Not cute or in genre,

  in tune or in tone

 

A message drives forward,

  the muse casting stones

 

Untimely, eternal,

  her voice speaking fast

 

My pen now a torch

  —the darkness is past

 

(Barnes & Noble-Plymouth Meeting Pa: January, 2016)

Dreams carry me across

  a mysterious land

 

Where the voice of my fathers

  so gently commands

 

It echoes quite softly

  in words only sung

 

A joyous recital,

  rewoven and spun

 

I never can stay there,

  I’ve begged till I weep

 

And with barely a whisper,

  I’m roused from my sleep

 

But when darkness befalls

  on my world once again

 

A new dream will come calling

   —to guide me within

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

Broken feelings…

My chest of gold

A torments ransom

No trinkets sold

The treasure bounteous

Walls lined with blood

Its hurt and pain

I have withstood

The jewels lack sparkle

But shimmer deep

Their cut and clarity

My soul to keep

And words if cheapened

Must leave this throne

As the lid reopens

  —on the pain I own

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

 

 

Between freedom and Instagram

 there is an island,

 where men go to be alone

 

An island of words

 in arresting colors,

 with meaning indicted—but seldom heard

 

Between Facebook and tomorrow

 a cloud sits waiting,

 where men go to find themselves

 

An Angel calling role

 in blind acceptance,

 all names rejected—the letters whole

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

“We appreciate that cousin”

 said the Rebel to the Yank

 

As all glory left the battlefield

 where rows of corpses stank

 

“We appreciate that cousin”

  as the bullets set to fly

 

“But our family’s set upon itself

   —and one of us must die”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

 

Is anyone ever a total fraud

  or totally sincere

 

Is anyone committed beyond mere space

  to a notion fond and dear

 

Is anyone ever one hundred percent

  with subtraction the rule of the day

 

Is anyone better than what they believe

  or worse than a mother can pray

 

Is anyone ever truly in charge

  of that moment that slips through the hand

 

Is anyone willing to dance beyond hope

  to a melody lost by the band

 

Is anyone chosen from those who are not

  or entitled to what can’t be earned

 

Is anyone welcomed straight into the light

   —on a path where all others have turned

 

(Airplane-Las Vegas To Philadelphia: January, 2016)

Writing words of forgiveness,

  a bridge from the grave

 

My ashes unscatter,

  my memories reclaim

 

A verse of atonement,

  all steps unto thee

 

Whose vision, my journey

  —from death set me free

 

(To Mark Phanco-Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

Persuader inside me

  dark sweetness cajoling

 

A talisman dangles

 —the present foretold

 

(Las Vegas Nevada: January, 2016)

 

Within the tragedy of a broken dream

   rages a fiery lost inferno

 

Where we burn in fearful anticipation

  —waiting for the alarm to sound

 

(Las Vegas Nevada: January, 2016)

 

The truth came flying out of the mirror,

  its reflection veracious and new

 

And left without warning, my emptiness torn,

  heading back to a place out of view

 

Driving into my eyes an image so clear,

  its talon’s spread open and honed

 

But on wings of silver, it returned fulfilled,

  my spirit soaring—free and atoned

 

(Southwest Flight Las Vegas-Philadelphia: January 27, 2016)