Laid with words
   the writers stone
A fortress was columned
  my only real home

The poetry safe
  as it stammered and tried
As my feelings unbridled
  from the outsiders lies

Each year added substance
  to this home of the verse
My thoughts never silenced
  or my feelings there terse

All that’s needed to go there
  blind captured belief
All that’s needed to know
  is that time is the thief

My vision unshaken
  from this chair with two wheels
The advice from the experts
  to wither and yield

But my place more than sacred
  an invincible throne
Independent of body
  times seed now unsown

And the moment before
  I take my last breath
I will enter forever
  where before I had left

The trumpets will sound
  as immortality calls
To that space then my refuge
  the sum of it all

As the memories chase reason
  the facts storm again
But the tents of my solitude
  keep out their wind

For generations that follow
  and their children that ask
This place I now dwell in
  is for all hard and fast

Just believe in its message
  and its fortune to change
Just believe in transcendence
  with all things the same

Until the day that that final
  trumpet may blow
And everything seen
  is all there’s to know

Your message then solid
  as the door opens wide
And those things that are yours
  to the heavens arrive

And the joy that you feel
  thinking back on it all
From that place deep inside
—where first destiny called

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Truth, the first casualty
  of war

Love, the last casualty
  of truth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

There’s nothing less,
  there’s nothing more

As time repeats…
  —once evermore

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

The first cut sharp and burning red,
  don’t edit away its fire

Keep the wound both fresh and raw,
never cauterize your ire

The horizon breaks just once each day,
  a new dawn—cold hearts aspire
  
Rays burning deep, first light to keep,
—its ashes to inspire

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

I loved you with a first love
  no second love would ever replace

I loved you with a first love
  that when lost was forever to ache

I loved you with a first love
  when my words were fresh given and new

I loved you with a first love
  —my heart captive with feelings so true

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2016)

Release your mind from the
  drought of expedience

And harvest in the crops
  of your insanity

(Philadelphia, Woodand Ave: September 1972)

Note:  This is the first serious poem that I wrote as
            a struggling graduate student living in the
            bowels of West Philadelphia.

Five strangers walked into my dream,
  all male and all different versions
  of my deceased mother

They looked at me one by one,
  with that look—her look,
  that had been gone for so long

The first whispered to the second,
  then the second to the third,
  as the fourth and fifth just shook their heads

I tried to look away, but their presence
  followed, and my eyes were frozen
  in the judgment they proclaimed

My sleep was now haunted by what I once knew,
  a maternal affliction that my memory had cured,
  —returning again to infect my dreams

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

A sudden embarrassment,
  a moment of shame

A lifetime remembered
   —in flashbacks of pain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Intuition is to reason
as a black hole is to space

A cistern of discovery
—void of distance, time, and place

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2018)

Good and bad are truisms…
  a qualitative masquerade

Ideology trumping feeling
  —in flashes of joy and pain

(Las Vegas: January 23, 2016)

Thoughts ignite,
  and words burn

As everything considered
  —turns to ash

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

Thoughts ignite
And words burn
As everything considered,
—turns to fire

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

Thoughts ignite,
  and words burn

As everything considered,
—turns to ash

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

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)