The words once they’re spoken,

  notes and palettes enhanced

 

Not judged in reference,

   kindred spirits they dance

 

While music enlivens

  what phrases will say

 

A painting embodies

  what verses convey

 

And the only conflict

  is in the critic’s eye

 

Who sees not the harmony,

   but comparisons lie

 

As all art travels skyward,

  enjoined hand in hand

                                                          

To the source of its power

   —together to stand

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016) 

Choking on arrogance,

 occlusion unrhymed

 

The Reaper lies waiting,

 graveyard of Mimes

 

Choking on arrogance,

 last curse to remain

 

Spat into the wind

 —returning black rain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

Is your humanity held captive

 by your intelligence

 

Does your soul remain imprisoned

 for a self-inflicted crime

 

Are the wishes you made, abandoned,

  prisoners of the wind

 

Is the cell locked deep within you

   —on whose walls you mark the time

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

When the freedom

  to think

 

And the ability to write

  are at odds

 

    —turn the page

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Carrying them with me,

   traveling through time

 

Words seed my memory,

   new meter and rhyme

 

Spreading them freely,

   over days fallowed thin

 

New verses sprout upward

    —rooted within

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

 

The deeper the pond,

  the calmer the water

 

The older the wine,

  the richer the flavor

 

The longer the gaze,

  the sharper the picture

 

The fewer the words

   —less risk of conjecture

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

My pen restrained and kidnapped,

   but ink bleeds evermore

 

Voices cry: “Something More Be Done”

   —fury to rage and roar

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: Dreamsleep-February, 2016)

To those who seek acquaintance,

 I can’t and won’t befriend

 

No time that isn’t mortgaged,

 no hearts will I defend

 

Each day begins and ends

 with gifted words upon the page

 

My blood lay rediscovered,

 new memories to age

 

My spirit lost within the Muse,

 my shadow running free

 

Her fond acceptance zero-sum,

 her voice my destiny

 

To those who say they know me,

 my verse they must have read

 

That person lost before the scribe,

 much better left for dead

 

And in the moment present,

 where all things take their place

 

I give myself back to a choice

 —no friendship can replace

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

Are your wishes scribed in combat,

  are your hopes relined with pain

 

Is your motion found still wanting,

  as you climb the stairs again

 

Are your words now of this moment,

  is your verse free and sincere

 

Are your feelings calling inward

  —from a heart that’s yearning dear

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

The tightness of the words

   protects the freedom of the thought

 

Whose voice when spoken gently

   —can silence thunder and dragons caught

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)