In adolescence he created
the myth
That untamed
—devoured him
(Dreamsleep: April, 2020)
In adolescence he created
the myth
That untamed
—devoured him
(Dreamsleep: April, 2020)
Thoughts inflame as feelings stir,
words simmering yet to boil
Unspoken sparks drift through the night,
a pyre still to fan
As heat restores the human soul,
all prodigals return
With hope to melt the frozen dawn,
and free the Poet’s hand
Delphian in its natural form,
the smoke a treacherous friend
Ink rekindles—lies cremate,
the mind, its woods now bare
The verses stack and dry of doubt,
their ignition up to you
As dark they wait for your next breath
—to light the spoken air
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
Climbing each rung of the rotting ladder,
my wishes snapped one by one
The beanstalk looming high above,
its vines blocked out the sun
Grounding my desires and aspirations,
like a bird with broken wings
My hope tried one last blind ascent
—to where the Angel’s sing
(Dreamsleep: April, 2020)
The world your editor,
each season your pen
Heartache your publisher,
verse to amend
Days left to punctuate,
nights misconstrued
Memory the binding
—time as the glue
(Dreamsleep: April, 2020)
As my body stoops with age,
youth lulls upon the page
Where words forever young,
cry willful to be sung
As daylight quickly passes,
I greet night a friend at last
With memories deeply grained
—reborn in verse again
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
Only a Poet
can stab time in the heart,
to bleed free and eternal
—only a Poet
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
Are you happy spreading misery,
distrust what you embrace
More joyful when the skies are dark,
than bright on sunny days
Is truth a tool you wield and fling,
a weapon in your hand
Love what looms and threatens most,
to never understand
Are feelings there for you to trash,
with others left to cry
A promise made but left unkept,
much worse than any lie
When all is said, and all is done,
and everyone looks back
Will you be known for what you were
—that knife in someone’s back
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
Each drawer that I fill,
stores something past
The future spread out
on the bed
As each one closes,
its memories sleep safe
Dreams quilted
and looking ahead
Layered inside
and kept neatly stacked
In silence,
their stories unfold
Each drawer front embossed
with a message they share
“Open Only If Naked Or Cold”
The dresser sits quiet,
its handles untouched
As new history begins
with each write
And construction resumes,
a new dresser is built
To store words yet to clothe
—and delight
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
He went in for a six-pack,
and came out with a smile
His heart reawakened,
the old lady—a child
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
How lucky you are…
to be a Poet
The window to tomorrow
left open
All tracks into the past
—to reclaim
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)