Without A Dream (+11)

Show me a man without a dream

  —and I’ll show you no man at all

 

(Train To New Hampshire: July, 2016)

 

 

Silence

 

Keep your words close

 —but the silence closer

 

(Grantham New Hampshire: July, 2016)

 

 

The 'Cafe'

 

A chat room for dilettantes

 —singing to the choir

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

Past September

 

What are words

  if not remembered

 

What are feelings

  never spent

 

What is time

  if not then fleeting

 

What is love

  not heaven sent

 

What are gifts

  beneath the wrapping

 

What are wishes

  beyond all hope

 

What is love

  once past September

 

What is left

 —when faith elopes

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July,2016)

 

 

The Duke's Wisdom

 

All of life happens

 —between the crest and the trough

 

(Molokai Hawaii: February, 1989)

 ‘Tribute To Duke Kahanamoku’

 

 

Ancient Sins

 

Saturn burns,

  as eight rings turn

 

Its truth on fire,

  no lessons learned

 

A gas filled magnet,

  for solar wind

 

Where ice and rock

  —hide ancient sins

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

Words You Will Find

 

With the years not yet lived

  to determine what’s right

 

You fake it with documents

  that block out the light

 

With experience weak,

  and its lessons still thin

 

Your words only scold

  venting anger within

 

What you want is in sight

  though beyond your best reach

 

And the trophy you hunt

  lost in dreams where you weep

 

But your tears leave a trail

  and your anger a sign

 

For the truth to reach out

  —and whose words you will find

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

Rapture In Flight

 

I’m a two-winged poet

  not just single-wing

 

And would never clip one

  to fly into this wind

 

As one wing goes up

  the other comes down

 

Until both work together

  when flying most proud

 

A zero-sum landing

  with talons not right

 

Only shortens the glide path

  —and ruins the flight

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

 

Too Many Cooks

 

To let other Poets into your kitchen

  —a true recipe for disaster

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

 

The Choking Of Angels

 

Night erupts…

The maddening glow

Of a closing minute

Of a final hour

Shines pale

Against the frozen concrete

As the drumbeat starts

And the chanting starts

My last broken link

Forever lost

Forever lost

Salvation,

The calling card

Of a new

Abyss

My breath turning

Inward

Where the heat rises

And the voices expand

With the choking of Angels

And the plucking of wings

New grace into the fire

The blessing of those

Becoming

A curse to his rage

The fire of isolation

Burning sweet

Into my memory

Murderous thoughts

Killing innocent feelings

All orphaned intent

Lost in dark wandering

Time no longer master

Unto itself

  —as night erupts

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

 

 

First Cut

 

Do you change the meaning

  in favor of form

 

Do you add a new comma

  because it’s the norm

 

Do you shorten the sentence

  because it’s advised

 

Do you scour the pages

  re-dotting your I’s

 

Do you read and reread

  again to address

 

What sure of at first

  and now want to correct

 

A wise man once said

  and it’s truer today

 

“The First Cut Is The Deepest”

   —leave your words as they lay

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)