Rhyme, Rhythm & Song

Rhyme…

 the alcohol in your cocktail

 the octane in your gas

 the connection in the words you speak

 fraternal sounds that last

 

Rhythm…

  the tempo of your heartbeat

  the joy that slows you down

  the shuffle in the words you speak

  that dance among the crowd

 

Song…

  the phrase that carries upward

  the music so inspired

  the love it brings that heaven sings

    —as Angels join your choir

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Turned Back Into Song

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Giving and taking,

 both day and night

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Some then mistaken,

 some often right

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Last right of refusal,

 the one holding tight

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The lows though not many,

 the pain always right

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Words ever radiant,

 the music so fair

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The sweetness of children,

 my soul they ensnared

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The darkest of moments,

 their message to share

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

A voice though unchosen,

 inside me declares

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

As the days grew short,

 and the visitors came

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Their voices cry out,

 calling my name

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

One verse was enough,

 no time to explain

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

My final breath,

 a lasting refrain

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The money fleeting,

  any fame now gone

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

A 5-star boardinghouse,

 no curtains drawn

 

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

With arms open wide,

  and the peace to move on

 

On my own terms,

 I ended my life

All that I’ve written

 —turned back into song

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

The Only Thing We Trust

Are space and time much too similar,

 and maybe in the end exactly the same

 

Our angle of perception the only difference,

 keeping them separate and dually named

 

If they are distinct where is their departure,

  does its sensing begin and end with us

 

Or is all we see just darker matter,

 and in verse—the only thing we trust

 

(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

 

The Light Of Its Message

Poetry should always be given away,

 and never ever sold

 

Its message to open all heavens gates,

 not translate into gold

 

Poetry should fly on the wings of a wish,

 with hope its guiding dove

 

The light of its message to guide all intention

  —transforming into love

 

(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Prose

A metrical escape valve,

  letters in the maelstrom

 

Lightning on the horizon,

  second child of the Gods

 

Sacrificial waterfall,

  its current overflowing

 

A literal dilation

 —of the verbal supreme

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

His Legend Calls

A Poem reborn posthumously…

  its Poet comes alive

 

Death to grovel at his feet,

 words not entombed, survive

 

A Poem reborn posthumously,

 each phrase a breath divine

 

Its voice once heard, the ages served,

 all seasons left to rhyme

 

A verse pulls back the shroud of death,

  as baptismal fonts refill

 

Whose waters wash the gravesite clean,

 with spirit redistilled

 

As the Poet rises from the crypt,

 in light his name recalled

 

To free the many verses chained

  —whose truth his legend calls

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

 

 

 

School’s Out

Breaking through the titled ceiling,

 my voice survived unnamed

 

Unleashed to save the future past,

 with words their truth proclaimed

 

All time bereft of judgment,

 all feelings self contained

 

Diploma mailed but left unsigned

 —its seal in freedom stained

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)