Make all of your life a prayer

  put all of your words into song

 

Take heart in those lyrics still to be sung

  —before the music forever is gone

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

       ‘From The Book Of Prayers’

Released from the prison

Of the extended word

Verse offered

Asylum

And a means of escape

 

Carrying me deep

To where the future-past  

Hides

All time to mislead

 —as the present conflates

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2015)

 

Poetry…

Attacking the mood

Driving its impression inward

Beyond all excuse

Wounding the intellect

Calling out names

Saving the moment

  —resurrecting the soul

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2015)

Feeding hope to the flame

  fodder to the mystery

 

Light unto the darkness

  —life begins again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2015)

Can prayer overcome

 karma

 

Can wishes rise above

 fate

 

Can memory displace

 what vision instills

 

Can love pass beyond

  —without hate

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)

 

 

 

We are often the

  most critical

 

Of what we are the

  most guilty of

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2015)

To live as an artist,

   but die as a man

 

Dust forever chasing

  —what heaven began

 

(Center City Philadelphia: January, 2015)

 

I understand the isolation,

   what others call being alone

 

I understand the silent moments,

   the inner freedom to roam

 

I understand the derision,

   and the label of being called strange

 

With each new dawn I most understand

  —the joy in not being the same

 

(Train To Center City Philadelphia: January, 2015)

Conduit of the human spirit

I forced hope into the cord

Draining the tears of

The lost and abandoned

Plugging into outlets

Of forgotten promise

Forcing their light

Onto the dark barren screen

Charging into what

I had charged over before

  —crossing the line

  —crossing the line

 

(Villanova Post Office: January, 2015)

 

Becoming irrelevant

  at last to yourself

 

The choices have narrowed

   the joy seldom felt

 

The present redundant

  what’s left in the end

 

The fodder of memory

  —and you to pretend

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2015)