Living
poetic
Treasuring
feelings
Wrapping each
moment
In letters
of sound

Freeing the
silence
Words deep
within me
Calling the
future
Where verses
— resound

(The New Room: February, 2025)

We all become
stories
at the end
of the day

The true
and the false
the black
and the grey

The plot lines
will vary
the ends
in due course

As history
remembers
with joy
— and remorse

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Whittling the point
paring it down
cutting the volume
honing the sound

Sharpening each line
words drop and fall
meaning to thunder
— lightning recalled

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Blisters of
disillusion
fester
and boil

Vision
rubbed raw
in the darkness
embroiled

False
expectations
lie scattered
and burned

Ignoring
our history
with lessons
— unlearned

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Abandoning
yesterday
haunts me
today
Interring
reminder
of what’s not
in play

Bypassing
my choosing
evading
my will
Each sight
unenvisioned
in blindness
— distilled  

(The New Room: February, 2025)

Embalming
your memory
the funeral
dragged on
Returning
the remnants
that pain
had prolonged

The pallbearers
stationed
each side
of the grave
A grieving
reminder
that time
— had enslaved

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

The gift
of a friend
A blessing
from God

An arm
that protects
A light
in the fog

The gift
of a friend
Enduring
and true

For life
everlasting
To live
— inside you

(To My Dear Friend, David Mackrell: February, 2025)

Often
in the space
of words unspoken
— truth most dearly hides

(The New Room: February, 2025)

Rows of forgiveness
fallow in winter
Waiting for summer
their treasure installed

Leftover morsels
heated in darkness
Sating the hunger
  of those who are called

Seeds from the past
replenish the future
Buried salvation  
awaits in the ground

Fasting on yesterday
feasting tomorrow
Waiting for supper
— when dinner bells sound  


(The New Room: February, 2025)

Staring
into the essence
of what sunlight
often hides

Within
plain sight
the truth takes flight
— in nature’s great disguise

(The New Room: February, 2025)

Stuck out on
a highway
between reality
and truth

The status quo
of transience
allures as it
deludes

Looking for an
exit ramp
to slow
my troubles down

Each sign I see
in bold relief
misleads
to distant towns

Till finally
I hear it
though faint
within the wind

From distant North
it beckons forth
to welcome me
within

The truth
respects no congress
and tows the line
for none

It flies within
our hopes and dreams
to leave us
— zero sum

(The New Room: February, 2025)

Their shouts remain
as hope reclaimed
the smoke still
on the beach

The roars that hide
of those who died
is heard
within the breach

A spirit roams  
within the bones
of men
who went beyond

In freedom’s quest
to give their best
in times
— forever long

(Operation Dynamo - Dunkirk, 1940: February, 2025)

“Truth
is often attended
by a bodyguard
of lies”

A consequence
so precious
its veracity
must hide

Deep within
the smoke
on a battlefield
most dire

Victory burns
within each man
intrepid
— to inspire

(Tribute To D-Day: February, 2025)

The weight
of what I
haven’t done
far outweighs
my past

Those things
left vacant
on the shelf
of what I left
for last

Excuses
linger
as empty
choices
following behind

Reminding me
of what
I’m not
in content
— and in kind

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Happiness
you can’t explain
Forever joyous
— hope’s refrain

(The New Room: February, 2025)

The minute I say
what it means to me
It will never mean
something different to you

Words are like highways
they begin and they end
You can get on and get off
where you choose

If I tell you the mile marker
I travel the most
You may miss one
I still haven’t seen

If I break it apart
and then spell it all out
There’s no mileage left
— to wander and dream

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

The only thing
that changes
is perspective

The only thing
envisioned
sight unseen

The only thing
that’s lasting
stays redundant

The only thing
that lingers
— is a dream

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Having less
suffering more
Doors were slamming
wolf at the door

Arriving first
finishing last
Spiraling downward
— perdition recast  

(The New Room: February, 2025)

Lost in a ditch
on the highway
of life

A change
came upon him
from darkness to light

That dead end
Apostle
arose and broke free

Remanding
his spirit
— at last unto Thee

(1st Book Of Prayers: February, 2025)

I wrote them
for the wind
not publication

I wrote them
for the now
future be ******

I wrote them
in a sweet
anticipation

I wrote them
to release
— upon the land

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Homeless
enflamed  
in the alleyway
food
their main concern

Love
someone else’s
mystery
hunger’s infliction
— to burn

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

My heart bled
and writing
was an open wound
As words
poured out
in hemorrhaged pleadings
No suture
or hemostat
clotting their flow
The nearer
the end
the harder it pumped
In gushing
pulsations of
finality  
Bleeding out
what time
— could never give back  

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

The chorus of criticism
echoes unblessed
Where millions hide waiting
misled and repressed

Destruction and mayhem
the rallying cry
With freedom the villain
— in hope’s genocide

(The New Room: February, 2025)

