Did you not love, as flame the fire,

when springtime came in view

 

Your soul to task, no futures past

—the world again anew

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)

Joplin was to Southern Comfort,

what Hendrix was to smack

Morrison was to masquerade,

what Dylan never lacks

 

Woodstock was to 69,’

what music was to rhyme

Saigon was to those who stayed,

what Auschwitz now reminds

 

Kennedy was to hopes and dreams,

what nightmares were to some

Castro was to leftist thugs,

what cymbals are to drums

 

Kissinger was to Nixon

an Appian Way to roam

Dr. King to civil rights,

what kings are to their thrones

 

Walter Cronkite was to news,

what context was to fact

Altar boys were to their Priests,

what pretzels are to snacks

 

58,000 were to die,

what a wall was to proclaim

58,000 were to all

—what conscience is to shame

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

The enigma of a woman veiled

in what you’ll never know

 

Despite those things she gives to you,

her secrets bide unshown

 

Your eyes may taste and hands might touch,

but to herself alone

 

Her power worn as though a crown

—her mystery, her throne

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

The world is my mentor,

eternity my judge

 

Each choice confirmation,

the future ungloved

 

Time no longer master,

to deceive or profane

 

All life in this moment

—its meaning contained

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

The most precious gift a Poet gets

—true knowledge of himself

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)

A Cowboy never says goodbye,

it’s not in his nature

 

A Cowboy never says goodbye,

the prairie his teacher

 

A Cowboy never says goodbye,

the wind his closest friend

 

A Cowboy never says goodbye

—his heart to only lend

 

(Hays City Kansas: August, 2019)

In the middle of nowhere…

the center of it all

 

Coming back to my beginning

—one choice to recall

 

(Fargo North Dakota: August, 2019)

She wiped the tears

from the eyes of tomorrow

 

Her present uncovered

—her vision refound

 

(Superior Wisconsin: August, 2019)

A Poet sits on the edge of tomorrow,

 waiting for today

 

Notebook in hand, new words to command

—what time has yet to say

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)

Lost in the miles, lost in the smiles,

the road calls out my name

 

Throttle in hand, a beckoning land,

no two days then the same

 

Direction unmapped, my nose to attack,

what’s never been before

 

Fate rides ahead, making my bed

—the wind to know for sure

 

(Limon Colorado: August, 2019)