Sleeping with Laura

  and not making love

 

Lost in her aura

  and thoughts from above

 

Sleeping with Laura

  all vanity chaste

 

A feeling impregnates

  —the blame heaven laced

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

High caliber verse

  the cartridge hand loaded

 

A new target centered

  all focus then squared

 

Its barrel’s been filled

  with red molten fury

 

Whose trigger awaits

  —a desperate will

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu,”

   he screamed to the crowd

 

“On stage as a vagabond

   my home you enshroud

 

“My makeup—my armor,

   my performance—my cause

 

“Reborn with each act,

   as I hear your applause

 

“You take me each matinee,

   you take me each night

 

“To the depths of your hearts

   where my darkness alights

 

“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu,”

   he shouted again

 

“Forever my audience

   —forever my friends”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Bravery and fear

  not either or

 

But versions of…

 

Valor and shame

  brought heretofore

 

Mixed pieces of…

 

A riddle to confound

  the poet’s mum

 

As glory weds disdain…

 

Courage and fear

  not zero-sum

 

But oft times look the same

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

I believe the last person I shall ever see,

  is you

    —and you, me

 

I believe the last person I will ever know,

  is you

   —and you, me

 

I believe the last person I shall ever love,

  is you

   —and you, me

 

I believe the last place I will ever go,

  is to you

   —and you, to me

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The greatest of men

 he bled the truth,

 his wounds for all to share

 

A symbol relived

 a life unspoiled,

 courage all too rare

 

The towering hawk

 the thundering storm,

 hailstones mark the way

 

A moment in time

 a vision embraced

   —his name the children pray

 

(Plane From Detroit: August 21, 2018) 

There is an emptiness

  between Hemingway’s words

 

A hollow sound

  that slides off the page

 

The space creates distance

  as the Old Man wanted

 

From the reader

  and voyeurs of pain

 

“Distance between himself and the day

   he hauled in that great fish

 

“Distance from that last great battle

   calling out from beyond his reach

 

“Distance from the arena, where the

   horns got close but death got closer

 

“And distance from the many women

   he tried to love and failed”

 

No matter how far he lived afield,

  be it Paris, Havana, or Ketchum

 

In no place was there distance enough

  or where his words could be safe

 

The separation and memory loss

  became deafening and finally too much

 

As he gave in to the distance

   —one last and final time.

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

I’ve now started to dream

 while being awake

 

Sleep no longer needed

 to open the gate

 

The visions come clearly

 the music I hear

 

My mind surrenders

 looking back on the years

 

I’m fully aware

 but entranced when they come

 

The words of my Fathers…

 the beat of a drum

 

My eyes partly close

 as the chanting begins

 

My spirit reclaimed

  —from the darkness within

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

As long as the wind blows

  Poets will not be forgotten

 

Their words the breezes carry forth

  —their thoughts to heaven thrown

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

Poetry is to be given away
  and never ever sold

                                                 A gift beyond what time demands
                                                  —and wrapped in leaves of gold

                                         (Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)