Deposit after deposit, memory is stored,

interest compounding anew

 

To transfer its balance of riches and gains

—avarice must first bid adieu

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

She’s familiar…

ain’t that the blues

 

Sleeping beside her,

I always knew

 

Chipped beef on Monday,

Thursday cold stew

 

Dishes piled high,

paycheck gone through

 

She’s familiar…

ain’t that the blues

 

Home from work early,

today around noon

 

Mattress was creaking,

my pistol I drew

 

Two shots in my brother

 —four more in the flooze

 

(Chicago Illinois: Performed with Clinton Mace at Cabrini Green 1985)

Stepping over the line,

in pursuit of a song

 

Could a melody so right

—ever be so wrong

 

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: July, 2019)

I want to know you…

not about you

 

The devil in the details

—all heaven in your smile

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2019)

Dedicated To Nina Simone

 

You strive for complexity,

missing the truth

 

Your thoughts trumping feeling

—ego seduced

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

 

A motorcycle and leather bag,

life seemed so perfect then

 

When everything I cared about…

my backseat was for them

 

The world was such a smaller place,

ideas grandiose

 

To wander aimlessly I did,

and never be morose

 

The road became my staunchest friend,

new places passing by

 

Those girls I met, the love I spent,

the promise in their eyes

 

That special place my memory held,

for years now time sets free

 

A motorcycle—a leather bag,

and all that was to be

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

We’ve popularized everything,

from the classic to the crass

 

In doing so, we’ve lost ourselves,

neck deep in the morass

 

If everything is AOK,

then what the hell is wrong

 

Those standards that we’ve built upon

—abandoned and now gone

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

To tell if you’re a Poet,

from the first line to your last

 

Do your words connect with feeling

—the future to the past

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Palliative to hospice,

I jump from stone to stone

 

The river waits in silence

—its waterfall unknown

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Deadly to his enemies,

confusing to his friends

 

While faithful to his writing,

—all justified intent

 

Furious in times of war,

in peace his vision burns

 

But past the fray inside his verse,

a gentler spirit yearns

 

Salvation long then sacrificed,

a fate he can’t deny

 

A cross that’s left for him to bear,

but still his spirit cries

 

Through battles mostly devil sent,

and victories sealed with death

 

This guilt the price he’s had to pay,

now felt with every breath

 

One wish at last he prays out loud,

one cry is sent above

 

“My spear, my pen, my will to live

I trade all back for love”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)