Arch Angel

The seekers search for light,
knowing, wisdom and certainty,
but the simplicity of God’s Word
muffles under the intrusion of
technology’s noise,
and fades into a mosaic of distraction.

To connect
requires simple silence, calm acceptance,
gentle effort, open eyes, ears, heart,
an open mind, an open soul and
an open spirit fixed on
the most mysterious technology
unknown to man:
faith.

There, in the invisible infinity of
faith,
far beyond technology’s noise,
the peek of comfort speaks
a loud, clear, powerful message
through a humble and moving,
wireless silence.

Espresso for Two

Remnants linger from a conversation concluded
between two lovers whose whispers and giggles
and loaded lines danced on the fringe of intimacy
beneath the boisterous din of public clamor.

The bitter-sweet trace of lemon zest
lingers on their lips and tongues as they kiss
somewhere nearby.
The acrid liquor that is Espresso
imparts its vibrant influence far beyond
the moment these happy demitasse cups
emptied euphoria into the lovers’ smiling lips.

Now, the sediment of flavor’s nectar
settles about the rims and bellies of
these porcelain vessels of memories
reflected in turned down spoons and residue
where whispers, giggles and leading lines
tumbled across this tiny table
in hushed moments amidst a loud world.

The conversation’s aftermath lingers,
sealing this color-filled moment into history,
and connecting these vibrant tiny goblets
with the lovers of the past who also savored
companionship through the monochrome elixir
of insight and arousal that is Espresso.
For two.

Atlantic  Street

In a portioned view of a slice of town,
a reflection of who we are
and what we hope for
emerges in the fabric
of Atlantic Street’s genial Saturday mosaic:

  a store for shoes, a bank,
  a bagel wannabe,
  a salon, a closed saloon, a restaurant
        where yesterday’s supper sits
        on tomorrow’s stove,
  the Old Town Hall in its new suit
  gleaming beneath the comfort of God
  watching over us from St. John’s Basilica.

A sense of history and the toil of our roots
hides behind a new facade
as a new downtown awakens,
sporting a new face with a new profile of

 
Our Avon

Avon – as in Stratford Upon –
beams as a beacon of renewal
and brilliance
in the Stamford night;
more than a house of movies,
our Avon
serves as our ambassador to an art
and merchant of creative indulgence,
offering fresh alternatives
to the common perspective,
engaging and enchanting stories celebrating
chronicles of the human condition.

Bless this refreshing retreat from
commercial noise, gadgetry, the technical,
and worse, the mechanical monsters
grounded in electronics and
obsessed with destruction.

Our Avon – as in Stratford Upon –
honors its roots and vision as a
Theater,
an arena enabling artists
to expose the issues and ironies
of human struggle and conquest
in a bigger-than-life reflection
of who and how and what we are:
magnificent creations, elaborate beings
governed and moved by an intricate spirit
expressed in the art at the
Avon – as in Stratford Upon.

Even in the silence of rest and solace,
the bell in the belfry rings loud
as our call to attention,
celebration and the
union
of our congregation of common concern.
Our beckoning bell calls for caring –
for those in the foreground
of society’s façade,
and the voiceless victims
suffering in the shadows.

The centuries old symbol,
our tool for alarm and proclamation,
sits in its protective cocoon
in the belfry,
where its elaborately simple apparatus
awaits its call to ring its clamor
for all to hear in simple reverence,
as its echoes tumble 
amidst the alleyways and avenues
of downtown,

Clock Tower

The time on all the faces
of our beloved clock tower
always reads
Now.
The perpetual birth and death of the
minutes and hours
matter not;
   they’re non-existent – constantly,
   over and over and over,
reminding us that time is constant
in its perpetual resurrection and decline
between the clutches of now
and the far reaches of never.

The clock tower’s message
rings loud and clear
from its framed faces
facing the four corners
of our world:
   the past has passed,
   the future does not exist,
   but Now lasts forever
and Now is where and when
we must live.
Forever.
Beginning Now.

A garden table awaits its diners,
clothed only in its sculpted stone;
this quaint dining room for two,
formed from open walls and endless skies,
softens the heart and frees the mind
to embrace the possibility within this little room
that sprawls as wide as the world.

Despite her humble hush,
her beauty roars in a silent song,
her frame of healthy vine tempers
her alabaster face, inviting the eyes to dine.
Her simple elegance complements nature’s nest,
in this beautifully rustic, private quarters,
hidden in this airy public jewel.

