That vacuum
inside you
once in it
you’re trapped
Insular
nothingness
too late
to look back

What’s empty
imprisons
no reference
in space
Where freedom
and choice
become duly
— erased

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

Music first played
on the heartstrings
of God
Whose chorus
of Angels
carries beyond
A melody sacred
each note
comes from He
Whose flute calls
us closer
Whose harp
— sets us free

(1st Book Of Prayers: July, 2025)

Two halves
from the middle
each end joins the past
Memory’s essence
the moment recast

Each second
or hour
lost victims of fate
Time off the table
— not early or late

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

I was a
poet
you
were a sailor
Waves
came in couplets
words
in the brine

I was
reborn
with the ocean
in rhythm
Released
in its wonder
forever
— in rhyme

(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)

Downwind
of my perception
Upwind
before the fall
Immune
in my protection
From dullards
at the mall

The past
remains in focus
The future
but a myth
My words
fall out of judgment
Each phrasing
to enrich

To read
with understanding
To hear
beyond the din
To feel
beyond the senses
To love
beyond the rim

Released
without containment
On wings
not leased or loaned
Into
the inner sanctums
With time
— Goliath’s stone

(The New Room: June, 2025)

The only child
but favorite
of two ‘outlaws’
mare and stud

He bucked each
gelded moment
on their wild ride
of love

Until that day
he up and left
their branding iron
of pain

To wander high
and lonesome
mongst the free  
and tumbling sage

In search of one
last bronc to mount
that one last
horn to make

And spur the wreckage
of his youth
as Angels
— pull the Gate


(Pendleton Round-Up: June, 1993
Elko Nevada: Cowboy Poetry Reading: January, 1994)

“No Man Is An Island”
but that was before smart phones
To text and to tweet
technology’s drones

With ear buds in place
these Stepford’s march on
Virtually connecting
— to what’s already gone

(University of Pennsylvania: June, 2025)