Raw and uncut, the Poet

  sharpened his edge

 

His entry point targeted,

  fury bright red

 

The first cut the deepest,

  and clean to the bone

 

A wound bleeding freely

   —all sutures unknown

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

No one ever dies for an idea,

 until it changes to a feeling

 

No one ever dies for a feeling

 —until darkness points to dawn

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

You can’t step into the same river twice,

 and have the water be the same

 

You can’t throw wishes into the wind,

 and recall them time unclaimed

 

You can’t put a baby back in the womb,

 once the cord of life has been cut

 

And you can’t change a lie into the truth,

 your intention—the devil’s good luck

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Formal education,

 requires a fence

 

With borders to confine,

 and logic intense

 

Three letters that matter,

 the I, S, and M

 

Each school suffixed over,

 its member’s defend

 

Realism, Rationalism,

 Idealism all…

 

Each name its own failing,

 as verity calls

 

True thought has no class

 or Academie named

 

It stands on its own,

 the truth its sole claim

 

With knowledge in conflict,

 the days turn to night

 

Academia’s lantern

 —burned out in the fight

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Prose or Poetry,

  the music is calling

 

A waltz or a tango

 —conjecture or blood

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Start looking outside your frame of reference,

  for that which will stand you alone

 

Stop longing for praise or high endorsement,

  things only borrowed or loaned

 

Start feeling those words you preach unto others,

   no longer hiding yourself away

 

Stop blaming the time and the message it brings

  —for those excuses that keep you ‘at bay’

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

It isn’t…

  until it is

 

It wasn’t…

  until it was

 

It shouldn’t be…

  until it should

 

It won’t be…

  —until it will

 

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Reading for inspiration

  and not for fact

 

The words paint a picture

  in my mind

 

Like dominoes falling

  one by one

 

Each letter then the next

  so inclined

 

My fingers enliven

  and start to draw

 

A vivid story

  new image sublime

 

All colors reborn

  as each phrase is set free

 

The ink now transformed

  —and divine

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Day surrounds your memory,

  as evening frames your smile

 

But what I most remember

  —is morning in your eyes

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

You stir it one way, and they the other,

  but the mixture stays just as hot

 

You attack their motives, and they attack yours,

  while the contents boil and rot

 

“It needs to be this way”… the other side revolts,

  “Your mind’s faulty with avarice and greed”

 

The pot has simmered; the broth is thick,

  and its bottom not easy to see

 

A mutual exclusion, first left and then right

  a feast—all soul’s consumed

 

With spoon or fork, its offering slick,

  when the bowls come out at noon

 

In single file, day turns into night,

  pointed talk with nothing said

 

Both cupboard’s bare, two rat’s within,

  guarding their last crust of bread

 

When the final story is written and told,

   of what in concert you destroyed

 

A drum will beat, zero-sum complete,

  leaving you soulless—but still conjoined

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June,2016)