Naked Before The Mob

When is ‘Almost Good Enough’

never good enough?

 

When is ‘Clearly Not Enough’

an ounce more than enough?

 

When is ‘Almost What You Need’

the most you’ll ever have?

 

When is ‘It’s Not Only That’

the only thing that’s left?

 

When is ‘In Almost Every Case’

not in any case at all?

 

When is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’

the thing sure to be missed?

 

When is ‘In Actuality’

in real terms actually not?

 

When is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’

the biggest lie you’ll hear?

 

When is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’

the one you continue to try?

 

When is the ‘Absolute Final Time’

the one you repeat again?

 

When is ‘Really’ not real at all

and spoken then in vain?

 

When is ‘Probably’ not probable

or even close to that?

 

When is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’

the top of your agenda?

 

When is the trusted ‘Old College Try’

strictly out of school?

 

When is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’

the easiest thing you do?

 

When is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’

so much harder than before?

 

When is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’

the end of the debate?

 

When is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’

the beginning of what comes next?

 

When is ‘So What’ a euphemism

for the most important things you do?

 

When is ‘It Is What It Is’

categorically not, and never will be?

 

When is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’

ceramic and for sale?

 

When is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’

the one taken in disgust?

 

When is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’

four points more than its worth?

 

When is the special ‘Love You Lost’

the only one you’ve never found?

 

When is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’

the one that flies away?

 

When is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’

the silence you extol?

 

When will your words line with copper wire

to conduct the truth unrobbed

 

When will you cease to pander and mislead

—naked before the mob

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Never To Rest

I’m a Poet….

don’t try to trap me with words

or with logic you don’t understand

 

With your barrister’s training

you’re out of your league

this arena beyond your command

 

In some ways

I’ve already said it all

but never in the form you approve

 

Or with comforting platitudes

lining your shell

as pontification behooves

 

The slick easy answers

unfit for a Sage

but the pundit and liars attest

 

My message as spoken

comes at great cost

—your conscience never to rest

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Chest Without A Name

I keep my verse in a chest of drawers

each one so very different

 

Some words for summer, some for winter

and some then most intemperate

 

I keep the best one’s locked away

for those times when you’re around

 

To dress each phrase in sunlit fire

with silks and linens found

 

I fold each poem nice and neat

stacked end to end they lay

 

To sit and wait, my breath exhaled

until their chosen day

 

There’s one drawer open every night

in case my dreams conspire

 

The thickest warmest woolen clads

to wrap the image dire

 

One day I’ll will this chest of drawers

to my first born oldest son

 

And hope he wears each line as his

and lets the meanings run

 

And then to his son, he’ll pass on

when fate calls out his name

 

The drawers more full than when I left

—this chest without a name

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Morning In Doubt

Riding into the moment

with pen ablaze

past-future on the hunt

 

Fear taking a seat

across the fire

begging for what it wants

 

The bugles blow

all lights go out

—twin enemies approach

 

Upon whose sleeves

my heart is laid

in doubt the morning cloaked

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

Beauty Fraught

I was a soldier, but never sure

of those things I was

charged to do

 

I was asked to fight

pick up helmet and gun

men dying around me I knew

 

The places I’ve been

and the things I’ve done

all eclipse the known profane

 

Now with beauty fraught

I lock the gate

—inside this prison I remain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

The Serpent Is Dead

Twilight fell onto my

windowsill

 

Demon fire in full

retreat

 

The stars above

glowing pulls on a rug

 

Woven deep into the blackness

I sleep

 

Days grip is unchained

the cantor sings as he prays

 

As St. Michael cries

THE SERPENT UNDONE

 

The sun has now left

though your dreams not bereft

 

Only the night

—points to heaven above

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

The Seasons Meld

If you live long enough

it all unravels

 

From the first thing

to the last

 

If you reach far enough

your spirit travels

 

Beyond the answers

and questions asked

 

If you wait long enough

the seasons meld

 

Snow and flowers together

sewn

 

If you love deep enough

an Angel guides you

 

Present, past, and future

—known

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)