Facing what I didn’t know,

 the canyon ahead was wide

My bridge half built on doubt and fear

 with nowhere left to hide

Looking down I saw the past

 looking up all questions why

But straight ahead an Angel waits

 —with wings for me to fly

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)

Structure comes

 from the classroom

Imagery comes

 from experience

And it’s hard

 to structure

What you can’t

 —see

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)

Divorcing the rational

 freedom began

Releasing the spirit

 all can’t—became can

One final decision

 to charge and break through

The future and past

  left betrothed—and untrue

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)

You can take the readers to the water,

 but you cannot make them drink

A thirst most carry deep inside

  can totter at the brink

You can lead them right up to the edge,

 but you’ll never make them jump

The choice is theirs, the Muses dare

   —as fear still primes the pump

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)

I asked for your blessing…

  instead you explained

What I should be thinking

  to lessen your pain

You told me if only

  I’d say it this way

My words could have meaning

  and influence—sway

But power and fortune

  are not what I sought

If influence only

  gets brokered and bought

So the blessing passed over

  your lecture now done

A last vow to myself

  —from you I must run

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

My cup runneth over

  your chalice half full

The emptiness suspect

  both murky and dull

It shines on the outside

  jewels christened with fire

But to drink from that liquid

  —forever a liar

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Children,

  conceived in perfection

Born

  to disappoint

When the

  idea

And the reality

  —collide

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The Russians have taught me

  that nothing has changed

Instead of Nazis and Fascists,

  we have terrorists to blame

Whether Turgenev or Chekhov,

  Tolstoy or Marx

When our nature’s in play,

 —much of life remains dark

(Wayne Pa.-Minella’s Diner: June, 2016)

Stop trying to be a poet,

  and say what you feel

Kill off the dilettante

  both hands on the wheel

In front of the mirror,

  we all wear a crown

Are your verses to be written

  —by a sage or a clown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Seeing better from a distance

  than you ever could up close

The memories play like children

   in voices that you spoke

The truth is where you find it

   every season, every turn

Where space creates acceptance

  —your soul to file or to burn

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)