CHAPEL OF POETRY

This small chapel of poetry
Processional lines of words
Parading into hearts
Words that can walk by themselves

I seek to live in my own times
As a troubadour of conscience
I do not pick the words
Rather they prick me

I can only write what is inside of me
Sometimes igniting
Other times extinguishing
Life's lessons and loves

PERCEPTION AND REALITY

If perception were reality
Then you’d still be here with me
And not underground

LET THE QUESTION LINGER

Some questions have no answers
Like hungry young birds
Mouths open, demanding
But we must let the questions linger

INDICTMENT

We make monuments to some
Others we call enemies
And indict our species
When we kill our own kind

ALWAYS SOMETHING IS CHANGING

After reading your words
I need a moment alone
To find direction
In this new flood through my heart
Always something is changing

TEMPORARY MASTER

Sometimes I let the moment go
And become the temporary master
Of what should have been
And what I should make so

AN OLD LIST

I found your name
On an old list
Are you happy
Are you kind
Do you ever think of me
As I do of you

STAY IN TOUCH THIS TIME

I want to see friends
From long ago
To learn what happened
And how they turned out

To feel again
The energy of youth
And plans and hope
To remember and regale

I want to do it all again
Revise and improve
To forgive and love
And to stay in touch this time

THE FATHER I WANTED

I wanted a father
Who came home each day at 5
Played pitch in the front yard
Hiked on weekends
And watched TV with me at night

But you had so many competing demands
Of work and self-expression
So many things I never knew or understood

I anticipate the day
My son will find himself
In this same position
After I am gone

NO EVIDENCE

There’s no evidence to believe
That if you hadn’t died
Things would have been better
But for me
There is still some hope
Even now

REMEMBERED NIGHTS

I remember delicious nights
Of cold fruit cocktail
And warm cookies

We shared expectations
Of sweet food and sweeter conversation

GALLERY GLEANINGS

The artist’s face is full of endurance
Am I wanted?
The gallery owner
Is polished and pretending

Selling art is a slave auction
Unseemly and a little immoral

WHICH YEAR

Which year is it
That you pass
From being adorable
To too old
To get away with anything

WAKING

Waking
I cautiously crawl
To the edge of light
And peer into the day

Looking out from the blackness of sleep
I search
For the meaning
Of a new day

Tapping my eyelids
The sun says
You have another day
Look to the things you will do today