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Believe to Live

entry picture


Be happy with what you have 
Then you will have what you hope 
Firmly, work and save 
Simply, you reach the top 


It depends on you more 
Than a reason or a cause 
Not because rich and poor 
Your brain, how much knows 


Do believe in God's Judging 
And gain your thought results 
God never asks a jumbling
But to be aware of the facts

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You gave up and left your comfort zone because of reasons.
But should it be that way?
Should it be with your thoughts?
Or should it be your feelings?
At any rate, should you consider one reason?
You fly and wearing this strong face
And with a brave heart
But would it be that way you wanted?
I never thought

But I know I made the right decision because
It is you are the reason.

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Buried in the Sunlight

This poem is for all those who find this life a trial. Keep on keeping on, as someone once remarked.


Buried in the Sunlight


Eleanor played the pipes as a piper should,

flying light with grace and flair and swing,

with airs like a wind band in the deep greenwood:

dancing her careless heart towards an Appalachian spring.

All who knew her, all for whom her life seemed bles...

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The City of God

In the disturbed world of today, I believe we must look to the tragedies of the past for guidance into the future. This piece is based on one of my first efforts, now many years ago.


The City of God

“It stands on a hill,” you say,

"a golden fortress, buttress to our faith,

a Heavenly Jerusalem to Rome's decay”.

Such piety is useful

to commanders of the expendable,



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The Theater of my Life

I've lived the times
Of the theater of my life
Dancing in the foyer:

Commedia dell'Arte
Comprised the entirety
Of my personal repetoire;

Dress rehearsals were
Never taken seriously:
The final play was just

A moments decision
Hurried through a huddle
Of half-written plots.

The masterful monologues
Of my long and intrepid career
Were carried off by the

Glib tongue of the characters

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artCommedia Del'Arttelife and deathreasonTheaterunderstanding


entry picture

How cruel a tongue can cut

a'fore thought would have it held

and how blessed be the but

the sparking nerve would gently meld

for that curse’d misplaced word

thrown eager toward the fray

t’would be better left unsaid 

at the closing of the day


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