All pretenders drowning slow,
lungs to fill with every breath
Casted off amongst the waves,
nothing spoken to redress
Treading water, spewing lies,
legs to flail in wasted states
Choking from each word unsaid
—trailing death within my wake
(St. David’s Pennsylvania: February, 2020)
An arrow from the darkness…
rejection finds its mark
The sharpened edge of jealousy,
its point straight through the heart
The bow retracts in shamefulness,
its string left slack and loose
One shot was made, a cursed fate
—the devil laughs anew
(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)
My pen is like a blues riff,
not always on the note
I bend within the moment,
new feelings reach for hope
A eulogy remastered,
the fire that he fed
The Mojo dancing with the Muse,
Marine Band his to wed
My words to stretch and vibrate,
a blind man theirs to read
They move in tribute off the page,
Sonny’s orphaned reeds
My hand they cease to follow,
as letters wail and slide
While deep in South Chicago
—the greatest harp just died
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
‘Tribute To Sonny Boy Williamson 1’
Between his tent and his horse
—a man divines his legacy
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
In its grip,
each bone to chafe and grind
All joints,
regifted vestibules of pain
Motion stalls,
as swelling wraps each limb
Sleep the angry victim
—time’s revenge
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)
In Spring I searched through rosy woodlands fair,
and kept the meadows secret within my heart
To wed the summer’s final wish to fall surprise
—buried in the leaves of what tomorrow brings
(Good Shepherd Chapel: February, 2020)
Finally hearing your own voice…
don’t ever, ever, ever
—edit it away
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)
Knowing the answer,
excuses imbue
The right thing for others,
never following through
A feigned double standard,
the past in pursuit
Reckoning scheduled
—payment en route
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)
Those living in Harlem
want to move to Midtown
The people in Midtown,
to the Upper West Side
The Upper West Side,
to the Long Island Shore
The Long Island Shore,
to Aspen or Vail
Aspen or Vail,
to the Champs Elysees
The Champs Elysees,
to the beaches in Cannes
People will search for where
life can begin
A place that remains distant
and far out of reach
An excuse to look outward
and not in themselves
Theirs souls left in turmoil
—their hearts not at rest
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
You don’t have to die
to linger in hell
You don’t have to go hungry
to starve
You don’t need the darkness
to find yourself blind
While the devil
—his shadow endures
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)
An Anthology Of Perception 