the sea! the sea! itself did cry;

the fishermen upon the strand,
the swans were sleeping in the sand,
and in between i’d find,
a little book, amongst the rocks,
as if lost in time —
for the words were all in Irish,
and its backing, leather-bind —

the sun may set in fire in Galway,
but never in my mind

Galway
2017

What an opportunity! To not just play music, but teach it — not just learn Irish, but speak it; for “broken Irish’s better than,” the quote began, “clever English.” And I have seen the ways that any one who plans an education, will receive it; those out there who dedicate their time to keep these classic arts alive — and what a time! when at our fingertips we find the store of knowledge of mankind in its entirety — and of my plans? I promised me I’d try to be of one of those who are working there, to save a dying language, and to show to others value of the lifelong cause we chose.

I left my home in California, drove from coast to coast, and how lucky I am now to be in studies here – I love the snows! – I love the classic buildings, and to think I could be one of them, a scholar among scholars! – and when I finish my degree, I’ll be ready then I know.

SUNY Cortland Diversity Fellowship Scholarship
Application and Recipient
2019

“ive had enough!” i cried aloud,
i sat cross-legged on the ground,
and though i fought these feelings
that were teeming, rolling seas
towards which i ventured,
sails open in the screaming winds
in vain: no harbor towards which i was bound,
no fight against myself could ever be
a victory allowed:
those tears will smart and sting
with all the bitterness,
anger it brings.

“i have enough,” i softly sighed,
and though i cried,
each tear into my open palms
in earnest i received in kind;
each in succession itself finds to be
parts of myself only returned to me —
these leaves to roots in falling,
reuniting; it was there when in
that hardened ground did swallow,
buried now my pride,
something inside me gently died,
and when i again opened my eyes
my life again was mine.

2018

how did they taste? those
fleshy seeds in ruby that
choking through the meat in
crushing fruit obtained —

how many did you take?

enough to ne’r again with us –
with us – to
see the light of day;
there’s no Persephone in
borrowed headstones, no
chance of spring to lay
in wait; even the flowers
placed upon your cursed pillow;
both young cut at the stem
and doomed to die the same —
both those; they can not stay;

and you? you can not say.

2021
A poem for the late Jerilyn Normandia,
on the 4th anniversary of her death.
Inspired by Silvia Plath

the headache came two days before –
and then the wind –
and then the storm —
it poured! it blew the leaves alight –
i closed the windows,
closed them tight,
the sky was painted only gray,
and from there , somewhere,
lightning came ,
her thunder dancing right behind,
lo’ laughing, running, hands entwined —

the trees waved their helloes, goodbyes,
the eaves were crying, grasses sighed,
birds flying through those flighty steps —
new summer rains summer begets —

a world of most impressiv’ display,
it me upon impressions made,
and we through seasons, reading days,
bookmarked sometimes by sun, by rain,
stop as they pass,
and start again.

2021