First I write the story,

  then I write the book

 

Related but still different

—not to be mistook

 

First I write the story,

then I write the book

 

The first is in the telling

—the second in the look

 

(Barnes & Noble, Kansas City: June, 2016)

When I was starving,

poetry fed me

 

When I was sick,

the verse made me well

 

When I was homeless,

words gave me shelter

 

When I was lost

—the voice led me home

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

I abhor weakness

in all of its forms

 

My words gaining strength

through many a storm

 

Whether sleet in my face

or rudderless keel

 

This pledge I do anchor

—refusing to kneel

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Unto a rose,

 flower so sweet

 

Petals like velvet,

fragrance so deep

 

Up through the concrete,

lining many a field

 

Its glorious blossom

love’s welcome—revealed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Poetry is more than words,

some is written, some is heard

 

Often long, yet sometimes short,

its power shared in bold retort

 

Questions cry, demanding verse,

with feelings new, still unrehearsed

 

Its focus like a laser aims,

at souls that search—time and again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Where have all the

Poets gone

 

Where are all the

songs unsung

 

Where does the mystery

unravel sublime

 

Where does the majesty

reach the Divine

 

Where does tomorrow

turn into today

 

If not for the Poet

—we’ve all lost our way

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Together,

Our hearts may start a fire

That in isolation

Waits a spark

 

Eternal,

Our souls may join as one

As our spirits

—light the dark

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

One of life’s challenges

is to find your own speed

 

Where travel is constant,

 destination in sight

 

Too fast,

 and yesterday abandons your future

 

Too slow,

 and memory stretches beyond your grasp

 

(Airplane to Richmond 10/14/2016)

A prisoner of my poetry…

a captive of this chair

 

The air I breathe connects me fast,

this corner now my lair

 

I take my meals here sitting,

my sleep in naps between

 

The written and the spoken word

—both jailer to this dream

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)

In the end…

the only thing left

—is what gets remembered

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)