Softly,

I leave you

 

Within the falling

rain

 

And take my leave,

the storms reprieve

 

Its tears

—to wash the pain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

A scant twenty years,

grieved a century or more

 

Poetically perfect,

in spirit and lore

 

A man and his horse,

alone on the range

 

The cattle his instruments,

and music to play

 

Civil War veterans and blacks

from the South

 

Through dust and dark clouds,

snowy blizzards that mount

 

Together they battled,

in concert they fought

 

Each unto himself,

life’s harmony caught

 

The hardship and death,

to him worth the price

 

Pushing always ahead,

a stranger to fright

 

The only thing telling,

to be left at the end

 

Was the legend he gave us

  —and the message it sends

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

When I want to express anger,

I get madder than hell

 

When I want to give love,

how deep is my well

 

On those times that I covet,

how green I become

 

And when wrestling with hate,

the result zero-sum

 

When my face blushes red,

I wear it with pride

 

Excitement and fury,

then never to hide

 

These things at my core,

at your risk to defame

 

Like politics censored

—emotional correctness disclaimed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2019)

Wishes for horses,

  beggars to ride

 

Hope cinches tightly

  —dreams that won’t die

 

(Cowboy Poetry Festival- Elko Nevada: 1992)

The performances gone,

just memory survives

 

A spirit most willing,

whose body still tries

 

All motion much slower,

directed regret

 

Intention unwavered

 —times ravage beset

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Victim of passion,

purveyor of lies

 

Betrayer of talent,

bending the I

 

Captive obsession,

perspective now gone

 

Fear self-indicts

—when right turns to wrong

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

“You’re only as strong as your weakest link,”

the Postman said out loud

 

“Space creates room to get lost or expand”

he shouted out so proud

 

True wisdom appears when it chooses the time,

it has always been that way

 

It’s the ear out-of-tune that hears only the wind

—when eternity has its say

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Religion…

Translator of spirituality

Interpreter of that never felt

Templar of the self-absorbed

Deceiver

—of those searching and lost

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

 

When the spirit listens

  —the heart forgives

My heart stays in Wyoming,

as Montana calls my name

 

My spurs and bits ‘a jingling’

my soul goes north again

 

Cody up through Beartooth Pass,

Cooke City just below

 

The Great Divide off to my left,

the glaciers ringed with snow

 

I stop to mourn the western tribes,

as dark clouds form above

 

The war call of Tasunka-Witko,

crying out with love

 

My spirit loose to roam the land,

the great Oglala’s words I hear

 

Two kindred souls in one last dance

 —as Wakan Tanka draws us near

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)