Putting up the white flag,
laying down my gun
Turning my back on fantasy,
projects left undone
Unlike other enemies,
she’s neither front nor back
But lives where only she can go,
where color turns to black
Her voice becomes a mimic,
ventriloquist of my soul
As words come uninvited,
their letters rhyming whole
Resistance now is futile,
my nights pass sleep deprived
Mercy vacant, her voice my own
—all victory denied
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
Ovarian, Breast, Pancreatic, or Lung…
there’s a look that is shared the same
And staring straight into the eyes of time,
all promises gone and reclaimed
Each moment borrowed and leased from your fear,
the walls crashing one by one
Tonight no longer a sleep guaranteed
—under blankets of doubt unsung
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
Is someone profiting on your wishes and dreams,
renaming your parade
Like a thief in the night they steal every wish,
their own life at best a charade
Is someone else cashing the check you just wrote,
to pay for their larcenous schemes
Has your good name been kidnapped, indentured, enslaved
—as you curdle in search of the cream
(Rosemont College Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
Weaver of dreams,
caretaker of the word
Orator of the heart
—steward of love
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
Live hard,
write easy
Footsteps vanishing
with the tide
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)
Always is a long, long time,
today is longer still
The beginning of what can never end,
consciousness distills
Tomorrow is the shortest time,
when looked at from today
And yesterday no time at all,
whose notion drifts away
Never is all time denied,
its twisted tongue proclaims
The ending to what can’t begin
mindfulness disdains
Here is where the treadways cross,
all roads found turning in
And now the moment pre-ordained
—transcendence waits within
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
The artist dies again and again,
but his art does not
Bringing new life to the ages,
turning his back on time
The artist cannot last,
but his genius can
Living inside the spirit
—of what death denies
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
Off in the distance,
he was whispering my name
What started as a rumor,
audible and plain
My parking meter empty,
the hour glass had run
What life only borrowed,
reclaimed—the devil’s son
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
It was the 3rd day of the battle,
and thousands lay dying or dead
Lining the edge of the smoke and chaos,
the roses and daisies were spread
The screams in the night were ungodly,
sounds of cannon fire ruling the day
With blue and grey bleeding side by side
—the flowers in joyous array
(Gettysburg Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
Do you synthesize your anger,
do you cauterize the burn
Do you anesthetize the wonder,
as your dreams are drugged and scorned
Is your judgment tempered badly,
with emotion fiery hot
Is your vision colored madly,
by your choices—sold and bought
Does your music play reclusive,
do your words fall off the page
Does your ego feed that last excuse
—a mask you can’t explain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)
An Anthology Of Perception 