So serve the banquet, serve the wine,
slice the fruits of picnics fine,
salt this garden table’s meal
with sweetened whispers lovers’ feel,
in the cozy secrets of this room
framed in beauty’s perfect bloom,
fulfill the lovers’ searching whys
with wanton foods and alibis,
beneath the shade where lovers meet
on alabaster marble seats,
the shadows dance in summer’s breeze
with grace and flare and blissful ease
around this dining room for two,
formed from dreams and playful cues,
her timeless beauty, perfect face
presents her elegance as grace.
So serve the banquet, serve the wine,
slice the fruits of picnics fine.

Two friends – more than co-workers – huddle close
to balance an elusive trust,
teetering on the shaky thread of a tightrope
spun from a secret neither friend should know or repeat.

But the raw euphoria in sharing – in tasting the secret’s juice –
spreads its magnetic allure to all things confidential,
intrigue: a quirky fascination of the human psyche.

The friends probe for trust in the seeds of their sow,
indulging in passing along secrets in exchange for secrecy
to protect each other’s weaknesses
from the clutches of discovery
and the demanding standards of expectation.

The friends lean more away from the world
than toward each other;
    they whisper, they coo, they sigh,
    they strengthen their bond
    by weakening others’ stature
    as they sweep their own
          discontent and insecurities aside
    like crumbs fallen from splintered bread sticks,
    brushed from their table, neatly out of their lives.

They evolve their discussion,
now leaning more toward each other
than away from the world
in a new found comfort called trust,
teetering on the shaky threads of a tightrope
spun from a secret
neither friend should know or repeat.

Deep in the thick of Stamford’s forest,
countless paths trail the banks of streams
where fallen trees and lush vegetation
vegetate, forming nature’s canopy
of protection to cool the woods below.

The trickle of the streams and
twirping of birds unseen
sing in sync, yet not in harmony.
Wildlife roams under cover
of this wondrous cover
as the trees stand in silence,
saluting hikers who know of these trails
as they practice their simple reverence
to this sacred, natural sanctity.

The path worn cozy and soft
meanders in an orderly random
of peaceful progress toward discovery
and escape in the same stride.
This choice tree reaching into the path
in glory, rises its branches
in an angel’s assurance
to remind us we are being cared for,
guided and protected
no matter the path of our choosing.

Vision appears in its sharpest clarity
when there’s nothing to be seen,
where dreamers see, imagine and
transform nothing into something,
conceive from the naked blank of white
or the empty dark of black,
something special,
that once articulated as a plan
becomes clear and possible
for all to see and imagine.

The journey often begins
on the barren landscape
of a blank page with a loaded pen
and a transparent mind
fixed on a lucid intention
that becomes the visionary’s reality,
long before anyone
sees it.

Once the vision crystallizes,
the visionary focuses with rigorous conviction
and a discerning mind intent on converting
the invisible illusion
framed behind the eyes
into a reality all can see, enjoy and live –
despite our nagging inability to see
what isn’t there.

Euro Stamford

Artifacts from an Italian ally way
carry more mood than riders,
delivering the spirit of Italy to Stamford
in a corner of Capriccio Café
like two trophies on a shelf
awarding achievement for individual courage
and believing in one’s self.

Their courageously simple styling
underscores the priceless value of
prancing in the whim of
a spirited gate of independence,
in a shield armor tempered from
conviction and passion.

The simplicity of these dashing
Vespas lure us into their liberating persona
like the perfect tune on the perfect
summer day.
Their boldly subtle presence
rolled the Europeanization of Stamford
into town like a dazzling discovery,
leading us to a new command on
the art of living,
a new savoring of the moment,
defining our pursuit of the hour –
by embracing simplicity yet
demanding fun and expecting excellence.

Stamford Harbor

Stamford stretches its sterling reach
well into the sea
where its dimensions soften in the languid lap
of Long Island Sound.
Our days begin in brilliance
and end in a palette of powdery pastels,
rich in nuance and pure in depth.

We sail in and around Stamford
in its calm roll or feisty chop,
and always, she retains her beauty,
grace and charm
in the undercurrent of strength,
and a steely power camouflaged
by the sound’s gentle veneer.

Gifted and blessed,
the mouth of Stamford
speaks to the world
in whispers of refined beauty
and the voice of prominent assurance,
reflecting the splendor of her complexion,
and the dashing of his handsome profile.

