The Doggie was white,

  and the Kitty was black,

  as they crouched at each end of the floor

Their eyes never met,

  because the rules were set,

  that the dog would chase the cat as before

At night came the darkness,

  and the Kitty stood up

  and headed right straight to the door

But the Doggie just lay there with his head

  on his paws, and thought:

  “Tonight—is quite different for sure”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 ‘For Kiley, Hunter, Braden & Parker

 My Grandchildren

There’s a voice deep inside me

  still trying to get out

Ignoring my pleadings,

  it screams and it shouts

Its call is the loudest

  on those darkest of nights

When my mind seeks new refuge

  from Seraph’s delight

I toss and I turn,

  but it speaks louder still

As its words start to age

  from new vision distilled

No barter or denial

  will turn back its call

The Muse is on fire

  —my pen not to stall

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Escaping into verse,

  the base of the castle rumbled,

  the ground beneath was shaken

  with new cracks inside its walls

Escaping into verse,

  all towering deception crumbled,

  as the self-anointed jumped and fell

  landing prostrate and so small

Escaping into verse,

  the mime shouted out enabled,

  his silent thunder raining down

  with a message now to scald

Escaping into verse,

  a new steeple built and gabled

  its bell to ring a lyric toll  

    —new life to those recalled

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)  

Bubblewrapped children

 disparate hope

Spirits in limbo

 shortest of ropes

Control and protection

 their meaning belies

Tomorrow ill promised

 —eternity cries

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)

Hiding within the rhyme

 lies a melody of pronouncement

 lifting the words up off the page

Its liberation spoken freely

 within times expanding moment

 giving and taking—beginning to end

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2019)

The delivery,

 incidental to the message

The format,

 duly chosen for the sound

The listener,

 singled out with times forgiveness

The truth

  —but spoken once to then abound

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)

There’s a zone beyond safety

 where the timid can’t go

Beyond reasoned decision

 intuition to flow

Past valor and triumph

 past glory and fame

There’s a zone beyond safety

 —last moth to the flame

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)

Like a blanket or quilt,

  the Muse wraps me in consciousness

Sealing me in with her warmth

  each night rejecting the cold

Like a filter or screen,

  the Muse tempers all consequence

 Under her protection and safety

   —words sleeping untold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

I’ve forever written

  as myself

Few influences will

  show

Neither Hemingway nor

  Faulkner

 Not Melville or

  Thoreau

But as one who saw through

  all of that

With so much more

  to know

 I search the land

   and stars above

For ink

  —my pen to flow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

My words the result

 of the times I’ve lived

 not a classroom exercise

My feelings all paid

 with the blood of my fears

 not a rambling diatribe

My trail has been lined

 with each tear and misstep

 to mark the way ahead

My life a memory

 telling a tale

  —whose direction my soul has led

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)