The wild talk of the wounded

 words pointed and sharp

 

The casualties mounting

 dead noted and marked

 

Each phrase a revival

 ink spilling divine

 

The wild talk of the wounded

 —dark shadows to rhyme

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

Pain is the drug

On which many O.D.

Its mainline most fatal

All feelings to bleed

With birth its first victim

And death waiting last

Hiding deep in the shadows

 —of all memory past

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

 

Everyone has to be somewhere

 the lucky get to choose

 

Fate can smile or fate can frown

 the tally win or lose

 

Everyone has to be somewhere

 unless they’re in-between

 

Places caught beyond now and then

  —with destiny unseen

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

You can no more teach poetry

   than a tiger to hunt

 

It must first be inside you

   from those things that you’ve done

 

You can no more teach poetry

   than an eagle unflown

 

If the words just won’t come

  —you’ve got further to roam

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015) 

How much is freedom

  worth?

 

How much will time

  bestow?

 

How many questions

    asked?

 

How many answers

  —known?

 

(Train From Virginia: April, 2015)

 

To be quiet with your friends

  and silent with your foes

 

Creates a thunderous quiescence

  which envelopes your soul

 

Your enemy weakening

  as truth starts to rain

 

His darkness expelled

   —by lightning proclaimed

 

(Train From Virginia: April, 2015)

The words are still perfect

  as speech becomes marred

 

Intention unblemished

  delivery though scarred

 

The memories embedded

  all flashbacks infirm

 

Escape now for others
—their light yet to burn

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Not grabbing

  but reaching

 

Not pushing

  but pulling

 

Not telling

  but listening

 

Not beginning

  or done

 

Not mad

  but then joyful

 

Not sad

  but then hopeful

 

Not before

  or then after

 

In this present

  —begun

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

Is it the main course of the tale

  or the ingredients that count

 

Is it the entree served first

  or the dessert that surmounts

 

Is it the first that was last

  or the last then before

 

As the order indentured

  reverses once more

 

Was it the things that you said

  or the silence you kept

 

Was it the moments you starved

  or those times that you wept

 

Was it for honor and glory

  or a passion unseen

 

As your meal time resets

  —and old hunger now feeds

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

You’re interested in the idea

  of writing

   —I just want to write

 

You’re interested in the meaning

  of it all

   —the darkness and the light

 

You’re interested in the idea

  of writing

   —I don’t have the time

 

You’re interested in questions

  with answers

   —those one’s I’ll never rhyme

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)