Trying to make the poetry prose
Or the prose poetic again
I insulted the meaning
With juxtaposition
Stabbing an idea
That should have been shot
Killing a verse
That should have been saved
Thinking the truth
While uttering a lie
Forming the words
—unable to speak
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2014)
All of my life,
I’ve been trying to hide
Drifting untethered
roaming inside
All of my life,
I have chosen to wait
Judging unholy
making mistakes
All of my life,
my arms have been short
The reach much too long
as failure reports
All of my life,
the truth insecure
My back to the light
—the present unsure
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2014)
With ten more miles of wire
my horse wants to turn back
There’s dark clouds over the mountain
just a small tent in my sack
The fence line sits all busted
from two bulls that went astray
They both missed being neutered
last year on roundup day
My hands are cold and blistered
that salve jar all but gone
Two wolves begin to howling
that lonesome prairie song
The storm clouds now have thickened
light pulls its covers back
Just one more night on the western slope
—with eight miles left to track
‘From The ‘Searching For Crazy Horse Collection’”
‘Read In Elko Years Ago’
My life’s been a mess,
but more than anything
—I wanted to die well
To make up for those times
I struggled and failed
—and shorted the line
The people who knew me
were driven away
—in vain their love fell
Making love to my mistakes
my hours were sentenced
—through heartache defined
My life at an end
more than anything else
—I hope to die well
Undeserving of this honor
I know that my chances
—are slim, mostly gone
I still have to try
to take any meaning
—from this place where I dwell
A final reminder
of all I am not
—as I venture beyond
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
Virtue is a lover
—that must be wed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2014)
“I drive people away,
that’s what I do
To stay away
myself renewed”
My life was meant
To be lived alone
In spite of what
You think you know
Inside myself
My only home
Whose armor never
Chinks when stoned
My life bereft
I know to you
Seems lonely
Often misconstrued
But joy from heaven
Self-contained
Unto myself
Lives unrestrained
“If I drove you away, please take heart,
my back was turned to all
To die alone, my most fervent wish
—with no one left to call”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2014)
Politics and Religion…
nothing could be further from the truth
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2014)
The older I get
the less people to call
is it by choice
my spirit’s downfall?
The older I get
the less then to care
a life once so pointed
now little to share
The older I get
to never defend
the ones that stood by me
the ones I called friends
The older I get
meat gone from the stew
the faces just names
of those I once knew
The older I get
doors lock from within
a constant reminder
that blaming can sting
The older I get
the less people to call
no sand in the hourglass
—last grain set to fall
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2014)
Blank verse
And blanker memories
My mind shouts
As feelings cry
Blood drains
An artery cut
The seasons flowing
—stain never to dry
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
Night Guardian
A steward of memory
—the caretaker of dreams
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
The Eagle Cries
A new American profile
—the look of fear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
Its Treasure Calls
Nostrils fill with wood smoke
a mountain spewing lies
Fifty miles up the trail,
its legend waves goodbye
Lost Dutchman in my memory,
the map no longer clear
While buried deep inside the truth
—its treasure calling dear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
In Print
Truth outlasts memory
—on the printed page
(Train to New Hampshire: March, 2014)
