As warlord of the ticking count…
time marches uncontested
Avoiding every scrutiny,
defending every lie
All seasons caught within its grasp,
each day a slave in training
Order becoming disorder again
—complexity denied
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
The truth of hope is faith
—the hope of faith is love
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
Words of conjecture self destruct
—when veracity holds its sway
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
Is randomness designed,
can the dice roll more defined
Is entropy a map,
less complex as time adapts
Can ignorance be renamed,
as a home for knowledge gained
Can the circle then be squared
—arcs and angles still to share
(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
Once truth is judged delusion,
we choose the lesser of two lies
Abandoning that voice unheard,
stillborn—a baby cries
The ideal in dark remission,
all hope now cast in flames
Making bargains with the Devil
—as the future writhes in pain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Not a student of Poetry,
more a student of life
The words fell before me,
stepping-stones of delight
Not a student of Verse,
but of musings inspired
My days withdrew inward,
the years stoked and fired
Not a student of prose,
but its lover the same
As words strung together,
and called out my name
Not a Poet or Novelist,
but a writer for sure
Verbal stepchild unnamed
—asking for nothing more
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Alone with my thoughts,
together in this moment
The light cast off its shadow
—all prophecy reclaimed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Rhyme…
the alcohol in your cocktail
the octane in your gas
the connection in the words you speak
fraternal sounds that last
Rhythm…
the tempo of your heartbeat
the joy that slows you down
the shuffle in the words you speak
that dance among the crowd
Song…
the phrase that carries upward
the music so inspired
the love it brings that heaven sings
—as Angels join your choir
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Giving and taking,
both day and night
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Some then mistaken,
some often right
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Last right of refusal,
the one holding tight
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The lows though not many,
the pain always right
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Words ever radiant,
the music so fair
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The sweetness of children,
my soul they ensnared
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The darkest of moments,
their message to share
On my own terms,
I lived my life
A voice though unchosen,
inside me declares
On my own terms,
I lived my life
As the days grew short,
and the visitors came
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Their voices cry out,
calling my name
On my own terms,
I lived my life
One verse was enough,
no time to explain
On my own terms,
I lived my life
My final breath,
a lasting refrain
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The money fleeting,
any fame now gone
On my own terms,
I lived my life
A 5-star boardinghouse,
no curtains drawn
On my own terms,
I lived my life
With arms open wide,
and the peace to move on
On my own terms,
I ended my life
All that I’ve written
—turned back into song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Are space and time much too similar,
and maybe in the end exactly the same
Our angle of perception the only difference,
keeping them separate and dually named
If they are distinct where is their departure,
does its sensing begin and end with us
Or is all we see just darker matter,
and in verse—the only thing we trust
(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
An Anthology Of Perception 