I’m on my fourth lifeline,
  how about you?

The first three pre-owned,
  the current one new

This one seems fleeting,
  which gives me concern

My freezer now empty,
  no steaks left to burn?

The first one was blissful,
  the second had pain

The third one reflective,
  but this fourth one again….

I try to hold on
  and describe it at will

Exceeding my grasp,
  it alludes me and still….

I wouldn’t go back
  to either one, two, or three

The things I see now,
  seeded fruit on my tree

If this is the end,
  and the lights start to dim

I’ll sing the words strongly,
  Madonna’s last hymn

More thankful than troubled,
  more joyous than sad

More today than tomorrow
  —the past in the past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

One vision
  one name

Two words
  —Grand Canyon

(Desert View Arizona: February, 2019)

Magdalena,
  your beauty known

Magdalena,
  your wisdom shown

Magdalena,
  firm and steadfast

Magdalena,
  communed repast

Magdalena,
  so loved a man

Magdalena,
  his blood in hand

Magdalena,
  though history scolds

Magdalena,
  your heart withholds

Magdalena,
  much more than friend

Magdalena,
  —the truth contends

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Not to argue about Poetry
  or justify Prose

Not to discuss their many virtues
   or interpretive flows

I choose to remain quiet,
  and let the words carry on

Where in magnificent silence
  —they turn into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

She followed me downward,
  her lips were on fire

From the depths of her lake,
  every wish she inspired

Water everywhere
  lily pads on end

A frog left unkissed
  the price of pretend

She looked at me sadly,
  the bottom came soon

My arms reached out madly
  to drown or to swoon

Her voice calling gently,
  my spirit renamed  

As my soul she undressed
—inside her again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2017)

Our years are fated….
Maria’s allotment was short
But no less special,
Each minute becoming pregnant
With what time would not allow,
Each new hour
Becoming the measuring stick
Of what would never occur

In a bed and a room
Where only wishes and dreams
Last
To never grow into memories,
Fate would not permit
Her life to become less precious,
As the deceptive future
Steals tomorrow from today

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Our years are fated…
Maria’s allotment was short
But no less special
Each moment becoming pregnant
With what time would not allow
Each new hour
The measuring stick
 Of what would never occur

In a bed and a room
Where only wishes and dreams
Last
To never grow into memories
Fate would not permit
Her life to become less precious
As the deceptive future
  —steals tomorrow from today

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

As long as the wind blows
   Poets will not be forgotten

Their words the breezes carry forth
  —their thoughts to heaven thrown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

Is your humanity held captive
  by your intelligence

Does your soul remain imprisoned
  for a self-inflicted crime

Are the wishes you made, abandoned,
   prisoners of the wind

Is the cell locked deep within you
    —on whose walls you mark the time

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

Thinking too much
feeling too little
—your message shrinks and fades

Forgiving yourself
holding others in sin
—a soul that can’t be saved

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Should God destroy a mountain
  because you’re afraid of heights

Should the sun stay fixed forever
  to keep away the night

Should the birds all sing in unison
  drowning out the siren’s call

Should the questions all have answers
—with you master of it all

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

Should God destroy a mountain
  because you’re afraid of heights

Should the sun stay fixed forever
  to keep away the night

Should the birds all sing in unison
  drowning out the siren’s call

Should the questions all have answers
   —with you master of it all

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

Are you the hero
  in your recurring dream

Or the victim
  of a life undone

Are you the ambassador
  for all you esteem

Or a fugitive
  —a soul on the run

Are you a real friend
  beyond trial and strife

Whose allegiance
  now stalwart defends

Are you the true master
  of all your desires

Or the ghost
  —of what sleep can’t befriend

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Maybe I’ll remember,
maybe you will too

Maybe once it mattered,
  maybe more to whom

Maybe this will lessen,
  maybe it will salve

Maybe there’s forgiveness,
  maybe—maybe not

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)

The kingdom of knowledge
  to its crown we are wed

Its light our betrothal
  its heavens our bed

The words ever regal
  trousseau not to beg

Thus will it be written
  —thus will it be said

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

To meet death head on,
You need but a song
  —to carry you on your way

The words needn’t matter
If the melody flatters
  —to be hummed by the people who stay

To meet death head on,
You need only one song
—that your children may sing out of tune

Because the years, they go fast
Only memories last
  —as May gives up her flowers to June

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

To meet death head on,
You need but a song
  —to carry you on your way

The words needn’t matter
If the melody flatters
  —to be hummed by the people who stay

To meet death head on,
You need only one song
  —that your children may sing out of tune

Because the years they go fast,
Only memories last
  —as May gives up her flowers to June

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

A ray of warm sunshine
—sparkling delight

An arrival so blessed
  on wings of a sprite

Its music plays silent
  from distant to near

Springtime is calling
  —the meadow so dear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2015)

A ray of warm sunshine
  sparkling delight

An arrival so blessed
  on wings of a sprite

Its music plays silent
  from distant to near

Springtime is calling
  —the meadow so dear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2015)

Memories,
  diecast in their emotion,
  —catalysts of the soul

(High Point North Carolina: October, 1977)

Escaping into tomorrow,
  while running from today

The wolf gives chase, my memories flee
—the past to howl and bay

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)