sung

 

As daylight quickly passes,

I greet night a friend at last

 

With memories deeply grained

—reborn in verse again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Only a Poet

can stab time in the heart,

to bleed free and eternal

—only a Poet

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

Are you happy spreading misery,

distrust what you embrace

 

More joyful when the skies are dark,

than bright on sunny days

 

Is truth a tool you wield and fling,

a weapon in your hand

 

Love what looms and threatens most,

to never understand

 

Are feelings there for you to trash,

with others left to cry

 

A promise made but left unkept,

much worse than any lie

 

When all is said, and all is done,

and everyone looks back

 

Will you be known for what you were

—that knife in someone’s back

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

Each drawer that I fill,

stores something past

 

The future spread out

on the bed

 

As each one closes,

its memories sleep safe

 

Dreams quilted

and looking ahead

 

Layered inside

and kept neatly stacked

 

In silence,

their stories unfold

 

Each drawer front embossed

with a message they share

 

“Open Only If Naked Or Cold”

 

The dresser sits quiet,

its handles untouched

 

As new history begins

with each write

 

And construction resumes,

a new dresser is built

 

To store words yet to clothe

—and delight

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

He went in for a six-pack,

and came out with a smile

 

His heart reawakened,

the old lady—a child

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

How lucky you are…

to be a Poet

 

The window to tomorrow

left open

 

All tracks into the past

—to reclaim

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Tears from a straw,

heartache from a tumbler

 

Ice from a memory

—fire from my heart

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Squandering what you

never had

 

And what you’ll never

—understand

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)