Holly Pond

The onset of dusk reflects in the eyes of
Holly Pond,
the picturesque bay where the Sound
empties its riches twice each day.
Stripped bass wander in with the tide
and often miss their ride back out to sea,
so we fish as they feed
and saturate our stresses
with the soothing renewal
of the salty ocean’s healing salve,
defining the calm with calm itself.

As the day lingers as a favor for all,
the tides continue perpetually
massaging the shore,
gently in, gently out
in an undetectable simplicity
and eternal natural precision.

When all else seems to overwhelm
and threaten our sense of peace,
the calm of Stamford’s shore
assures its serene gentleness
to heal our suffering
and inspire and energize our dreams.

Kiss the day goodbye
and tenderly hug the night hello,
as the onset of dusk
reflects in the eyes of
Holly Pond.

Home Plate

Thousands of soles' souls
scored their noble victories here, at
Home Plate,
the righteous symbol by which we
measure our progress in
countering our opponents –
fear, doubt, adversity, anger and hate.

Home Plate defines the dimensions
of this glorious game called Baseball,
a foundation shaping so many virtues: 
effort, sacrifice, vision,
courage and teamwork
punctuated by an intense will
to reach our goal:
Home Plate.

Here, we complete our paths
'round challenge's chase,
advanced by our own effort
and the strength of caring peers,
teammates bound by one cause:
winning, and winning well.

So integral is Baseball sewn into
the fabric of American lives like
its players’ numbers intricately stitched
into their uniforms, like all the players
profoundly connected as teammates.
So inseparable are Baseball and
the American boy,
a union that begins and ends at
Home Plate.

It is where we mark our progress
with cleated soles and faithful souls,
where our hearts come alive and gather
to face adversity, celebrate our victories,
and discover discovery in our defeats
and grace in our victories,
here, at Home Plate.

Knights

History’s halftimes happened, behind
this sealed door of many yesterdays,
this window into so many tomorrows
where bonds were formed
in the name of sport
and the spirit of friendship.

The wisdom and hopes of
coaches
rang from these inner walls
behind this indescript, tired door
where the hearts of players
sowed effort’s seeds
that blossomed as
character.

The glory days of so many
brilliantly bright Knights
began behind the musty shadows
draped behind this door
where the boys of brave ambition
became proud Knights:
Stamford High School
Black Knights.

Knowing’s Light

A light from within burns
like the spirit's warmth,
welcoming we wondering
and soothing the weary
on the bright path of faith
in a cozy swath of comfort.

How gracefully wisdom
divides the dark
into fear and uncertainty,
and separates itself from doubt with
conviction’s light,
like a song
bursting through silence,
a melody waltzing through the air,
wrapping its aura around
the attentive ear.

The lighted shadow
in this the open call
into the certainty of faith,
where the light of knowing
burns from within,
maintain its radiance,
whether faith’s door remains
open to our searching eyes,
or fastened shut to our closed minds;
the light of knowing burns from within.

Lamp Light

The bursting sun,
blocked by a lamp light
rests in the background –
not as a shadow but as a reserve
of energy awaiting its moment to glow.

This unlit lamp light waits for its moment
to beacon through the dark
and bathe our streets in its
blanket of white assurance.

So proud behind its chest of glass
this lamp light salutes the sun,
it’s silent mentor and source of power
she stands at the ready
to wash the night with her coat of knowing,
wisdom, guidance and protection,
as those walking below
remain paradoxically unaware of her presence

Yet immersed in her glow
and silent certainty,
she gracefully answers
our call without our calling –
night after night after night…

Windows Into the World

Windows looking into the library
offer us our vision into the world;
most of what we’ll ever
need or want to know
can be found through these windows
that invite light into the room
and emit brilliance into the world.

From fact to fiction, from fantasies to news,
from analysis to creative freedom,
from technical research to tender inspiration,
all the matters of the heart and soul
await discovery and realization
on the other side of these library windows,
these windows into the world
where facts, dreams and ideals
shape our sense of certainty
and define the intensity of our hope.

Beyond the books and pages,
Internet sites, films, lectures, classes and
simple reading in the hush of wonder,
these windows prompt a
purity of purpose and a clarity of direction
leading to the marvel that is discovery,
and the privilege that is learning.

Despite a frame of bricks and mortar,
these windows of clarity reflect
the light beyond boundaries
that urge us forward, yet
honor the blessing of our past
and present a view
deep into the vistas of the infinity
of artistic and intellectual invention. 

