Old souls know about money,
and run from it more than the rest
They’ve witnessed the toll it exacts,
they’ve witnessed the joy it rejects
An old soul lives on a shoestring,
tied to something that money can’t buy
An old soul is not bought so cheaply
—as that new soul that’s never flown high
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
A Poets gathering…
party of one
The darkness invited
—words zero sum
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
When you’ve been to the top of the mountain
—you can relive the view from afar
(Bear Tooth Pass: August, 2019)
Silence…
the channel to my stream
Thoughts…
the stream to my creek
Words…
the creek to my river
Music…
the river to my becoming
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
You’ll never get to paradise,
by riding on a mule
You’ll never lose the Jester,
by acting like a fool
You’ll never shed the darkness,
by hiding from the light
You’ll never see beyond today
—entrapped in mirrored sight
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
Before dying alone,
our choices define us
To love and be loved
—to care and believe
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
He defeated his family…
this battle was won
The war still in doubt,
a General shunned
The casualties lingered,
fatalities mount
Old reasons to fester,
in spite of the count
His Grandmother’s death,
the last coup de gras
The love of his life,
he held her till gone
But after her funeral,
his troops on the run
Tents folded and burned
—the last setting sun
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
I wish that I had cared enough,
to mention once or twice
That what I wanted now has changed,
old virtues turned to vice
The past left misbegotten,
and future long disclaimed
The present what I’m running from
—its hourglass in flames
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
If consciousness is emergent,
where is it emerging from
The dualists say… the naturalists say…
but answers just won’t come
As the blue hour seeds the dawn,
before the new arriving sun
One question hard, the self must ask
—how consciousness becomes
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
The journey kindled,
hopes ablaze,
a future now unseen
Moments of ecstacy,
moments of grief,
lost ashes inbetween
Cowling on fire,
time a slow burn,
the stationmaster cries…
“The tracks have melted,
locomotive’s in flames
—your ticket singed and fried”
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
