Stop trying to be clever,

  and try to be smart

The coyote said

  to the fox

The hunters are coming,

  the bounty’s been offered

Their traps are all baited

  and boxed

Stop trying to be clever,

  and try to be smart

The coyote to the fox  

  said again

There’s a reason your fur

  is always in season

And mine, never coated

   —or skinned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)  

         ‘For My Grandchildren’

Today I turned seventy,

 and the clocks all faintly chimed

My hour glass near empty

 to mark the waning time

Weeks left on the calendar

 the moments more than days

With laughter most important now

 each memory through the haze

Today I turned seventy,

 and my dog he seemed to know

He whispered to my grandchildren,

 and their love began to flow

Bright sunshine through the window,

 but night is sure to come

The joy and pain of who I’ve been

 —to live on when I’m gone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

The daylight hid from the nighttime

 like a rabbit from the fox

As the sun ran through my memory

 freeing moments that were locked

With twilight came a foretelling

 and its darkness swearing true

But a light still burns inside me

 —from a promise left to brew

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

I traveled from Essex

  to the kingdom of Wales

  in search of a family tree

And passing a cobbler

  I then was reminded

  what these shoes really mean to me

I’ve walked and I’ve walked

  and I’ve searched and I’ve searched,

  for a name more than mine on loan

And through leather worn thin

   these sparse clothes that I’m in

   will walk to China in search of my own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

I knew you were coming,

  as I walked across the cell

  still in chains

I knew you were crying,

  as the guard called out three times

  announcing your name

Your silence was deafening,

  as my final meal

  was delivered at last

The time intensifying,

  the markings on the wall

   —killing the past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Once a Catholic…

 always a Catholic

Once a Priest…

 forever a Priest

Once a Poet…

 always a Poet

Once a Man…

 —forever a Man

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

In the end

 we’re all mortal

In the end

 we all die

The end

 but a portal

Through which

 —we must fly

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

Creating the future

 by killing the past

Techno Gomorrah

 —where nothing can last

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

Speaking to not one

  but the multitudes,

  the prophet bowed his head

And blessed within his servitude,

  the poor and hungry

  were given bread

Starting again

  his eyes looked up,

  and through a plain white cloth he bled

While standing in the place

  his father had,

  and repeating those words he said…

    “Don’t worship me,

      Redeem yourself,

      Divinity, yours at hand

     “Wash their feet,

       And free your mind,

       Bring peace throughout the land

     “Thank not one,

       But all you meet

       For a soul no longer wracked

     “And with each new breath 

       The Angels dance

         —salvation looking back”

     (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

I sat on the rocks

By the New Bedford docks

And waited for his boat to return

But the sun went to hiding

Bringing ever bad tidings

And a sea where last lessons are learned

My time spent in vain

For not even a plane

Could find a boat headed out of that storm

As the sea roiled upward

My hopes were dragged under

Which my soul was to curse and then scorn

And the streets emptied out

Churches packed and devout

As the old ones did swear and rebuke

The women all cried

With new legends reprised

As the Parson read words in tribute

Till at the church by the dock

From whence he had left

From its window I yelled through the tears…

“Look to the harbor this night,

  the mourning over, I sight: 

     —My Daddy’s Gaff Schooner is here”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)