An Outdoor Office

The tools and toys of an
outdoor office
support an earnest effort
as the pages of progress
flip in the beach’s breeze.
Partners meet and plan and produce
from a picnic bench, their boardroom at
Cove Island.
Their focus narrows as penned intentions
sketch their visions of opportunity,
plot the path and articulate the passions
upon which dreams emerge, and magic happens
for real.
The mechanics of commerce
and wondrous mysteries of
art
merge into a rock-solid mission
grounded in reality, while steeped in
creative expression.
Hearts will be moved,
joys shared and emotion evoked today
as a direct result of
partners meeting, planning and producing
from a picnic bench, their board room at
Cove Island.

Park(ed) Men

Time tics its permanent passing
between two men stuck
in a moment forever,
living from one handout
to the next favor, starving
between lapses in human generosity.

As they sip stale swallows of sorrow
from a bagged bottle of numb,
their hope stumbles to a hush
and the meter measuring their minutes
tics ever louder, reminding these
parked men
that time tics on, tics on, tics on,
moment-by-moment,
like disappointment dripping from regret.

While these parked men
sit and sip sorrow,
immersing in an expansive
nothing,
their lives paradoxically race past;
hopefully the sorrow itself and stagnant waste
inherent in the destruction wrapped
in a brown paper bag
becomes their very elixir of awakening
to the realization that destruction is
a temporary choice,
not a permanent destiny

Pews

The polished, newly painted pews
in the balcony
(await the asses)
the soles of the souls
who pray before God for 85 minutes each Sunday,
yet willingly and willfully
do deeds of disservice to their brethren
throughout the week.

Our all forgiving Father, thankfully,
sees not our persistent weaknesses
but our profound intention to correct them
through our humble devotion to Him.
He rewards us with insight,
grace and unconditional love
and He ignites our willingness
to be with Him and be like Him.

So rather than allowing ourselves
to be weakened by our complacent soles,
let us ignite our passionate souls
to proactively live God’s word,
and let us define our lives
no by where we sit
but by what we stand for.
Everyday.

Police at the Ready

Police cars at the ready await
to carry the police on our behalf,
to protect and preserve our safety
and assure our rights.
Police cars at the ready,
aligned for efficiency and symbols of honor
instilling a sense of comfort, a sense of pride
and a spirit of community within our community.
Police cars at the ready to carry
Police Officers –
   the noble people we call upon and count on
   to intervene in violent attacks, find our missing children,
   help grandparents load groceries, provide first aid to our injured,
   subdue the vicious and preserve
   our hope for decency and safety.
Police Officers –
   the courageous people we call upon and count on
   to assert themselves in the face of danger
   and go where, and do what most of us will not.
Police officers –
   the bright and tenacious investigators we call upon and count on
   to track the steps of offenders and engage our judicial system
   to deliver justice and closure to victims
   in the aftermath of despicable crimes
   and unimaginable injustices to the innocent.
Police Officers –
   The soulful people we call
   dad, husband, son, brother, uncle, cousin, friend
   mom, wife, daughter, sister, aunt,
   the soulful people willing to risk their lives
   working and living in the throws of danger
   to undo the failures of our society
   and foster the triumphs of our community.
So blessed are we with the blessing of
Stamford Police Officers
at the ready.

My Pond

I am relishing waves of gratitude
for the blessings of my Pond
as it elevates the dismality of
this sunless Sunday into a glorious
contented peace.

I can hear the rain
pushing each drop forward, forming
imploding bubbles inward
to the welcome water –
the open-armed surface
leading to the warm heart
of my Pond.                                                              
Its sprawl of lily pads gently frame
the east and west banks,
forming tiny islands – random stepping stones
for the hopeful hopping frogs.
Its watery wide wing span
pours gracefully into an oblong,
sideways letter “O”
with soft, rounded bends
leading the eye, comforting the soul,
shaping its own serenity and mine.
Its fluid body
encourages my row boat and I
to explore, enjoy and simply feel
its deep peace in simple gratitude.
Its glorious, divine wet wings
span open wider, embracing me
in comfort and an enlivened solitude
that enriches this rainy, sunless Sunday
with deep gratitude for my Pond
and the glory in this simple moment.

