The Lie (+13)

Your arms lift me up,

  as your words take me down

 

And I’m caught in-between

  your smile and frown

 

Your eyes making promises,

  your words yet to keep

 

My spirit in limbo,

  my heart left to weep

 

A soul now in turmoil,

  my mind double dealt

 

As your fear and your passion

  collide

 

What’s to be known,

  and what’s to be felt

 

Is it your words or your actions

  —that lie

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

 

Time

 

Easily measured,

  not clearly defined

 

Often lamented,

  more often unkind

 

Its loss we all mourn,

  searching heaven to find

 

The time to become

  —a new past to rewind

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

This Instant

 

Embracing the present,

  freeing the past

 

Abandoning the future

  —eternity’s mask

 

Seizing the moment,

  lies tumble and fall

 

Salvation perpetual

 —this instant and all

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

The Music Stops

 

The jaws sing

As the drip, drip, drip,

Of the petroleum chorus

Dances across

The inverted aluminum

And the hissing starts

And the hissing stays

Its smell a warning

A final omen

Like the last rose

Of summer

Or the fragrance she wore

For that final goodbye

The teeth tear inward

Like the regret for today

And the regret for yesterday

And the lament for tomorrow

Its promise broken

And your khakis red

And baptized

A stigmata

To self infliction

As the music plays constant

And the rushing you feel

An emptying of sorrow

Onto the crushed ceiling

Of a dream in reverse

Of all life in reverse

Until two arms grab you

And you fall from the sky

And you fall from the sky

Waiting

For the ground

To coronate the outcome

And for one more answer

To a ‘why’ unquestioned

And to love you one more time

But the lights are now dim

And the voices muffled

As an organ can be heard

And store bought flowers smelled

And an old woman cries…

As a young woman cries…

And a stranger pronounces

What you feared the most

They didn’t know you

And couldn’t know you

The exit sign flashing

But there is no door

“There Is No Door”

  —and then the music stops

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

For Better Or...

 

Committing to joy,

 committing to moonbeams

 

Committing to hope,

 committing above

 

Committing to sorrow,

 committing forever

 

Committing to heartbreak

 —committing to love

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

 

 

Forever In Shade

 

The light of remembrance,

  the will’s DNA

 

Entombed by dementia

 —forever in shade

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

 

Redemption Near

 

Did you waste your life

  just making money

 

Did you eat the bread

  and not the honey

 

Did you sell your soul

  as your children watched

 

Was your heart left cold

  in a tinderbox

 

Were your excuses rich

  and your reasons poor

 

Did you wake up full

  and still ask for more

 

Were your blessings shunned,

  as you scratched and clawed

 

Saying: “No harm done,

  I never broke the law”

 

Were your teeth all straightened

  and your motives bent

 

Were your eyes detached

  from what heaven sent

 

Were your memories lost

  in some dead refrain

 

As a lonely footnote

  to another’s name

 

If you had one chance

  to re-right these wrongs

 

Would you hide in silence

  or break out in song

 

With your soul imprisoned,

  the choice is clear

 

All joy awaits

  —redemption near

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

 

One Last Memory

 

I thought that I had said it all

  but then—my world was changing

 

I thought that I had seen it all

  until the moment rearranged me

 

With the hourglass empty and clock run down

   leaves fall with the promise of snow

 

As I’m left to write a final verse

    inspiration still unknown 

 

I thought I’d always have in store

   one last memory for my pen

 

But the truth has spoken, my cupboard’s bare,

   and I’m left here alone—unread

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

Daydreams

 

The nursery, a womb

   where fantasy begins

 

The clay, the permission

  for a sculptor to sin

 

The keyboard, a staircase

  to a heavenly score

 

The day, once forsaken

   —its daydream records

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

 

That Place I Wander

 

My level of concern

  goes only so deep

 

I care only to there

  in meters or feet

 

Beyond that depth

  lies a hidden zone

 

Where beneath the caring

  what’s really known

 

In my efforts to hide

  from the surface again

 

My words shelter there

  immune from the pain

 

Below its demeanor

  I now call out to you

 

From that place that I wander

  —and keep out of view

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

Smokescreen

 

“Commercially Successful”

   —the metaphysical oxymoron

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

Liars Dwell

 

Is the truth even electable,

   redemption now a sin

 

The confessional a voting booth

  —where liars dwell within

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

 

The Brick Wall

 

None of you are listening,

  this ending all too real

 

Heaven’s on the horizon

  —with the Devil at the wheel

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

Captured & Slain

 

Where have all the Poets gone,

  has time then captured and slain

 

Those heraldic writers of messaged truth

  —whose shields once bore their names

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

Original Sin

 

A battalion of feeling,

  a dead soldier’s thoughts

 

A war of contrition,

  last battle not fought

 

Distant artillery,

   final shot from within

 

Its smoke covering over,

—the most original sin

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

'Father To The Man'

 

“You can’t play with something you don’t own," said

the father.  “But father, that is the truest definition

of play,” said the Russian boy.  “What is not owned is

not worried about, and what is not worried about sets

you free.”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

Camp Cookie Sings

 

The Camp Cookie could be heard singing…

  “Cowboy: You can’t wrangle the future,

     till you stop rustlin the past”

 

(Dewey Wyoming: July, 2016)

 

 

Last Drop

 

Should a tree be cut down,

  for missing a branch

 

Should the wounded be chastised,

  for taking a chance

 

Should the cup that’s been broken,

  forsake its last drop

 

Should a man be accountable

  —for what he is not

 

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)