Never become a footnote

  —to a history lost and gone

 

(Dreamsleep: June, 2019)

Professional Poet…

  to cringe at the term

 

A lonely consensus,

  so much to learn

 

Days writing couplets,

  nights dreamed in verse

 

Feelings when gifted,

  mine to rehearse

 

Professional Poet…

  to run but not hide

 

Resisting the accolades,

   cousin of lies

 

The Muse calls my marker,

  chits payout in thought

 

Each line spoken freely

  —no longer store bought

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)

I see the world in shades of gray,

  where has the color gone

 

My faith erodes with each new day,

  a weakness growing strong

 

I sense a feeling deep within,

  it spreads and reaches near

 

And tighten my coat against the wind,

  a buttress to this fear

 

I hear your voice, its inflection slight,

  the message still reveals

 

And reach for you in the waning light,

  under cover that conceals

 

No longer blue, or green, or white,

  prism distant and askew

 

Calling once more in the cold dark night

  —alone, in search of you

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

The more I think I really know,

  the less I understand

 

The further out to sea I drift,

  the more I miss the land

 

The stormier the days repeat,

  my soul to chase the sun

 

The rules I once thought hard and fast,

  denounced and on the run

 

The more I think, the less I feel,

   my spirit inexcused

 

The hours spent off from myself,

  those times I stay confused

 

As days drift into sleepless nights,

   the moon to haunt my dreams

 

Where wishes live to hope again

  —if I can just believe

 

(Villanova University: June, 2019)

 

 

 

 

 

Half the time…

  you don’t know where you’re going

     —even when you’re there

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

All faith inside this present moment,

  it’s light my treasure—gifted free

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

We fell dead like a mystery unraveled

    —the truth of its magic exposed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

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)