Portrait of the Peppers

No painter, nor poet, nor mortal
with a camera
could hope to create or portray
so glorious a picture or painting as nature’s
Portrait of the Peppers;

   their deep, rich, meandering greens
   range from fern to forest,,
   fiery, vibrant oranges,
   sultry and soulful lavenders
   fusing into pure purples
   and proud reds.
   They burst, the Peppers,
   like flexed muscles in
   spanning delicate ranges of textures
   offering a fest to
   the eyes, nose, palate and the smooth
   skin of their touch,
   and if you listen closely,
   you’ll hear the crisp snap
   as they pop open
   to be enjoyed as a
   staple of our comfort
   and a thread of tradition
   stitching generations together.

So magnificent is the mundane, nature’s
Portrait of the Peppers.

Produce

Producers and purchasers on opposite sides of
the Produce
probe and pick and choose and pay and package
the products of our bounty.
Pure is the process:
     sow, nurture, harvest, sell,
     prepare, share, consume and perpetuate
     our earthen blessings –
     the foundation of our well being
     and forum forming our families’ bonds –
          our simple, daily meals.

So ripe is our spirit with noble intention
and the blossom of our effort
to live in union with the earth
and one another,
     each providing what the other needs
     to sustain in harmony with harmony itself,
     singing in concert with our
     earth, sky and water,
     coaxing our collective spirit into
     one connected human race,
     each providing what the other needs
     in order to produce
     Produce.

Reflections in Identity's Mirror

Pretending to be mom
or your own
woman
forms the foundation
of who we become, be design
and by nature.
We imitate those we behold
in hope for approval and
in search for identity.

As we examine who we see
in our mirrors,
we discover who we hope to become
in our world.
We pretend to be mom
as our journey evolves,
we realize that Mom's shoes
belong on Mom's feet,
not ours,
and we must grow into
our own shoes,
walk our own paths
and etch our own identities,
not from what we concoct
in a mirror
but from what and who
we feel and hear
inside.

St. John’s Basilica

If the Pope
were to visit this diocese,
the Pope
will stay here, celebrate Mass here, pray here
and offer Holy Communion with God here, at
St. John’s Basilica in Stamford, Connecticut.
    Her brilliant gold cross
    burns in a sun-soaked fervor,
    shinning in solid clarity,
    juxtaposed against a clear blue
    empty sky
    that pronounces the presence of God Himself
    reigning miraculously amidst we shapeless mortals.

Yet this brilliant gold reminder
reflects God as living among us,
not as a detached idol of the Past
but as a energetically enlightened and engaged reality
shaping the strength of our Present
and our Hope for all tomorrows.

This brilliant gold cross atop
St. John’s Basilica,
blazing its golden radiance
into the vast blue,
absorbs and reflects
for all to see and feel
the ultimate warmth, light and
Power of the Son.

Stamford

At the base of our foundation,
Stamford
rises in sparkling glory,
reflecting our possibilities
and defining our limitations –
     the endless boundaries of the sky.

Bathed in the brilliance of potential,
drenched in the nectar of achievement,
Stamford
rises above its challenges
and towers above the pesky
obstacles of bureaucracy
to fuse the ambitions of progress
with the glory and sanctity of our heritage.

Stamford
rises in a gleam of bright todays
and colorful tomorrows
founded on the pillars of
hope, optimism, pride
and a can-do spirit
driven by bright, open minds
focused on “yes,”
and insistent on being at the forefront
of being in the know.
Rise and shine,
Stamford.
Rise. And shine
and greet the future with open arms

The View From 888

The deceptive view from the Government Center
portrays a scene of simple clarity
but the convolution behind the glance
depicts a scenario of exhaustive complexity and
certain uncertainty:
Professionals work couched in
lavish private offices appointed in luxury,
adorned with posh accessories and crafted chairs
prosper behind the glossy complexion of the
chic buildings’ façades.
The statuesque and sleek buildings
glow in the city’s promenade
like designers’ models in the glitter of a catwalk.
But across the street,
those living here, in public homes,
scramble to pay for their medicine, electricity and groceries.
They care for and teach their children,
battle sickness and disease, nurse their elders,
plan birthday celebrations, call loved ones, mourn loss,
drown hope with reality’s acerbic tonic
and create dreams from optimism’s genius,
they search for jobs and
a purpose larger than survival
and a goal bigger than making ends meet;
they nestle in retreat from the world
in the assurance of their three walls,
their nook and cranny of the Stamford
few see but none cannot ignore,
just across the street
from prosperity’s playground.
Let us build a bridge
to link hope with resources
and effort with achievement.
For everyone.