Eternity shook,

as the words fell free

   —startled, but unafraid

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Are people religious because

they’re good?

Or good, because they’re

   religious?

The questions remain,

the verdict unclaimed

The wrong answer deemed

—sacrilegious

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

I’m covered in dirt,

but my words are still clean

A vision half dried

with stains running deep

With sinners and saints

arm in arm at the bar

Each infection we share

tonight’s hookup and score

Meaningless excuses

all scandal affirmed

My bed made with sheets

from a brothel once scorned

As I lie in the shadows

with my soul partly damp

My words are set free

—to the heavens restamped

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Has your violence

taken you to places

I’ve not been

Or driven you

to things

I’ve not seen

Was your soul

mired in conflict

once raised from the dead

Were your walls

built to fortify

excuses and blame

Have your choices

been forged by

damnation and fear

Did love matter at all

when it cried

through the pain

Could you still hear its voice

on those darkest

of nights

Were those places you

conquered

in tribute now damned

Did your victims

kneel down

their heads bowed in shame

Was mercy rejected

your mistress

defiled

Has your violence

taken you to places

I’ve not been

Or driven you

to things

I’ve not seen

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

It comes like

Seems like

Feels like

And speaks like

—a dream

That maybe

This instant

For once

And forever

—can mean

That yesterday

And tomorrow

Break ties

With the now

—and then free

The future

And past

From the

Present

—this moment to be

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Chasing my thirst into the

desert at night,

Otis Redding was right….

“You don’t miss the water till the well runs dry”

And marrying the wrong woman

for the second time,

Smokey Robinson was right….

“You better shop around”

Writing my pen empty with the

same old words,

Cat Stevens was right….

“The first cut truly is the deepest”

And living in Macon because

I thought it was safe,

Charlie Daniels was right….

   “The devil did come down to Georgia”

Losing my religion only to

seek God again,

Robert Plant was right….

“You can’t buy a stairway to heaven”

And when I’m alone and desperate and have

   nowhere left to turn,

Bob Dylan was the most righteous of all….

“When you ain’t got nothin, you got nothin to lose”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Can you be distracted by the critic

or the public acclaim

Can you see through the fire

and renew all that’s burned

Can you look past the signposts

and those messages fixed

Can your heart stay undamaged

as the world tempts your soul

Can you run through loud voices

with yours still unspoken

Can you make it to tomorrow

without leaving today

Can you give love to those hateful

with vengeance recalled

Can you carry your grandfather’s words

into the land of the unborn

Can you hang up your spear

inside the enemy camp

Can you live to see the beginning

and the end die at last

Can your voice remain pure

neither bartered nor loaned

Can you listen through the

smoke

   —for a melody unsung

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

When is ‘Almost Good Enough’

never good enough?

When is ‘Clearly Not Enough’

an ounce more than enough?

When is ‘Almost What You Need’

the most you’ll ever have?

When is ‘It’s Not Only That’

the only thing that’s left?

When is ‘In Almost Every Case’

not in any case at all?

When is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’

the thing sure to be missed?

When is ‘In Actuality’

in real terms actually not?

When is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’

the biggest lie you’ll hear?

When is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’

the one you continue to try?

When is the ‘Absolute Final Time’

the one you repeat again?

When is ‘Really’ not real at all

and spoken then in vain?

When is ‘Probably’ not probable

or even close to that?

When is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’

the top of your agenda?

When is the trusted ‘Old College Try’

strictly out of school?

When is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’

the easiest thing you do?

When is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’

so much harder than before?

When is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’

the end of the debate?

When is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’

the beginning of what comes next?

When is ‘So What’ a euphemism

for the most important things you do?

When is ‘It Is What It Is’

categorically not, and never will be?

When is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’

ceramic and for sale?

When is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’

the one taken in disgust?

When is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’

four points more than its worth?

When is the special ‘Love You Lost’

the only one you’ve never found?

When is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’

the one that flies away?

When is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’

the silence you extol?

When will your words line with copper wire

to conduct the truth unrobbed

When will you cease to pander and mislead

—naked before the mob

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

I’m a Poet….

don’t try to trap me with words

or with logic you don’t understand

With your barrister’s training

you’re out of your league

this arena beyond your command

In some ways

I’ve already said it all

but never in the form you approve

Or with comforting platitudes

lining your shell

as pontification behooves

The slick easy answers

unfit for a Sage

but the pundit and liars attest

My message as spoken

comes at great cost

—your conscience never to rest

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

I keep my verse in a chest of drawers

each one so very different

Some words for summer, some for winter

and some then most intemperate

I keep the best one’s locked away

for those times when you’re around

To dress each phrase in sunlit fire

with silks and linens found

I fold each poem nice and neat

stacked end to end they lay

To sit and wait, my breath exhaled

until their chosen day

There’s one drawer open every night

in case my dreams conspire

The thickest warmest woolen clads

to wrap the image dire

One day I’ll will this chest of drawers

to my first born oldest son

And hope he wears each line as his

and lets the meanings run

And then to his son, he’ll pass on

when fate calls out his name

The drawers more full than when I left

—this chest without a name

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)