The emptiness between Hemingway’s words is a
  hollow sound that stays in your mind

The space creates distance as the Old Man wanted,
  from the reader and the ****** of pain

“Distance from the day he fought and struggled
   to land that one great fish

“Distance from a soldier’s final battle, calling out
   from beyond his reach

“Distance from the arena where the horns got close,
   with death again denied

“And distance from the many women he tried to
   desperately love and failed”

Each city his refuge: Paris, Havana, and Ketchum,
  but in no place were his memories home

And giving in to the distance, setting the ghost free
   —his bell tolled one last time

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

“You’re only as strong as your weakest link,”
  the Postman said out loud

“Space creates room to get lost or expand”
  he shouted out so proud

True wisdom appears when it chooses the time,
  it has always been that way

It’s the ear out-of-tune that hears only the wind,
  —when eternity has its say

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Through the eye of the needle
Not to the left or the right
Dodging both on the comets tail

I streak into the light
My last wish out in front
As words melt in a fiery contrail

And with only one question
To weaken my heart
With only one thing to know

The seasons entwine
All beanstalks are felled
With the exit signs all aglow

I crash through the doubt
Releasing new hope
My affirmation now to reign

And look ever further
Beyond my scope
As my senses become untrained

I feel the loose pieces
Start to come off
A new lightness now abounds

The last burden has lifted
Burning bright in my wake
Crossing over—turned around

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)

Carrying them with me
   traveling through time

The words seed my memory
   new meter and rhyme

Spreading them freely
  over days fallowed thin

New feelings sprout upward
   —rooted within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

I go to the gym most every day,
  my fountain pen in hand

My curls and dips move line to line,
  I press as words expand

My repetition sorely felt,
  more weight I need command

And through these veins my prose will flow,
  —verse flexing on demand

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

One rock cast from the quarry
  of the great unknown

Freedom just another way,
—of being alone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

I live in places  
  you’ve never seen

And sleep in nightmares
  you’ve never dreamed

I choose in dimensions
  above either or

Beyond the pain
  you can endure

My memory lapses
  in moments freed

But fate imprisons
  all I see

Escape an option, death allowed,
  but only if I’m willing

To marry freedom’s hope denied
   —and **** my soul’s foretelling

(Flagstaff Arizona: February, 2019)

My pen would be dry if the world
  were the only cry for more

But Laura’s voice from within,
  asserts with a solemn command

Kindling my eternal fire—stoking the
  questioning cord

Burning away the doubt,
—and turning me back around

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Granting myself permission,
  I advanced into the sun

The rays now scorching by me,
  this journey zero-sum

Racing toward the present,
  all chains come flying off

Into a first beginning
—my dreams and wishes caught

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

Sharing space with myself
  replaying ‘what if’

Symbiosis conjoins
  the jazz in the riff

The progression regressive
  separation be ******

My shadow imploding
  —in a joyous ‘I Am’

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Secrets keep us sick
  as emotions run and hide

Perception dark and thick
  the truth turned into lies

Secrets keep us sick
  with denial center stage

Time bartered, the moment gone
—nothing left but rage

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2018)

Ending In Regret

Most of us wait
  for what few of us get

Then start the excuses
  —that end in regret

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2014)


   Inside Your Heart

With your every smile,
  my life grows longer

Both on this earth
  —and inside your heart

(To My Grandson Hunter: January, 2014)


The Felony Of Language

The felony of language
   is within the larceny
   of being neither right
    —nor wrong

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2014)


      Unspoken Dawn

The morning returns
  new verses unheard
  rising eternal
   —in the unspoken dawn

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: January, 2014)

Before you fall,
  you’ve got to stand

Your voice once stalled,
  no reprimand

The paradigm floats,
  on swamps that drain

Where praise cries out,
  false hope again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Writing my way into eternity,
  I chose one word at a time

Doing my best to avoid modernity
  with rhythm and often rhyme

Staying true to all my senses
  shunning the critic and praiser alike

My pen only full of the truest ink
  to guide me through the night

Writing my way into eternity
  each phrase a step to climb

Caring not a whit for posterity,
  all applause I’ve left behind

The light’s become my master
  all time its servant—slave

As I write and speak to something more
—than gets buried in the grave

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Thoughts inflame as feelings stir
Words simmer yet to boil
Unspoken sparks drift through the night
A pyre still to burn

Delphian in its natural form
The smoke a treacherous friend
Words rekindle—lies cremate
The Oracle on fire

As heat restores the human soul
All prodigals return
New hope to melt the frozen dawn
And free the poet’s hand

With letters stacked and dried of doubt
Their Muse cries out your name
As dark she waits for your next breath
  —to light the spoken air

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
    ‘Inspired by Roberto Rodriguez’

Write your way out
  of a book

Sing your way out
  of a song

See your way out
  of the darkness

Feel your way out
  —of what’s wrong

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

My mind often visits
  those places you fear

My soul, my protectress,
  my words as my spear

My voice now a fortress
  from oncoming attack

My spirit embracing
  —those feelings you lack

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

My pen is like a blues riff,
  not always on the note

I bend within the moment,
  new feelings reach for hope

A eulogy unspoken,
  on fire around his bed

The Mojo dancing with the Muse,
  Marine Band in my head

The words they stretch and vibrate,
  a blind man theirs to read

They move in tribute off the page,
  like Sonny’s orphaned reeds

My hand they cease to follow,
  as letters wail and slide

And somewhere deep in Arkansas,
—the greatest harp just died

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)

The words in the melody
  the words on the page

Related but different
  the Minstrel and Sage

The music recaptures
  what ink only starts

As harmony sings
  from an angelic heart

A phrase and a lyric
  as cousins relate

Too distant for brothers
  too close in their fate

One soul with two masters
  each fighting to gain

Your soul ever after
—your spirit to claim

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)