From whom was your legacy born
and where does your destiny lie
A voice calling out from the storm
—a place where the words never die
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
From whom was your legacy born
and where does your destiny lie
A voice calling out from the storm
—a place where the words never die
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Living an eternity
within each given day
The calendar subservient
to the present foray
The moment at hand
the only timeframe ordained
Exploding at once
—over and over again
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Do you bore yourself?
Do you rent the space
You’re standing in
Owning nothing
But default?
Do you recycle words
Until their utterance fails
Mistrusting your ability
To judge what’s right?
Do you hedge your bets
Never going all in
For fear of losing the very thing
You haven’t got?
Do you count the days
As tedium destroys spontaneity
And all energy drains
From your lifeless form?
Do you bore yourself?
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Repelled by tradition
and past status-quo
I enter the jungle
where hides the unknown
Rejecting excuses
and all that’s passé
My bow is drawn tightly
—with fear now my prey
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Lying to myself,
the truth broke free
Escaping prevarication
abandoning my schemes
The water got deep,
as the weight dragged and pulled
Until veracity returned
—resuscitation fulfilled
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Its chain cut again,
the demon is loose
Deep into the night,
she hunts darker truths
The hallway’s back stairs
her favorite retreat
Until daylight will threaten,
and her bite becomes weak
Then she staggers back wounded
inside shadows that call
Old blood trails now leading
to that dark lonely hall
Where a door is rechained
and its lock fastened tight
Until a hacksaw appears
—with the next moonless night
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Not judged in reference
kindred spirits they dance
The words once they’re spoken
notes and palettes enhanced
The music enlivens
what phrases will say
While a painting embodies
what verse can convey
And the only conflict
is in the critics eye
Who sees not the harmony
but comparisons lie
As all art travels skyward
enjoined hand in hand
To the source of its power
—where together they stand
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
When the freedom
to think
And the ability to write
are at odds
—turn the page
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
A novel can be written and detach
from its author
—but poetry can’t
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Carrying them with me
traveling through time
The words seed my memory
new meter and rhyme
Spreading them freely
over days fallowed thin
New feelings sprout upward
—rooted within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)