The Democrat party,

  all masters and slaves

G.O.P. left in tatters,

  their promises frayed

Haves lie to the have nots

  bright futures a whim

As the dragon’s fire burns

  —the thick with the thin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

A chorus of enlightenment…

  awakens me again

With sheets still warm, my heart she bathes,

  all feelings wet within

Through steam I see her message clear,

  the mirror does confirm

My words now washed, fresh thoughts to dry

   —new melody to learn

(Court At KOP: February, 2016)

The Muse continues to punish me

   whenever I write prose

Her slaps severe with pain heartfelt,

   “no fury hell hath known”

She sentences me to endless nights

   and days when words won’t come

Until I succumb to writing verse

   and she—my breath becomes

(The Court at K.O.P: February, 2016)

The string is broken,

  the past is lost

A road forgotten

  late winter’s frost

Memory clearing

  new thoughts to spin

All distance thawing

  —another Spring

(Court At K.O.P: February, 2016)

Not cute or in genre,

  in tune or in tone

A message drives forward,

  the muse casting stones

Untimely, eternal,

  her voice speaking fast

My pen now a torch

  —the darkness is past

(Barnes & Noble-Plymouth Meeting Pa: January, 2016)

Dreams carry me across

  a mysterious land

Where the voice of my fathers

  so gently commands

It echoes quite softly

  in words only sung

A joyous recital,

  rewoven and spun

I never can stay there,

  I’ve begged till I weep

And with barely a whisper,

  I’m roused from my sleep

But when darkness befalls

  on my world once again

A new dream will come calling

   —to guide me within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

Broken feelings…

My chest of gold

A torments ransom

No trinkets sold

The treasure bounteous

Walls lined with blood

Its hurt and pain

I have withstood

The jewels lack sparkle

But shimmer deep

Their cut and clarity

My soul to keep

And words if cheapened

Must leave this throne

As the lid reopens

  —on the pain I own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

Between freedom and Instagram

 there is an island,

 where men go to be alone

An island of words

 in arresting colors,

 with meaning indicted—but seldom heard

Between Facebook and tomorrow

 a cloud sits waiting,

 where men go to find themselves

An Angel calling role

 in blind acceptance,

 all names rejected—the letters whole

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

“We appreciate that cousin”

 said the Rebel to the Yank

As all glory left the battlefield

 where rows of corpses stank

“We appreciate that cousin”

  as the bullets set to fly

“But our family’s set upon itself

   —and one of us must die”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

Is anyone ever a total fraud

  or totally sincere

Is anyone committed beyond mere space

  to a notion fond and dear

Is anyone ever one hundred percent

  with subtraction the rule of the day

Is anyone better than what they believe

  or worse than a mother can pray

Is anyone ever truly in charge

  of that moment that slips through the hand

Is anyone willing to dance beyond hope

  to a melody lost by the band

Is anyone chosen from those who are not

  or entitled to what can’t be earned

Is anyone welcomed straight into the light

   —on a path where all others have turned

(Airplane-Las Vegas To Philadelphia: January, 2016)