A late night deposit

  from my spirit to my soul

 

A transfer without interest

  all currency stole

 

The bank’s main door won’t open,

  the drive-thru is dark

 

The side door unlocked

  with the hallway unmarked

 

The clerk’s eyes on fire,

  as she asks me my name

 

“It’s there on the check”

  I repeat in refrain

 

“Your last transaction I see,

  we’ll be losing you now

 

“This account to be closed

  —take the elevator down”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

Public exposure…

  part of the game

 

Open disclosure…

  paid for with pain

 

A window through time

  opened once and then closed

 

Immortality’s portal

   —the minefield you chose

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

Those chances I take

  transfigure my brain

 

The risk and reward

  metaphysically the same

 

They rush through my spirit

  all fear on the run

 

Transformation now total

  —the cost zero-sum

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Old men making deals

  the young taking bullets

 

Politicians to steal

  no one to prevent it

 

Athletes and rappers

  sit on the throne

 

Parents and teachers

  their message disowned

 

Freedom on trial

  both inside and out

 

The world in denial

  —all truth cast in doubt

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

 

My mind often visits

  those places you fear

 

My soul, my protectress,

  my words as my spear

 

My voice now a fortress

  from oncoming attack

 

My spirit embracing

  —those feelings you lack

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

 

Do your politics define you…

 are your views then left or right?

 

Does the axe you grind cut sharp and clean

 or tear into the night?

 

Do the precepts that you claim to own

 just end up owning you?

 

Is every word what you believe

 —and to thine self be true?

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

My cupboards a mess,

  my sink filled with lye

 

My stables now empty,

  my well has gone dry

 

My pastures left fallow,

  my timber all burned

 

My streams have been fished out,

  and what have I learned

 

The cupboard can be restocked,

  the sink can be cleaned

 

A new well can be dug,

  a new colt can be weaned

 

As the dams are reopened,

  new roe will then spawn

 

These troubles will pass

  —and my faith will move on

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

     ‘From The Book Of Prayers’

Words…

  the great currency

  inside my literary account

 

Inspiration,

  the letters of credit

   —freeing me to spend

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

Memory…

   the historic steroid

    —of an enlightened past

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

The terms of your indecision

   —written in the blood of your repetition

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)