Unstop the drain
kiss the pain
let nature run its course
Trip the wire
start the fire
new vision at its source
Time unstrung
past on the run
tomorrow lies to all
Hearts open wide
the moment flies
—past memory to recall
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Why is ‘Almost Good Enough’
never what you need?
Why is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
an ounce more than you deserve?
Why is ‘Almost What You Need’
the most you’ll ever have?
Why is ‘It’s Not Only That’
the only thing that’s left?
Why is ‘In Almost Every Case’
not in any case at all?
Why is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
the thing sure to be missed?
Why is ‘In Actuality’
in real terms actually not?
Why is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
the biggest lie you tell?
Why is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
the one you continue to try?
Why is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
the one you repeat again?
Why is ‘Really’ not real at all
and spoken then in vain?
Why is ‘Probably’ not possible
or even close to that?
Why is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
the top of your agenda?
Why is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
strictly out of school?
Why is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
the easiest thing you do?
Why is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
so much harder than before?
Why is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
the end of the debate?
Why is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
the beginning of what comes next?
Why is ‘So What’ a euphemism
for the most important thing you do?
Why is ‘It Is What It Is’
categorically not, and never meant to be?
Why is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
ceramic and for sale?
Why is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
the one taken in disgust?
Why is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
four points more than its worth?
Why is the special ‘Love You Lost’
the only one you’ve never found?
Why is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
the one that flies away?
Why is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
the silence you extol?
When will your words wrap like copper wire
to conduct the truth unrobbed
When will you cease to pander and mislead
—naked before the mob
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Riding into the moment
with pen ablaze
past-future on the hunt
Fear taking a seat
across the fire
begging for what it wants
A bugle blows
the sun retreats
twin enemies approach
Upon whose sleeves
my heart is laid
—in doubt the morning cloaked
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
I cast my dreams
into the current’s wake
—on the river of no return
And rode a wish
down the running stream
—toward a waterfall unheard
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
I was a soldier, but never sure
of those things I was
charged to do
I was asked to fight
pick up helmet and gun
men dying around me I knew
Those places I’ve been
and the things I’ve done
all eclipse the known profane
Now with beauty fraught
you must lock the gate
—inside this prison I remain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
If it can happen for me,
it can happen for you
If it can happen for you,
it can happen for me
When it happens for us,
it happens for all
When it happens for all
—the world is set free
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)
Flying alone
over fury enthroned
Its colors reign free
and clear
The enemy stained
all freedom regained
Covered in blood
spent and dear
Stitched yellow and blue
its messages true
That Svealand does
not run
To hang steadfast
and slay the past
And carry our glory
sum
A crest ablaze
through fire and haze
Horses hooves high in
the air
Now honor bound
on sacred ground
Heralding death
—our cross to bear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
There’s a gene embedded in every parent
to recreate
what their parents had done
Sometimes good, and sometimes bad,
passing it down
from father to son
To repeat family history through memories past
the circle
a lingering fate
Excuses come early with reasons
too late
DNA always proffered as bait
The young and the old both prisoners of time
their footsteps in sequence
to fall
And when questions are posed why they acted this way,
they’re too busy passing it on
—to recall
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
We should be freeing and emancipating
the poor with opportunity
—not underwriting their poverty with welfare
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Twilight falls onto my
windowsill
Demon fire in full
retreat
The stars return
glowing embers that burn
In whose radiance
an Angel will sleep
Days grip is unchained,
the cantor sings while he prays
As the chorus cries out
“It’s unplugged”
The sun has now left
with my hopes not bereft
Only the night
—points to heaven above
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
