When my words are read
by the common man
No higher praise could
any writer ask
The awards and the accolades
from the intellectual elite
Pale in comparison
to that man ‘in the street’
When my words are read
by those ‘salt of the earth’
My spirit is lifted,
and I’m home from my search
Both steadfast and loyal
to themselves and to me
No more could I ask for
—no more could I seek
(Villanova Pennsylvania: Watching the New Hampshire Primary- February 9th, 2016)
Words, once you free them
—no longer slave to your name
(Villanova Pennsylvania: From a longer Poem-Fall 2015)
You can wish and hope for a hundred years,
or play the game a day at a time
You can focus on what’s at the end of the road,
or squeeze three nickels from your very last dime
You can pray for still more than some others might have,
or be thankful for what lies at your feet
You can love in the face of jealousy and hate
—or start downward on hell’s one-way street
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Living inside the base of a hollowed out tree
since childhood, my dreams have been formed
Living inside a space where the walls almost touched
kept me hidden, protected, and warm
Living inside a place that no others could see
beyond privacy, I became lost in myself
Living inside the base of a hollowed out tree
—where boyhood memories and wishes still dwell
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
To live within the moment,
and write as love doth now befriend
“It’s light burning brightest as the
hours grow short”
The beginning reunited
with the journey’s end
“All memory imploding
on fates retort”
But the window stays open,
my heart beats faster still
“The march to freedom
neither to nor from”
Time enslaved in a final breath
one last line to say I will
“The past and future
left exposed—undone”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Fantasy,
a past remembered
Travesty,
regret in embers
Sophistry,
no reason proffered
Majesty,
the treasure offered
Artistry,
the future tendered
Modesty,
true self is rendered
Memory,
where life is gathered
Presently,
—the time that matters
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Without there being a God,
we could never question his existence
Through the shadows of the interrogatory
divinity shines
Do apes question, do birds question,
do flowers question—Aquinas asked
Only through the act of self-reflection
—is the Creator truly known
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2018)
Your head’s in the sand
the canary at hand
The beggar inside you
his kingdom commands
Mired in apathy
lost in denial
One last Armageddon
—the price of your wile
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Severed madness….
the wounds bleed again
All stitches have broken
stains marking the end
Unsutured indemnity
ensuring your pain
All flesh now in enmity
—last bugler in flames
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
The vineyard has ripened
new words on the vine
The meanings have deepened
new blessings Divine
The verses fermented,
I drink unto thee
Consecration so sacred
the blood pouring free
The vineyard has ripened
fresh words on the vine
With faith still unshaken
—my thoughts and prayers, Thine
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
An Anthology Of Perception 