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)
Poetry should always be given away,
and never ever sold
Its message to open all heavens gates,
not translate into gold
Poetry should fly on the wings of a wish,
with hope its guiding dove
The light of its message to guide all intention
—transforming into love
(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
Science would like
to abscond with Philosophy
Claiming propriety
over truth falsely shown
Measures and numbers
its weapons of choice
Never looking beyond
—what its theories bestow
(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
A metrical escape valve,
letters in the maelstrom
Lightning on the horizon,
second child of the Gods
Sacrificial waterfall,
its current overflowing
A literal dilation
—of the verbal supreme
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
A Poem reborn posthumously…
its Poet comes alive
Death to grovel at his feet,
words not entombed, survive
A Poem reborn posthumously,
each phrase a breath divine
Its voice once heard, the ages served,
all seasons left to rhyme
A verse pulls back the shroud of death,
as baptismal fonts refill
Whose waters wash the gravesite clean,
with spirit redistilled
As the Poet rises from the crypt,
in light his name recalled
To free the many verses chained
—whose truth his legend calls
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
The darker side of morning,
the drier side of rain
A memory left forgetting
—a spirit uncontained
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
Breaking through the titled ceiling,
my voice survived unnamed
Unleashed to save the future past,
with words their truth proclaimed
All time bereft of judgment,
all feelings self contained
Diploma mailed but left unsigned
—its seal in freedom stained
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
(An Anthology Of Perception Vol. 3)
“I write the first draft
and paint the second
“But the third
—I get to sing”
(Villanova Pennsylvania, 2016)
