Loving

the solitude

Loving

the silence

Hating

consensus

Hating

refrain

 

Loving

the magic

Loving

the present

Hating

the reference

Hating

— proclaims

 

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)

To carry life’s

complex messages

The structure

must be simple

 

Like angle iron

at ninety degrees

the weight to never

buckle

 

A thrusted spear

a hammer punch

direction

short and measured

 

Effects most dire

with arrows fired

from bows

— most straight delivered

 

(Chief Joseph Highway: August, 2025)

The Mountain

looms

and calls your name

To glory

or

perdition

Its summit

has a thousand

fathers

Whose abyss

awaits

— the orphan

 

(Beartooth Pass: August, 2025)

I can’t build

the bridge

But I can cross it

when asked

 

I can’t mark

the trail

But I can follow

when tasked

 

I can’t light

the fire

But I can warm

in its glow

 

I can’t walk

on water

But I can bathe

in its flow

 

I can’t play

the harp

But know an Angel

with hands

 

I can’t save

the masses

But love a Savior

— who can

 

(The First Book Of Prayers: August, 2025)

Common Sense

uncommon

Wisdom

in the queue

Figures lie

as liar’s figure

Judgment

— left askew

 

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)

With children

a house becomes alive

Without them

an empty shell

With children

new moments of joy arrive

Without them

an unringing bell

 

With children

laughter stays in the air

Without them

but memories dwell

With children

the years to age unimpaired

Without them

— all magic is quelled

 

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)

 

The emptiness of

possibility

One hand clapping

— in the wind

 

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)

I’m not going to

watch you leave

but I’ll revel in the fact

you’re gone …

I’m not going to say

goodbye

while I bask in the silence

heard …

I’m not going to speak

your name

but I’ll covet what stays

unsaid …

I’m not going to return

your love

while throwing our tryst

— to the wind

 

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)

Humanity

comes before

the fact

Sentimentality

comes

after

One steeped

in joy

the other remorse

To shout from

the basement

— or rafters

 

(The New Room: August, 2025)

The last curtain came down

one evening at nine

its drapery falling

to signal ‘it’s time’

The theater dark

all stagehands have gone

alone in her presence

my final swan song

The exit door opens

a new crowd appears

applauding me onward

past laughter and tears

With one final bow

but never so sure

eternity clapping

— forever’s encore

 

(The Bryn Mawr Theater: August, 2025)