The hour has come,
—no word left unspoken

The reasons have vanished,
—all emptiness gone

(Las Vegas Nevada: January, 2011)

If you don’t write
  everything down

Then at least take
  everything in

Seeds once planted,
ripen and grow

A blind eye,
—the killer within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

They come to me couplets,
  they come to me tight

They come to me rhyming,
  they come to me right

With lessened confusion,
   more light in the air

All youthful illusions,
   exposed,
   — ‘au contraire’

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Darkness, tearing into the light,
  talons that blind

Redemption, covered in blight,
  the omen reminds

Chasing the last ray,
  horizon diminished and gone

Words screaming goodbye,
  as twilight devours your song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

You can’t alter reality
  with an opinion

You can’t alter reality
with a drug

To alter reality, you must force
  time upon itself

Defining the indefinable,
—leaving only what is

(Grantham New Hampshire: February, 2017)

It’s harder to lie in verse or a poem,
  than it is with dialog or prose

It’s harder to bend the truth over a feeling,
than around what you or someone else knows

It’s harder to feign an eruption of light,
  or the isolation of being alone in the dark

It’s harder to mislead with a few chosen words,
  than with tomes that were written to outsmart

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

The Muse more than my mistress,
  the Muse more than my friend

The Muse more than a guardian,
  the Muse my blood within

She no longer comes to visit,
  she only comes to stay

Each wish I make, each word I write,
—within her breath I pray

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Little Lord Fauntleroy
  left to devise

His future uncertain
  a past once despised

Little Lord Fauntleroy
  his choice lies within

To do unto others
  or do unto him

Little Lord Fauntleroy,
  escape from these walls

The lords and new creatures
  —your legacy calls

(Memories Of Jim-Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Yes, I’m a Poet,
  but I refuse to be tormented  
  
I refuse to be a victim,
  with my words made out of stone

I refuse to bleed my heart out,
  on a page of blank simpatico

I refuse to give you weakness,
  knowing strength you have disowned

Yes, I’m a Poet,
but my sword is sharp and pointed

My shield is scarred and colored
with the blood of firebrands

My breath won’t plead while shouting,
  every name a future conquest

My pen in hand, a weapon sure,
—its ink the truth commands

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)

Earbuds in and phone in hand,
  millennial’s converse

Language distant, eyes unshared,
their lives on hold—obverse

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Beyond my consciousness,
  in stark relief

A place beyond reason,
  all spirits unleash

Beyond my awareness,
  I inherit the wind

Each breath I blow inward,
  new endings begin

Religion, a concept,
  that God can’t abide

Dogma a pretense,
  where idolaters hide

In my dreams there’s a voice,
  that comes unannounced

Its structure on fire,
  new words unpronounced

Time but a weapon,
  to use on the weak

Its measuring stick,
  to never complete

One question—one answer,
  for all that transpires

In primacy wrapped,
  no logic hard wired

The years I’d spent looking,
  those moments I’d waste

When deep from inside,
  with subliminal grace

The great Crazy Horse calls,
  chanting words once unknown

“Your vision has freed you
—its voice now your own”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)

The words come as brothers,
  their sister a song

With mother a feeling,
  and father headstrong

Relation internal,
  all melding as one

Each needing the other,
—a lyrical sum

(Train From New Hampshire: May,2017)

I never read it,
  the way it was written

I never wrote it,
  the way it should read

The lines connected,
  were for me to be broken

A lesson once ending,
  is where I began

I spoke out of time,
  out of place…out of line

I wrote what I saw,
  once the future was gone

I prided myself,
  in a vision self nurtured

Asking permission for nothing,
  —and forgiveness for less

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February,2017)

That road that I searched for,
  led me into the words

Their geography inward,
  their ownership heard

All possessions relinquished,
  no teeth left to bite

The journey soft spoken,
  —walking into the light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

My body ages…
as words stay young

Gentler written,
  more often sung

Fond memory’s child…
  youth starts to rage

All gray outside,
  blue-blonde the page

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Samurai writer
Bushido inspired
Katana withdrawn
Edge hardened by fire

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)

“Feeling beyond touch,”
  the Sorcerer said…

“Knowledge beyond thought,”
  all memory ahead

“Faith beyond healing,”
  its mercy divine

“Love beyond giving,”
—a journey sublime

(Las Vegas Nevada: January, 2017)

High caliber verse
  the cartridge hand loaded

A new target centered
  all focus then squared

Its barrel’s been filled
  with red molten fury

Whose trigger awaits
  —a desperate will

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Must God stay beyond our
  understanding

His prophecy to conscript
  and confuse

Are the Trinity and  
  Resurrection

Both miracles or only
  a ruse

Do we build temples to
  our edification

Storing Icons that judge
  and decry

Is the Bible fictitious
  or sacred

Is Redemption the truth
  or a lie

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Too close to the flame…
   too far from the light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

America has been hi-jacked
By the mainstream media
Reality distorted
  —and the truth scorned

Soundbites of political daggers
Impale a Constitution left wounded
Patriots held hostage
  —as Lady Liberty mourns

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2015)

Is a Poem one,
  or a thousand words

The bee sting fatal,
—last shot unheard

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

Who speaks to you sincerely,
  who calls your name out loud

Who plates your image clearly,
  and picks you from the crowd

Who tends your words forespoken,
  as you wander near and far

Who waits for you rewoken,
—just beyond the nearest star

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

Will eternity have
  a yin and a yang

Will the forces that govern
  applaud and harangue

Will the blessings have value
  if damnation moves on

Will it all even matter
  —once tomorrow is gone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

Translation,
  the executioner of emotion,
  —and rustler of graves

(Chicago Illinois: Water Tower with Studs Terkel—July, 1977)

Truth,
  the social mammogram

Forgiveness
  —chemotherapy of the Gods

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

The Genie is now out of the bottle,
  and referred to as ‘The Net’

Where hackers are countries unto themselves,
  empowered worldwide—great threats

Able to intrude and disrupt at will,
  weaving a new kind of hell

With privacy ***** and freedom attacked,
—barraged, our future imperiled

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Trapped in the meter,
  a prisoner of rhyme

My spirit indicted,
  destroyer of time

A minstrels disciple,
  epistle in hand

The sound and the rhythm,
  my souls contraband

New couplets my jailer,
  their sentences terse

The key to their freedom,
  locked deep in the verse

And serving in silence,
  chalk marks on the wall

I listen intently,
  for one voice to call

Awaiting its pardon,
  this conviction will end

My words liberated,
—to forever portend

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

A stitch past nine on borrowed time,
  the memories come rushing back

The Wolf is feasting in Grandma’s bed,
  Red Riding Hood a snack

A Cow gets ready to jump again,
  when the moon drops from the sky

Humpty Dumpty a mess on the floor,
—the last horseman says goodbye

The candle burns for Jack’s last jump,
   a quickening funeral pyre

The stepmother screams, Cinderella hides,
  her daughter’s dress on fire

Little Jack Horner abandons his corner,
  curds harden and whey runs aground

As Mother Goose watches the Grimm Brothers die,
  —not a child in sight to be found

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)