Does your writing have a time stamp,

or an expiration date

 

Does it spoil in the open air,

does it falter at the gate

 

Will children still remember,

when they have grandchildren of their own

 

That what’s written once and meant to last

—those words made out of stone

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

You left me before I found you,

never saying why

 

Your shadow my only memory

—on the threshold of goodbye

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

You never want to look your art

directly in the eye

 

For fear of having it look away

—you orphaned bye and bye

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

I’ve yet to meet two artists

who really like each other

 

The cobra and the mongoose,

locked in a mortal embrace

 

They say the same prayers,

as they swear the same allegiance

 

While hating what the other does

—and who the other is

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

Leaving nothing to his children but cowardly shame,

his back turned toward the light

 

His memory the captor of a traitorous scheme,

capitulating through the fight

 

His legacy broken, his endowment recalled,

his reputation scorched and burned

 

Offering to the Devil his original sin

—with redemption twice suborned

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

I carry deep inside myself,

a man once big and strong

 

Who stood alone against the wind,

that blew both right and wrong

 

I carry in my heart and mind,

those things that age inures

 

Reminding of what once was mine

—as memory endures

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

Writing outside the audience,

applause means something more

 

Writing the words inherent,

oblivious to the score

 

Writing outside the audience,

and critical acclaim

 

Writing for time eternal

—Mariah calls your name

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

Now, more than ever,

my thoughts regale,

the years as yeast,

new spirits rise

 

Now, more than ever,

my woods on fire,

old feelings simmer,

my breath to stoke

 

Now, more than ever,

I walk alone,

my words returning,

time destroyed

 

Now, more than ever,

I live within,

as verses buried

reach out to call

 

Now, more than ever,

I look straight back,

and seize the magic

my eyes had missed

 

Now, more than ever,

I call your name,

the promise wakens

—your memory sings

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

When I was young,

my edges raw,

my feelings open,

my thoughts my own

 

Now that I’m old,

those edges scarred,

those feelings transient

—those thoughts my own

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

‘Watching The Documentary, ‘Sir George Martin’

Forgetting to remember,

destiny sold

is eternity shamed

 

Forgetting to remember,

letters well placed

still call out your name

 

Forgetting to remember,

providence anointed

is innocence lost

 

Forgetting to remember,

what’s bought with your freedom

—blood the true cost

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)