Don’t let the poetry

weaken the poem

 

The structure a servant

—for what’s to be known

 

(The New Room: December, 2021)

The Baltimore Catechism,

mornings at eight

Sister Marcella,

don’t ever be late

 

Its message didactic,

the devil to run

Each question, each answer,

with God zero-sum

 

Who and what made me,

and why every day

Resistance was futile,

dissent not displayed

 

An altar boy’s memories,

his sacristy torn

Still missing the process

—where freedom was born

 

(Saint Thomas of Villanova Chapel: December, 2021)

 

The hooker had saved a piece of herself,

a part kept new not old

 

As pure and pristine as a fresh running stream,

never bartered, never sold

 

The johns came and went, the money got spent,

each trick relined with pain

 

But in one sacred place, her past is erased

—where sun blocks out the rain

 

(The New Room: December, 2021)

“Nip and tuck” her surgeon says,

crow’s feet on the run

 

Tighter skin on feathered whims,

botox zero-sum

 

An ageless wonder creaks inside,

bones preserve the tale

 

And when she smiles her lips on fire

—wanton to regale

 

(The New Room: December, 2021)

Nature—Lord of everything

its blizzards and its droughts

 

Talking back to a hurricane,

you whisper as it shouts

 

Your treasured possessions lie in wait

for floods to take away

 

That rumble heard beneath your feet

to swallow as you pray

 

Those things you grow and seeds you plant,

the locust comes to claim

 

As tidal waves begin to form

—you powerless to blame

 

(The New Room: November, 2021)

It doesn’t matter who it’s to,

it matters who it’s from

 

The sender based in deeper snow,

whose tracks forever come

 

It doesn’t matter what you say,

it matters what they thought

 

Intention shouting loud and clear

—once given never bought

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2021)

“Why”

said the river,

refusing to run

 

“The mountain’s

on fire,

 snow all but gone

 

“Beginning

or ending,

  truth is the same

 

“The start

in the finish

—loss in the gain”

 

(The New Room: November, 2021)

 

With little to gain

and much more to lose

the soldier reloads

no longer to choose

 

A fate most uncertain

all outcome in doubt

his soul placed in Limbo

—too late to back out

 

(The New Room:  November, 2021)

You can’t wash away loneliness,

it lurks and it spies

a stain on tomorrow

where destiny cries

 

You can’t keep what’s been stolen

or find what’s not there,

alone and deserted

—the soap of despair

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2021)

Diminished

but ennobled,

the soldier came home

his two limbs

traded for the

sanctuary

of a deeper peace

 

Broken

in completeness,

his braces held proud

each battle

medaled

in the memory

—of his finest hour

 

(The New Room: November, 2021)