Everyone listened, but nobody talked,
as the Vicar rode on by
His horse an old swayback, loaded with bibles
stove hat pointing up toward the sky
Everyone listened, but nobody smiled,
as the Vicar stormed and raged
“To hell in an instant, to hell you’re all going,”
bony fingers turning the page
Monday till Saturday they spread their delight
catch-as-catch-can, then again
But Sunday morning to awaken in fright
—and face the Vicars threatening hand
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
If you knew the words were killing you,
would you choose then not to write
Would more calendar days still left to live
make up for the darkness and blight
Would the time by days now measured
equal those countless moments untimed
Would you die then forever—and over again
or just once in an ending that rhymed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Looking over the edge
of an emotional cliff
I saw new feelings
for the very first time
Crying out from the back
of a Seraph’s wings
They were begging for me
to climb on
Promising a flight above
reason and logic
Blinding my eyes
with overpowering rhyme
I fell into the new silence
with the Angels below
Catching my words as they
dropped
—in their song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Over the fire
and across the coals
We made it to safety
our innocence tolled
The memory enough
to scare and profane
What fate never mentioned
—as we straddled the flame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015
Listening To Clapton’s ‘Sunshine Of Your Love’
It was Hemingway
early
And Dickinson
late
Those early
exposures
The trail of
my wake
No bar left
unvisited
Or brawl left
unfought
No school that could
answer
Dialectic
corrupt
Now this corner
I sit in
Both welcomes
and warms
And the thoughts
it retriggers
No movement
just form
I once had
looked over
What I now look
within
From this chair
that I captain
Where in virtue
—I sin
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
A late night deposit
from my spirit to my soul
A transfer without interest
its currency stole
The main door won’t open,
the drive-thru is dark
One last check to write
with my chariot parked
The clerk’s eyes on fire,
as she asks me my name
“It’s there on the check”
I repeat in refrain
“Your last transfer I see,
we’ll be losing you now
“The account to be closed
—take the elevator down”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Public exposure….
part of the game
Open disclosure….
paid for with pain
A window through time
opened once and then closed
Immortality’s portal
—the minefield you chose
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
There’s safety in rhythm
salvation in rhyme
Truth in the format
a structure sublime
To children and sages
their message rings true
And down through the ages
—speaks loudest to you
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
The visionary dies,
but the image remains
To that we are faithful,
to that which sustains
The Poet is gone,
but his words are reborn
In the hearts of the needy
—those once left forlorn
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Poetic psychiatry,
the now proven way
Much cheaper and faster
once here—then to stay
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
