Sitting alone

  among my books,

  growing old within myself

 

A memory came back

  its reflection dim,

  as I lifted one down from the shelf

 

Sitting alone

  among my books,

  I remembered—then remembered again

 

More than just words

  are on those pages I wrote,

  it’s my lifetime of searching—in print

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

 

What kind of love does a man have

  for the offspring

   —he will never meet

 

What kind of love does a man have

  for the great-great-grandchildren

    —he will never see

 

What kind of love does a man have

  for a future

   —beyond his control

 

What kind of love does a man have

  for those distant

   —yet present enrolled

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

The Lost Generation

 now lost online

 Paris, a web of postings

 

Its cafes are fed

 fresh verses unread

   —new Seines left overflowing

 

(Montmartre Paris: March, 2009)

 

Using me as a weapon

  and not a shield

 

The Muse would

  parry and thrust

 

Attacking with a message

  that wouldn’t yield

 

She prowled my light hours

  in disgust

 

The sword of my fathers

  hers by right

 

To ensure

  tonight’s salvation

 

Collapsing the moment

  reversing my sight

 

Each cut

  a revelation

 

All time was dead

  its hours uncast

 

As she thundered out a

  mystery

 

Her lightning destroying

  all futures past

 

My soul

  —in forced recovery

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Where science ends,

   poetry begins

 

The wonder of it all

  —questioned again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Do you need to open your eyes

   to see?

 

Do you need to have the words spoken

   to hear?

 

Do you need to pierce beneath the skin

   to feel?

 

Do you need to first understand

   —to love?

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Using words

  only borrowed

  —but not owned

 

Wearing clothes

  stolen from a Mime

  —not my own

 

I placed a token  

  metaphor

  inside a pictureless frame

 

Giving you everything

  but love

   —time and again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

If you can take your own

  breath away

  —and the breath of others

 

You will live in a world of

  magic and dreams

  —the shortest pathway home

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

Shrinking immortality into

  the moment

 

Ignoring the impostors

  —future and past

 

Inhaling eternity’s thunder

   with every breath

 

Breathing out

  —fire and rain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

The University rustler’s aim

  herding and stealing… 

  hot irons from within

 

Professorial larcenous B.S. campaign

  letters branded

  to deceive and convince

 

The doctor licentiate

  disguised as Jesse James

  his gang riding shotgun up top

 

If they ever tally up all the things

  they’ve unlearned, they will shoot

  at each other—dumbstruck

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)