Deserting your own judgment
  —the highest form of treason

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

From life’s final dissertation,
  logic must be barred

A blueprint of our limitations,
  its legions burned and scarred

In that last final closing moment,
  transcendence kindled bright

The strictures of its failed excuse
   —left victim to the night

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Passion builds a home
  —that talent only visits

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)

The wandering Poet,
  so wild—so free

With each mile walked,
  a new reverie

Eight Muses to guide him,
  his steps fall in line

Their prophecy calling,
  their message sublime

The wandering Poet,
  won’t stop till he’s done

All motion incessant,
  all verse zero-sum

His trail can be seen,
  by those willing to climb

Their destiny’s marked,
—their pasts left behind

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

Everyone has to be somewhere
  the lucky get to choose

Fate can smile or fate can frown
  the tally win or lose

Everyone has to be somewhere
  unless they’re in-between

Places caught beyond now and then
  —with destiny unseen

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

In the Song Of The Muses,
  the Prince heard his Queen

Now locked in a convent,
  her beauty unseen

The tower lay distant,
  its ramparts on guard

Just one point of entry
  a hero’s reward

The mist in the valley
  its prison to free

Through clouds in the distance
  her pleadings, her screams
  
Two miles before him
   all love waits abed  

The future unfolding
  —his destiny wed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Money, wrapping paper
  of disowned creation

Destroying the gift,
—laying claim to the box

(Jamestown New York: May, 2011)

My cup runneth over
  your chalice half full

The emptiness suspect
  both murky and dull

It shines on the outside
  jewels christened with fire

But to drink from that liquid
  —forever a liar

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Physics and Philosophy come together
  in what they are not

Cause and causation are different
  in the absolute thought

The blocks can be built and ordered
  over and over again

But what gives each block tenure and presence
—science only rescinds

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2018)
    ‘Forgive Me Stephen Hawking’

Was the ending
  self-fulfilling

Hopes and wishes
  by the score

Did you live to dream
  or dream to live

Of a life
  —that’s something more

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Memories,
die-cast in their emotion,
—catalysts of the soul

Like leaves in the wind,
  words scatter about

From the woods and high grass,
  they call and they shout

“Come find us, come free us,
  we’re out here alone

“The Muse has deserted,
—and left us disowned”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

The channel seemed open,
  but the tuner was stuck

Its dial had frozen
  mixed static and such

The instructions were missing,
  and the knobs wouldn’t turn

Its transmission now distant
   —all frequency burned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The channel seemed open,
  but the tuner was stuck

Its dial had frozen,
  mixed static and such

The instructions were missing,
  and the knobs wouldn’t turn

Its transmission now distant
   —all frequency burned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

There is an emptiness
  between Hemingway’s words

A hollow sound
  that slides off the page

The space creates distance
  as the Old Man wanted

From the reader
  and voyeurs of pain

“Distance between himself and the day
   he hauled in that great fish

“Distance from that last great battle
   calling out from beyond his reach

“Distance from the arena, where the
   horns got close but death got closer

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

No matter how far he lived afield,
  be it Paris, Havana, or Ketchum

In no place was there distance enough
  or where his words could be safe

The separation and memory loss
  became deafening and finally too much

As he gave in to the distance
   —one last and final time.

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The older I get
  the closer it seems

The past from the future
  what’s real, to my dreams

The older I get
  the deeper it feels

Distraction aborted
  —all distance revealed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

While calling to the ages,
  I gave up on today

All voiced precipitation,
  for someone else to spray

Writing above what’s forecast,
  with readers yet unborn

My words beyond the thunder
   —to ride on distant storms

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

We were there,
  but we weren’t

We took part,
  and we didn’t

There was war,
  with all affected

There was death,
  and some objected

There was music,
  we got lost in

Assassinations,
  left us frozen

Alienation,
  drove us inward

Graduation,
  for beginners

Half a century,
  now forgotten

Ten short years,
  in time begotten

Raged a storm,
  of hope and wonder

Alive today,
—a distant thunder

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)