Buying tomorrow
one day at a time
Each moment invested
in freedom sublime
The future remortgaged
all lien holders paid
The past earning interest
—on fortune today

(The New Room: July, 2023)

Memories of a summer day,
chasing colder winds away

Lasting treasures so defined,
lace the corners of my mind

Zephyrs of a distant past,
breath unto my soul’s repast

Every hope and wish redeemed
—melting fast this winter freeze

(First Book Of Prayers: December, 2021)

Poetry often answers
  —a question never asked

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)

The night a killer with retinas that burn,
all verses running mad

Fists of silence coming out of the dark,
opening up to grab

Fingers choking the last vocal chord,
strangulation by command

The quiet finality of a voice now gone
—gripped in my own hands

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Looking under
the streetlamp
vision departs

While all that we’re
missing
hides in the dark

The familiar
accepted
our nature’s are such

That what’s in
our comfort zone
pleases us much

Distracting
from vistas
that broaden our view

Unknown
and still waiting
— to birth us anew

(Dreamsleep: May, 2024)

The incarnation of silence,
sound without tone

Words embody in the night
—crying to be known

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Lost inside passion
with burning desire
Vision refocused
in tunnels of fire

Screams of delirium
christen the night
Darkness a metaphor
tainted delight

One then another
the virgins do fall
Lascivious demons
unleashed in the hall

Till daybreak approaches
new light on the way
The beast back in harness
—this evening to stray

(The New Room: January, 2024)

Can you speak to the masses
will your words cross the line
From youngest to oldest
will listeners opine

How many octaves
can sing out your tune
Is it seasonal only
or July until June

Is time to speak kindly
of what you espouse
Or pile like kindling
as scraps from a house

The listeners are out there
awaiting your call
Their ears to the ground
—will you bend to enthrall

(The New Room: June, 2022)

Everyone’s life is tragic,
but who calls out the score

The Jester or the Hangman,
the Undertaker sure

Everyone’s nights are haunted,
when sleeping with the Muse

Each dream a wanton barter
—your memories to lose

(Haverford Pennsylvania: May, 2020)

Buried reflection,
pits of regret

Reasons to wander,
darkness forgets

Images rising,
blessed by the sun

Timeless reversal
—forgiveness begun

(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)

Is there an image in your imagery,
a still behind the flask

A spell within the potion,
an answer, question asked

A beginning in your ending line,
a peace that’s worth the bout

A phrase that makes all history shake
—a whisper then to shout

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

A sweetness comes with age,
  like fruit that’s finally ripe

A Poet then a Sage,
  on this journey into night

A wish distilled from all regret,
  its seeds to be resown

A sweetness comes with age
  —that buried youth will never know

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

A Wolf Waits

Early one morning
reason escaped
And prescience went with it
unlocking the gate
Lights in the asylum
flicker and fade
The inmates grow restless
a deepening shade
Evening brought darkness
no stars in the sky
But nobody wondered
no questioning why
The moon simply vanished
a wolf waits to howl
All order disorder
—with thought disavowed

(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)


Spinning The Cylinder

When does intelligence
turn on its host
Killing the patron
leaving a ghost

Russian roulette
in a game zero sum
Perception reloading
—acuity’s gun

(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)


Quantum Leap

Life beyond numbers
images reign
Killing all reference
lost in refrain
Gaming the theory
zeroing out
Counting symphonic
—Angels about

(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)

The Muse continues to punish me
whenever I write prose

Her slaps severe with pain heartfelt
no fury 'hell hath known'

She sentences me to endless nights
and days when words won't come

Until I succumb to writing verse
and she — my breath becomes


(Fairmount Park: October, 2016)

From the sound of the bugle
in the rush of the wind
The bodies are counted
as grieving begins

In the morrow replaying
as blood spills again
The enemy forward
whose countenance grim

The courage of many
all acting as one
Their wills long suborted
with fear on the run

Till the bugle goes silent
the bugler face down
Last day ill remembered
—a wounded dog howls  

(The New Room: June, 2023)

The only way to become a writer
—is to write

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

If some is good
more is better
Less is threatened
all enslaved

If more is reasoned
less is questioned
Good intentions
—hell repaved

(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)

“All you can be is all you can be,”
damning with faint praise

A lover, not a girl to wed
—left hand falsely raised

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Are you happy spreading misery,
distrust what you embrace

More joyful when the skies are dark,
than bright on sunny days

Is truth a tool you wield and fling,
a weapon in your hand

Love what looms and threatens most,
to never understand

Are feelings there for you to trash,
with others left to cry

A promise made but left unkept,
much worse than any lie

When all is said, and all is done,
and everyone looks back

Will you be known for what you were
—that knife in someone's back

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

Let me take you on a journey,
  to a place inside yourself

Not the body mind connection,
  but true consciousness itself

Before you walk a darkened space,
  a light must first go on

Not tasked with anything other than,
  an awareness set upon

Your eyes look out, true vision in,
  the stuff of what you’re made

Before the questions were unleashed,
  one answer left unblamed

So close your eyes and close your mind,
   and set your spirit free

The path aglow from whence you came
   —that leads you back to thee

(Dreamsleep: June, 2019)

Refusing to ever
say hello

The coward says
—goodbye

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Writing is a messy feast
where crumbs fall to the floor
to congregate and aggregate
to hide and form and spore

Left alone and thrown away
these remnants take new life
invading what you fear the most
on dark and stormy nights

They creep inside your cleanest lines
to weaken and distract
what memory long has cast aside
now rising from the cracks

And latching on while holding tight
they make you speak their name
those orphaned crumbs your table cleared
—in sweeping lost disdain

(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)

Salt lick temptation
lures that dangle,
camouflaged darkness
masks and blinds

Easily captured
when most attracted,
flypaper memories
—trap and bind

(The New Room: November, 2021)

Hostage to fortune,
prisoner of time

Trophies a burden,
polished and shined

Greed but a jailer,
freedom denied

Hope in confinement
—wishing a crime

(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)

Poetry…
not about the words
but how the words were born

(Dreamsleep: June, 2021)

No power
can break a man's grip
on his own throat

Or offer redemption
with belief
unproclaimed

(Dreamsleeep: December, 2019)