Wasted broke in Kankakee,

  down from Montreal

I’m half way to Memphis,

  with no one left to call

 

Guitar strings bust or missing,

  motel clerk at my door

I’m half way to Memphis,

  bathroom window as before

 

The years have run their distance,

  all memories in default

I’m half way to Memphis,

  the songs all packed in salt

 

And one last time I’m leaving,

  the highway cold and black

I’m half way to Memphis

   —no way of turning back

 

(Memphis Tennessee: September, 1991)

When emptiness

  replaces memory

                                                        

The wind…

  forever ceases to blow

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

The first cut sharp and burning red,

  don’t edit away its fire

 

Keep the wound both fresh and raw,

  never cauterize your ire

 

The horizon breaks just once each day,

  a new dawn—cold hearts aspire

 

Rays burning deep, first light to keep

   —old ashes to inspire

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Not always understanding…

  I write out the words

 

Lost in comprehension,

  till wonder returns

 

Each line a new postulate,

  no phrase left to chance

 

Last metaphor a song

 —my mind still to dance

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Like an open wound

That won’t heal

The current political situation

Bleeds out…

A hemorrhaged polarization

Inside a malignancy of lies

Draining our spirits

  —of all life giving faith

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

I like the idea,

  but not when it’s real

 

Your love in a letter,

  to read but not feel

 

Lost in conception,

  affection belied

 

Your words I can handle

  —whose touch I deny

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Truth has a power,

  exclusively its own

 

Beyond opinion and verdict,

  its nature is shown

 

Through good times and bad,

  its light shining through

 

A frame to the vision

   —whose picture renews

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2019)

Before you fall,

  you’ve got to stand

 

Your voice once stalled,

  fates reprimand

 

The paradigm floats,

  on swamps that drain

 

Where praise cries out

   —false hope again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Be the champion of your art…

  or your playing fields will be empty

    —and your spectators left suffering alone

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

You bought one more tomorrow,

   from my borrowed yesterdays

 

My voice to sing with Angels,

   your love the music plays

 

You bought one more tomorrow,

   as you cast the dark astray

 

Replacing grief and sorrow

   —with a torch that lights my way

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016) 

 From My ‘Book Of Prayers’