That Lonely Road

Is your poetry now dusty,

abandoned on the shelf

 

Have your dreams become dismissive,

do you live for someone else

 

Is there mold inside your memory box,

questions all long gone

 

Do you walk that lonely road alone

—your heart to drag along

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Now Others Sung

Poets write from experience,

dilettantes rave and rant

 

A price demanded to feed the Sage,

wishing and hoping can’t

 

Magic to wrap around the words,

feelings and thoughts hard won

 

Beauty when lyrics belong to you

—in songs now others sung

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Something For Gregg

I was somewhere deep in Kansas,

on a Triumph 69’

 

When your song came on the jukebox,

and hit me from behind

 

I was headed for a bad place,

and cared for nothing much

 

When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’

my heart and soul were struck

 

Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before

 

When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’

I headed for the door

 

But something made me turn around,

and grab another dime

 

Ten more times in that diner’s booth,

still lost within your rhyme

 

Now back inside the bus station,

and sleeping on the bench

 

I scratch your words into the wood,

last dollar gone and spent

 

My bike outside against the wall,

the kickstand now long gone

 

And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,

that unrelenting song

 

Waking up at ten unsettled,

across the street I pushed

 

The sign said Triumph-BSA,

the owner Mister Cush

 

He asked, “What’s with your motor,”

I said “nothing—out of gas,

 

“But worse I’m out of money,

can I sell the bike for cash

 

“Would you please just buy my Triumph,

I know it’s old and worn

 

“It got me here through seven states,

runs great both cold and warm”

 

“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,

on that can we agree?”

 

We walked back up inside his shop,

three bills he handed me

 

I thought about a bus ride home,

my thumb looked more in line

 

Facing East on old route #50,

my heart in deep decline

 

The first big rig that came along,

was bound for York Pa.

 

The driver said “If you like dogs,

I’ll take you on your way”

 

In York I caught a fast ride out,

two ‘dodgers’ going North

 

And got back home with hat in hand,

your song to guide me forth

 

Two years then passed, I met my wife,

four more and our first child

 

And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’

her dad back from the wilds

 

Now forty years have come and gone,

my beard and hair both gray

 

I owe you Gregg, and always will,

your song, her name—that day

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

 

For Gregg Allman

I Sent This To Gregg In March 2016. It’s on His Website.

We Spent TwoDays Together In Richmond Va. In A

Blizzard In 1982.

 

Our Gateway

There just below the surface,

more present than you know

 

A prophetic Jeremiah,

calls out to us to know

 

His message serves as warning,

“False idols block the light”

 

Our gateway through the darkness

—his vision gifting sight

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

The Prose Waits

If you finally struck gold

And were digging out the mine

Would you leave it for a month

And come back to what you’d find

 

That’s the way I feel each day

Being blessed to write verse

The prose insanely waiting

—for my voice to reverse

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)