The charlatans bankrupted
his checking account,
but his love was not overdrawn
Each check that he wrote,
each choice that he made,
trading ingots for righting a wrong
With credit denied
and spirit affirmed,
he continued to endorse what was real
Until bankers and lawyers
destroyed with one stroke,
his wishes—their power to steal
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Do you eat your own cooking,
do you live what you write
Do you enjoy your own company,
do you dream well at night
When you look in the mirror,
do you like what you see
Through the eyes of a child
—is your heart then set free
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
I often sit here waiting,
for truant words to come
To chase the thoughts now fleeting,
messages on the run
These days I sit impatient,
as I wonder to myself
Are time and memory draining
—precious moments left unfelt
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Making sense of it all…
our grandest myth
Wisdom born of age,
bleeding youth’s betrayal
Questions dry unvarnished,
cold naked in the night
Darker darks reface the cliff,
all edges sharper cut
Two images, clearer than before,
preying in deadly contrast
Wonder imprisoning the day
—fear stalking the night
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Is a poem ever finished…
or a song completely sung
Does today end with tomorrow
—is love forever young
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
My ticket punched, the fares been paid,
a train sits waiting, rails now laid
My ticket punched, the past on hold,
a future scorned, the present bold
My ticket punched, the whistle blows,
its light shines distant, truth aglow
My ticket punched, a burning thirst,
a heart to quench—new tracks in search
(Villanova Station: March, 2017)
Closer to words
than I am to people
Meaning,
in place of love
Heart felt recital,
truant revival
In script
—to rise above
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)
You don’t have to die
to linger in hell
You don’t have to go hungry
to starve
You don’t need the darkness
to find yourself blind
While the devil
—his shadow endures
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)
Writing…
the only suture
When the truth
starts to bleed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
You want to define Poetry,
behind the safety of your bars
Open the door to your cage,
a world awaits, whose feathers tar
Dusty journals and how-to books,
no longer serve you here
The price of your admittance,
an acknowledgement of fear
With words only as strong
as the impression they leave
And feelings only as sacred
—as memory retrieves
(Seattle Washington: March, 2017)
An Anthology Of Perception 