Sneaking into the enemy camp,
the guards all fast asleep
Crawling past the sorrow and pain,
old promises to keep
Deep within the saboteurs grasp,
for one last time, alone
Burrowing into uncertainties lair
—to despoil the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Your Spirit Freed
Do you remember what you’ve written,
can you elicit every thought
Does it stay within your memory,
or escape to others sought
Is it linear or transcendent,
on the page or in the wind
Can you still retain the title
—to what your spirit freed within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
That One Reader
I don’t write for other poets,
God condemn me if I do
My words all gifted freely,
to those searching hard and true
I don’t write for academics,
as they archive others thoughts
I write for that one reader
—whose emotions can’t be bought
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
The Lion\'s Roar
Can you save it in a poem,
as you free the words out loud
Can you write it as a picture,
softly drifting to the clouds
Can you fill the lines with music,
as the verse begins to score
Can you leave a troubled listener,
feeling better—wanting more
Can you deem the time now timeless,
with your message in the wind
Can you find yourself left breathless,
as your ending then begins
Can you defend the sacred question,
for those who came before
Can that poem with its gentle hand
—release the lions roar
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Eternity Waits
Wrestling in heaven,
two Archangels beset
An arm bar on hell,
to the devils regret
Scepters now grapple,
as eternity waits
One rule to pin down
—a reckoning at stake
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Choices
If you stop where you are,
you’ll die where you stand
Those choices you make
—to forever command
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Five Strangers
Five strangers walked into my dream,
arm in arm, all different versions
of my deceased mother
They looked at me one by one,
with that look—her look,
that had been gone for so long
The first whispered to the second,
then the second to the third,
as the fourth and fifth just shook their heads
I tried to look away, but their presence
followed, and my eyes were frozen
in the judgment they proclaimed
My sleep now haunted by what I once knew,
a maternal affliction that my memory had cured
—returning again to infect my dreams
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
To Finish Her Song
Polymath Siren,
her flower returns
New stirrings to write
new melody to learn
Renaissance memory,
its present announced
Freeing your psyche,
past-future recount
Polymath harlot,
love pledged again
Petals now varied,
spread from within
Bouquet filled enigma,
here until gone
Leaving always one seedling
—to finish her song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
No Dishonor Or Shame
A warrior lives
like he’s already dead
Honor intact,
his last mission ahead
Destiny called
by an enemy name
All glory to God
—no dishonor or shame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
One Last Dance
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)