Prate is to

poetry

as death is to

life

 

Dilletante

graveyards

lie marking

the site

 

Where words

never weighted

whose wings

couldn’t fly

 

Unmarked

without headstones

 condemned here

— to die

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

A vessel

of transference

my doors

never close

All windows

stay open

where light

can impose

A constant

refilling

with verse

to the brim

Whose message

of hope

 forever

— within

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

My ear

to the asphalt

My nose

in the wind

 

My mind

on tomorrow

Escaping

my sins

 

The road bends

before me

It twists

and it turns

 

Where truth

waits forbidden

And love stays

unearned

 

The voices

grow faint

In this gale

to escape

 

In front

and behind me

Both early

and late

 

As the mountain

implores me

Still calling

my name

 

With fate

at its limit

And death

— here to claim

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

 

Wielded

like a

loaded gun

His phone

was thrusted

forth

 

Proof

of what

I knew

was false

Refusing

all

discourse

 

Armed

with but

an empty

tweet

Chosen

by a

bot

 

His mind

was trapped

inside a myth

Whose fiction

dearly

— bought

 

(Rosemont College: April, 2025)

 

Poetic trattoria  

a feast for the eyes

Visionary smorgasbord

 of what — and then why

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

You can’t make a deal

with a Judas

As tenured

they govern on high

 

Like the British

who sought our indenture

With graft and self-interest

they lie

 

You can’t play the game

any longer

When rules only favor

the few

 

Where freedom is held

as a hostage

And verity’s fairness

— askew

 

(The New Room: March, 2025)

We often reach the future

by sailing in the past

 

Our course in life a distant breeze

— that steps tomorrows mast

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Don’t tell

me

what I

already know

 

Don’t give

me

what I

already have

 

Don’t take

me

where I’ve

already been

 

Don’t play

me

what I’ve

already heard

 

Dissuading

moments

when left

unbound

 

Preempt

the silence

a devil’s

sound

 

But deep

inside

satanic

winds

 

A Savior

whispers

beyond

— the din

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

 

Why are you

waiting

your house

is burning

Run while

you can

from the blaze

inside

 

What will

be left

in the morning

after

But naked

ashes

and tears

— uncried

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

Shepherds

of echo  

sirens

that call

Masters

of legend

trapped

in the Fall

 

Moonlight

on ice fields

whispering

still

Voices

stay buried

destiny’s

will

 

Sunlight

awakens

mountains

that sigh

Hidden on

summits

new answers

there hide

 

But with

 every Spring

a melting

ensues

Flowing

life’s message

recalled

— and renewed

 

(Memories Of Absaroka: May, 1997)