Ode To Michael Parks

Only a few

make a pact

with the wind

 

Only a few

know the joy

there within

 

Free of the shadow

that follows

and stalks

 

Escaping

tomorrow

in moments recaught

 

Horizons lie waiting

as pilgrims

embark

 

Voices like magnets

pull light

from the dark

 

Only a few

hear the music

on high

 

Through handlebar

portals

— embraced by the sky

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

 

 

God But A Handmaiden

A higher

but hidden presence

than God

Surrounds his nature

eternity’s

pod

 

Existing over

and deep

within

Its seminal essence

 forever

begins

 

Averse to our choosing

and freedom

blind

Professing nothing

but itself

in kind

 

And blacker

than the

blackest hole

Obverting time

remains

— untold

 

(Villanova University: May, 2025)

 

 

Fate At Its Limit

My ear

to the asphalt

My nose

in the wind

 

My mind

on tomorrow

Escaping

my sins

 

The road bends

before me

It twists

and it turns

 

Where truth

waits forbidden

And love stays

unearned

 

The voices

grow faint

In this gale

to escape

 

In front

and behind me

Both early

and late

 

As the mountain

implores me

Still calling

my name

 

With fate

at its limit

And death

— here to claim

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)

 

No Deal

You can’t make a deal

with a Judas

As tenured

they govern on high

 

Like the British

who sought our indenture

With graft and self-interest

they lie

 

You can’t play the game

any longer

When rules only favor

the few

 

Where freedom is held

as a hostage

And verity’s fairness

— askew

 

(The New Room: March, 2025)