My Last Etesian (+4)

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)