Wishes from the mountaintop,

dreamers from beyond

 

Shadows in the wind

—trapped in memory’s song

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

 

On a silver platter

of broken dreams

 

Your nature changes,

as death comes near

 

The buffet wanton,

a dessert of fright

 

Served incarnate

—café of tears

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

Waiting for time to catch its breath,

I wrote the words unheard

 

My verses most unwelcome

—the future untoward

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

Charging to the front,

my words stay behind,

an anchor in the drifting sand

 

To live past today,

to prod and remind

—what time unrequited demands

 

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

Terminal poetry…

death by the word

 

Selling a heartbeat

for every breath

 

Giving up life

for each new phrase

 

Buried

—inside what’s heard

 

(Ronald McDonald House: February, 2020)

Thy self a grand impostor,

what other people see

 

A bark that hides what fate ingrains,

a cover that deceives

 

It’s others held opinion,

that pulp you hide behind

 

Till lightning splits your trunk in two

—the roots left undefined

 

(Ronald McDonald House: February, 2020)

Arguing with the Muse,

spirit abused

 

Arguing with the Muse,

always refused

 

Arguing with the Muse,

soul to confuse

 

Arguing with the Muse

—destined to lose

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

No matter what you say

No matter what you do

It only matters that you care

And one plus one leaves two

 

Proof beyond the pudding

Truth beyond the facts

Whose promise rises with the dawn

As love keeps coming back

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

I don’t write for you,

I write for me

 

To dream each dream,

in darkness freed

 

All gifts unwrapped,

my table set

 

My voice as spoken,

no regrets

 

I don’t speak for you,

I speak for me

 

The trails I’ve bloodied,

scars decree

 

Each moment purchased,

verses loaned

 

My feelings sacred

—words my own

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing to believe in,

nothing to hold dear

 

No one to say what you can’t say,

the waters all but clear

 

Nothing to believe in,

and that includes yourself

 

You live in fear the truth will rise

—an iceberg your umwelt

 

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: February, 2020)