Whom Could It Be (+2) ... long

Whom could it be, this professional Poet,

selling his blood for a few kernels of grain

 

Whom could it be, this professional Poet,

pandering to others in search of a name

 

Whom could it be, this professional Poet,

drunken talk-show appearance, stumbling again

 

Whom could it be, this professional Poet,

the strongest of liars—the weakest of men

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

 

 

From Beginning To End

 

You want it to make sense

You want it to become clear

Your feigned self importance

No longer precious or dear

But the only one caring

And the one still in doubt

A mirrored reflection

Of what never comes out

The lunch breaks upon you

Again eating alone

Your steak is still raw

Chewed right to the bone

The banter around you

Seems innocent and yet

The shroud that surrounds you

Wards off and deflects

“You gain nothing by trying”

You gain nothing you say

As you begin crying

For those cast astray

That girl in the tall grass

That one in your arms

Went to be with another

When you bartered your charms

Her daughter who’s grown now

Some say looks like you

Could it be then you wonder

When the times were so few

You pay the cashier

And slowly walk out

This bill had been dear

More than you had allowed

With the bone in your pocket

You head back to your desk

As the cry of a mockingbird

Decries and behests

Your pen then runs dry

As you again start to write

On your left eye a sty

All vision in blight

Only then do you notice

Hanging pink and in front

And you know that your future

Now a dog that can’t hunt

So you walk to his office

And sit down in the chair

You look at him soulless

And try not to care

He explains “That he’s sorry”

That “The timing’s not right”

He says that you’re valued

But be gone by tonight

As you clean out your desk

A new feeling partakes

You look up to the ceiling

Knowing all that’s at stake

And that feeling is good

That feeling seems right

As the feeling then pushes

And the feeling alights

You decide now emboldened

To stop on the way home

At the house of that one

You left forever alone

You heard of divorce

And you wonder how bad

The damage it left her

Was it worse than you had

As you slow down your car

She stands in the yard

As you speed up your heart

She says ‘Directions’ how far

She does not recognize you

Have you changed all that much

She looks at you puzzled

As you long for her touch

And you drive away empty

As you drive away cold

And you drive away blackened

From your heart to your soul

But your path is now clear

Though you’ve no place to go

And those things that you’ve feared

Have now rightly been shown

As you walk in the kitchen

The door never had locked

Standing there and still smitten

The one you thought had forgot

“Was that you in the car earlier

Was that you, really you

I couldn’t believe it

Because I still love you, I do”

A reward wrapped in burlap

The priciest kind

Where if never rejected

You are never to find

So make just one promise

To then promise again

To be true to your feelings

—from beginning to end

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

 

 

They've Stolen Your Song

 

What can it mean to a new generation,

when lessons in history

     —fail to inspire

 

What can it mean to a new generation,

when watered down values

     —keep dousing the fire

 

What can it mean to a new generation,

as men hunt each other

     —their food sources gone

 

What can it mean to a new generation,

when the lyrics are distant

—and they’ve stolen your song

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)