Senses untamed,
spaces to reign
Bodies that die,
spirits to fly
By length or by width,
time is a myth
Dimension aground,
essence refound
Eyes looking forward,
eyes looking back
Eyes looking inward,
soul reattached
All that was spoken,
providence sings
Grand sublimation,
—last bell to ring
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
The Debt
Buying my life back,
a Poem at a time
The debt was slowly paid,
in rhythm and in rhyme
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Still Lost
Though great were Joyce’s writings,
—his preference was to sing
Irish ballads and Welsh folk songs,
his raucous nights to bring
With transience his dearest Muse,
words speaking for themselves
His truth to roar from greater depths,
—still lost within himself
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Transfusion\'s Masquerade
How can you teach Poetry,
or breathe for someone else
Sharing what your soul has freed,
deep within yourself
Can you cross a bridge unbuilt,
its toll not yours to pay
Squeezing blood from wounds long healed,
—transfusion’s masquerade
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Distant Thunder
We were there,
but we weren’t
We took part,
and we didn’t
There was war,
with all affected
There was death,
and some objected
There was music,
we got lost in
Assassinations,
left us frozen
Alienation,
drove us inward
Graduation,
for beginners
Half a century,
now forgotten
Ten short years,
in time begotten
Raged a storm,
of hope and wonder
Alive today,
—a distant thunder
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)