Does your writing leave room
  for intrusion

With spaces for listeners
  to crawl in

Are your words like a sponge
  that the reader can drain

Your verses to flow through
  them again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 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)

A book with no cover,
  a man with no name

Vowels dormant and muted,
  as consonants reign

A plot with no purpose,
  an ending refrained

Its message in conflict
   —with footnotes of pain


(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2015)

The Question I Posed ….

If your Poem is still
  an open wound

And you stitch it tight
  with editing

How…
  will it ever bleed free?

(James River Writer’s Conference: October, 2016)


The Actual Poem ….


          For All To Share

My Poem still an open wound,

unstitched by edits snare


Running free on a salted page,

—new blood for all to share

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

This world an
  illusion

All faith to
  forbear

A friend of mine
  struggles

Whose spirit I
  share

I feel him inside
  me

He calls out my
  name

His friendship a
  blessing

Augustus,
—I pray

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

Committing to joy,
  committing to moonbeams

Committing to hope,
  committing above

Committing to sorrow,
  committing forever

Committing to heartbreak
  —committing to love

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Giving up the money
  for a chance at transcendence

The words became sacred,
  all time was disowned

Chasing that one thing
  that if caught defies memory

At one with the truth
  —forever at home

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Folding the past
  inside the present

Rolling the future in layers
  of perpetual time

Escaping from one then the other
  leaving all three in simulation

A dancer shrouded in mystery
—all things forever at once

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2014)

The voice of a Poet,
  the breath of a child

The curse of the Devil,
—forever beguiled

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

With prose…
I saw only with my eyes,
as the words left my hand  

With poetry…
my eyes were abandoned,
leaving only my heart  

But in the distance played a lyric,
freeing what my words
could never unchain  

And hearing its melody,
my heart forever carried away
  —in song  

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

The light of remembrance
  the will’s DNA

Entombed by dementia
—forever in shade

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The light of remembrance,
  the will’s DNA

Entombed by dementia
—forever in shade

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Would you lease me your heart
  if I gave you a dime

Would you lend me your trust
  if I willed you my time

Would you seize my devotion
  with its mortgage in tact

Would you love me just once
  —or forever like that

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April. 2015)

Words pulling apart
Feelings smashed to bits
Memory on the run
Meaning cast adrift
Days repeat in darkness
Lonely with the dawn
Echoes haunt my musing
—nights forever long

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

Waiting to seize a moment
  I knew would never come

The visions passed like storm clouds
  deception on the run

The light was all around me
  as I stood there in the dark

The shadows of misguided fear
  —my path forever marked

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

If music is the soul of art,
  then what can writing be

Is it the eyes, perhaps the ears,
  in printed reverie

Is music the stage whereupon,
  all other art encores

For if it is, all words rejoice,
—to sing for ever more

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

A literary sociopath…
  Hemingway wrote

Both gifted and tortured,
  his words they provoke

A verbal combatant
  with battles foretold

His last the most fatal
  —all memory on hold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

A literary sociopath…
  Hemingway wrote

Both gifted and tortured,
  his words they provoke

A verbal combatant,
  new victories untold

His last proving fatal
  —all memory on hold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Like water,
  I went where I wanted to go

Running free,
  through eternity’s ebb and its flow

Like the rain,
  I fell through the thunder below

Washing clean
—that dear and forever to know

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2017)

Are there degrees of spiritual freedom,
  or is its breadth just either or

Is the light metered out or self contained,
  and endless in its store

Is the origin of beauty and its pathway divined,
  beatific in its scope

Or can it be portioned, forever to share
  —granting wishes with its hope

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The joy of a simple walk
The company of a treasured dog
With peace as my guide
I step deeper inside

Each stride brings me closer
To myself in this moment
As the past and future
Drift slowly away

All bliss now disconnected
From place or event
Its joy sustaining
And unendingly mine

The time of the season
All seasons do abound
New light from within
  —here forever to shine

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2015)

The joy of a simple walk
The company of a treasured dog
With peace as my roadmap
I’m pulled deeper inside

Each step brings me closer
To myself in this moment
As the past and the future
Drift slowly aside

All bliss disconnected
From place or event
Its joy now sustaining
And unendingly mine

The time of the season
All seasons do abound
New light from within
  —here forever to shine

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2015)

If no man is an island,
  what can one man be

If no man stands alone,
  to write the words, himself to free

If never beats that distant drum,
  one marching out of step

Who will swim against the tide,
—their ink forever wet

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

Run away from the what
  let the how lead the way
Keep the questions before you
  and the answers at bay

Deem your motion perpetual
  with all stops left behind
As those presents unwrapped
  open up in your mind

May the wind rise to greet you
  and your sun never set
On those places now ******
  and a lover unmet

May the wisdom of sages
  be your rallying cry
As you course through the ages
  —forever wondering why

(Train-New Haven: March, 2015)

A captive of his genius
And prisoner of his insight
The Jester played New York
Like a fiddler on the run
The truth always just a step
Ahead or behind his perception
The music caught in between
Like an opera singer’s pause for breath
‘The Times Were A Changing’
—and he was left forever wondering why

(Dallas Texas: June, 2018)