What value, if any, does Poetry have
—if not to speak the truth
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Children Of The Damned
The ethics of duplicity,
the killing on trial
One law for the criminal,
one law for the child
The electric chair savage,
womb murder refined
Academia, the father and mother
of crime
To lie when convenient,
truth’s babies to cry
An Einstein, a Lister, a Shakespeare,
denied
Through dark inhumanity,
their spirits to roam
Living deep in our consciousness
—our souls theirs to own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Stolen Dreams
All sleep is barren,
the night becomes long
The Muse an insomniac
—restless until dawn
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Exigent Power
Epiphany’s truth
needs no defenders
Its window stays open
the light shining through
The nature of being
its servant not master
With exigent power
—beyond legend or proof
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Heaven’s Atelier
All of your efforts…
an homage to false reasoning
Excuses misleading,
art’s truth to disown
Heaven’s Atelier
beyond comprehension
Its masterpiece living
—beyond canvas or stone
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Cogito Ergo Erras
Science hears what,
Philosophy why
The deafest of twins
—singing in the same choir
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
A Quantitative Valet
Science…
a handmaiden of knowledge
The upstairs maid
in a mansion of discovery
Chauffeuring itself
along roads it has built
A quantitative valet
—in the closet of the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
The Coldest Muse
Married to his writing,
divorced from carnal love
The bodies flesh a token,
his words to rise above
All younger men still captive,
as lust demands anew
His passion burning molten hot
—to bed the coldest Muse
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
The Hunt
A gift inside the box…
one question left unanswered
Whose key to then unlock
lay distant—still unfound
(Baltimore Maryland: April, 2019)
Sighted Blind
My dog was hurt; he couldn’t hunt,
and left me in the field
To wander into aimlessness,
my prey as yet to yield
His nose was gone; the point was lost,
the tracks turned right then wrong
My gun recocked but sighted blind
—all certainty had gone
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
