No one’s ever gone

until forgotten

 

Their memory etched

like words in stone

 

—canyons to remind

 

(Chama New Mexico: January, 2019)

 

 

They separate us by gender,

and segregate by race

 

They separate us by intellect,

and isolate by taste

 

They separate us by fortune,

and detach us by fame

 

They separate us by family,

nepotism to blame

 

They keep us divided

through life ever long

 

The poles ever widening

—too lost to belong

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

 

My Pen

My connection,

My thoughts and

My prayers

 

My words

My extension,

My gift through

My air

 

My time

My gestation,

My daughters

My sons

 

My dreams

My redemption,

My river

—that runs

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

Thoughts inflame as feelings stir, words simmering yet to boil Unspoken sparks drift through the night, a pyre still to fan As heat restores the human soul, all prodigals return With hope to melt the frozen dawn, and free the Poet’s hand Delphian in its natural form, the smoke a treacherous friend Ink rekindles—lies cremate, the mind, its woods now bare The verses stack and dry of doubt, their ignition up to you As dark they wait for your next breath —to light the spoken air (Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

When you find yourself sheltered

in your own little corner,

it’s time to move on

 

When you find yourself buying

what your echoes are selling,

it’s time to be gone

 

When you find yourself spinning

in a circle redundant,

it’s time to step out

 

When you find the beginning

detached from the ending

—your future in doubt

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

The night brings solace,

its darkness friend

 

Forever now

—forever then

 

(The New Room: January, 2021)

What is a man, what is a woman…

solved by the stroke of a pen

 

The genders now mix, the game has been fixed

 —playing fields only pretend

 

(The New Room: January, 2021)

 

I’m actually tired of being myself…

can I be you for awhile

 

I hide from the mirror and monogrammed lies,

as I run from an image defiled

 

I thought I was safe and had made my escape,

when memory reminded again

 

“You can run, you can hide, your indenture unkeyed

—the chains locked secure in your head”

 

(The New Room: January, 2021)

The dead never get to say goodbye,

as they charge across the line

Finality left to those who live,

still victimized by time

 

The dead never get to say hello,

a bust that’s now recast

Their sacrifice a milepost

—beyond the futurepast

 

(Valley Forge: January, 2021)

 

What purpose Poetry,

if not to transcend

 

The mundane, the broken,

those roads with no end

 

With every feeling

new words are reborn

 

To speak to Creation

—and live readorned

 

(The New Room: January, 2021)