When a man
has nothing
The easiest thing to sell him
— is a dream

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Do I think
you can silence a poem
In a word
the answer is NO

Do I think
you can bridle a passion
You’d be better served
melting a stone

Do I think
you can marry tomorrow
Still married
to yesterday’s pain

Do I think
you can joyously wander
Locked in step
— with the devil again


(The New Room: February, 2025)

Knowledge
without proof
Belief
without doubt
Living
without fear
Rejoicing
— devout

(1st Book Of Prayers: February, 2025)

You look at me
and all feeling is absent
without understanding
or care

Calling me brother
remaining a stranger
defined by the
distance we share

Caught in the fury
of loves abandon
You wander inclement
storm raging inside

A ghost in the mirror
a twin of reflection
Two eyes that stare coldly
— across the divide

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Style and grace
I thought I knew
Until I spent
my life with you

The joy you shower
my luck to claim
The love you flower
— my hearts refrain

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Revolution
always eats
its children

Feasting
on prodigy
— dogma be ******

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

The greatest obstacle
to discovery
— is discovery itself

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

The DNA of Illusion
— is Time

(Thank You, Leon: January, 2025)

You bloom where  
you’re planted
the Sage
told the Priest

Your flowers
won’t blossom
if distant
and bleak

As fate
seeds your valley
the force
reaches out

Reseeding
creation
in whispers
— that shout

(The New Room: January, 2025)

If I ask you ...  
“How Does A Watch Work”
And you say ...  
“Keep An Eye On The Time”

The anecdote preying
answer naysaying  
Pathway to reason
— unrhymed

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

In his
indecision
he changed
again
Only to
become more
of what he had
— never been

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Justification
of illusion
the surface
unsure

Each step
poorly taken
new death
— to allure

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Wandering off
drifting hither and yon
Stumbling without purpose
through maddening throngs
Askant in reflection
devoid of all thought
The badlands awaiting
— eternity fraught

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

When I got to Heaven
the gates were listing
a ‘going out of business’
sale

The Angels on clearance
Saints on deep markdown
Grace and the Cherubs
e-tailed

When I got to Heaven
the Devil in line
waiting to go in
and buy

His credit card ready
Cerberus in tow
the ****** and the wicked
— behind

(The New Room: January, 2025)

Eavesdropping
the liars
where poison is stirred
Their message
rings toxic
the future interred
Foreboding
forsaking
all hope is unstrung
While deaf
to the mantra
— where truth waits unsung  


(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Hiding behind
each veil of deception
a reckoning awaits

Looming above
the sea of destruction
a fugitive of fate

Grasping for breath
on the edge of tomorrow
the future air most thin

Plaguing the weak
adrift in their sorrow
— the DNA of sin

(The New Room: January, 2025)

Today
is in context
Tomorrow
is not

The moment
held captive
The future
uncaught

To be
unbegotten
No birth
and no death

The present
resplendent
No last
— dying breath

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Conspicuous
by his absence
Entrenched  
in his abeyance
Condemned
in his reluctance
All feelings
askant

Forgiveness
but a carrot
From a garden
long estranged
Those closest
to his exit point
Bereft
— and unclaimed

(Villanova University: January, 2025)

When you have money
the world stops to listen
The content no matter
gratuity bound

The dollars indulgent
as charlatans glisten
Self-interest the mantra
— with greed to compound

(Septa R5 Train: January, 2025)

Loving you
with all my heart
the distance creeping in

With each tryst
creating space
your vision growing thin

The more I try
to hold you close
the more you slip away

Until I’m left
alone again
— in passion’s yesterday

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Crossing over
into the realm
of non-description
reference and paradigm
sleep alone

Borders falling inward
upon themselves
leaving only what
the mind forgoes
—and the soul forbids

(The New Room: 1-15-2025)

A second first date
a telltale sign  
that she’s the hill
my heart to climb

A third first date
the past a blur
my thoughts held captive
entrapped in her

A fourth first date
all time had stopped
her eyes enchanting
the mountain topped

A fifth first date
my world anew
her saving grace
— the words “I Do”

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

On a path
of mindless
wander

To hope
is an unwoven
thread

In a life
of restless
longing

Tomorrow
in joy
— or in dread

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Between
Charlie’s
Drums
Keith’s
Guitar
And ****’s
Voice
The story of
Rock & Roll
Is told
Immortalized
— and reborn

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Twenty-five years
of saying the Rosary

Twenty-five years
a promise to keep

A last dying wish
her beads in my hand

Not one day I’ve missed
— or one restless sleep

(The 1st Book Of Prayers: January, 2025)

If not a Poet
what would I be
A soldier, a sailor
a fading marquee

If not a Poet
whose soul would I claim
a saint’s or a sinners
to praise or defame

If not a Poet
which path would I choose
the known or untraveled
which one did Frost use

If not a Poet
what hills would I climb
what bells could I ring
— in place of the rhyme

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

Once up on
a pedestal
There’s nowhere to go
— but down

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)