Quirks

of fate

make nonsense

of us all

Shipwrecked

on a vain reality

we stand naked

— before the Queen

 

(Dreamsleep: October, 2025)

Is the artist in me a liar

or the one who lives proscribed

Are my words and deeds in conflict

which to breathe and which to sigh

 

Would King Solomon have an answer

to this split I often feel

Would salvation hold my name in check

or today my soul to deal

 

Do excuses, like intentions

pave the way perdition shown

Do the reasons then abandon

idle hope when left alone

 

Can the spirit claim what time has lost

in its quest to stay inspired

Can the truth once lit inside my heart

— keep all kindled lies afire

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Time

in the caldron

the hour  

unstruck

 

Hands

reaching skyward

while boiling

amok

 

The wise men

among you

all wait

to proclaim

 

What criers

at midnight

hope to

— reclaim

 

(Dreamsleep: October, 2025)

One day beyond mourning, a new sun to shine

a promise remade — not a cloud in the sky

 

One day beyond mourning, your spirit still warm

your flesh now at rest — on the hill past the barn

 

One day beyond mourning, the bed sheets unfold

your shadow uncovered — a gift mine to hold

 

One day beyond mourning, the sun in my eyes

new words in my heart — a mockingbird cries

 

One day beyond mourning, my soul free to roam

your paintings surround me — among them I’m home

 

One day beyond mourning, I walk to the field

our blanket still hanging — the oak that concealed

 

One day beyond mourning, I reset my sights

the day I’ll rejoin you — that heavenly flight

 

One day beyond mourning, all grief broken free

my name on the wind — as you call out to me

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

At the far end of the casket

his girlfriend hugged his wife

 

And told her she was sorry

that she tried to steal her life

 

Their tears then ran in unison

for a man who loved them both

 

The years they shared now testament

to a choice he left unspoke

 

They never met before this day

and would never meet again

 

But each knew well the other

and they almost felt like friends

 

The mistress left, the children wept

the grandkids played outside

 

His wife’s last words: “Your hell has passed

sleep well my love — goodbye”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

It’s never what

but who

 

It’s never yes

or no

 

It’s never then

or when

 

It’s only here

— and now

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

We loiter in Winter

when it’s already Spring

Still hearing that Starling

with snow on its wings

 

We blanket our longing

as Tulips unfold

Transfixed by the fire

— of memories old

 

(The New Room: October, 2025)

Writing

 the only suture…

when truth starts to bleed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

A victim

of words

and casualty

of what time

 will avow   

 

Dylan

in white face

the old

and the new

— his music enclouds

 

(Highway 61: October, 2025)

A pregnant Nun

in rural France

long cloistered

and alone

 

While crowned in light

from high above

she kneels before

the throne

 

Her vows intact

as rumors grow

she lives beyond

the fray

 

And hears a Voice

from deep

inside

  “Unto Thy Name They’ll Pray”

 

(1^st Book Of Prayers: October, 2025)