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)
Its Tears
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)
Not Hard Or Fast
Breaking through the dialectic,
good and bad behind
Beyond to where the sky breaks clean,
and time does not apply
Escaping from the either/or,
my mind now free at last
Lost in the perpetual moment
—rules not hard or fast
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Heaven For An Ear
Life’s journey through the darkest night,
whose final verse is clear
Temptation preying on itself
—all heaven for an ear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Her Power Accused
Choking on her
greatest asset,
America dying
from freedom abused
Twisting in the wind
a talonless eagle,
Her heart ripped open
—her power accused
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Save A Poet
In addition to the slogans...
\"Save The Whales,\"
\"Save A Tree,\"
and
\"Save The Oceans\"
We need a new one...
\"Save A Poet\"
(University Of Pennsylvania: July, 2019)
Divinity Chosen
Do three dimensions,
preclude a fourth
Does pointing toward South,
prevent being North
Is now just the midpoint,
between future and past
Does the freedom to choose,
leave all nature aghast
Is one and one two,
if one is in doubt
Are the whole or its parts,
what this world is about
Are Creation and Physics,
at war with themselves
Is Divinity chosen
—willed unto one self
(Saint David’s Pennsylvania: July, 2019)
The Key
My Grandfather was a Poet,
my Father was a thief
Their spirits fight to own my soul
—my Son in cradle sleeps
My Grandfather spoke of beauty,
my Father spoke of sin
The truth now locked within a voice
—whose key I leave to him
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Only To Remind
You’ve got the how but not the why,
from heaven so ordained
For that one moment under God,
times fugitive proclaimed
You want to know the reasons past,
but not those left to find
A crown of thorns and peasant robe
—serve only to remind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)