Forty years a Poet,
sixty years a man
Calling to me distant,
my last Etesian
Time at best deceptive,
a trinity of masks
Present truth accepted,
the one not first or last
The drums now beating softly,
their rhythm stills my heart
My spirit free to chase the wind,
—this world I now depart
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
The Ultimate Choice
Living as if already dead,
—his words new
That morning he first understood,
the verse flew
The closer he got to the edge,
the deeper his voice
That day he fell over himself,
—the ultimate choice
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Still They Call
Some poems are true monuments,
some lower to the ground
Some verse is loaded, stacked, and piled,
some stored away till found
A phrasing here, a meaning there,
now where to put it all
As voices cry within the womb,
—unborn, but still they call
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
All Travelers Within
Poetry a journey…
each word a life’s misstep
When placing them together,
one voice to bind and set
Its map within a puzzle,
to point beyond the wind
A road that’s never ending,
—all travelers within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Papa
Poets and Bullfighters,
death to uncage
The truth between horns,
eternity’s rage
One thrust entitled,
mortality damned
Life springs eternal,
—the sword leaves your hand
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)