I offered up my truest and best love  
  for you

Leaving wishes on the altar  
  for everyone else

A first and last supper combined  
  into one

Judas getting fat from a promise  
  denied

Starved within the memory of a feast  
  uneaten

My bread forever disappearing   
  in the wine

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

I used to write early
  but now I write late

I used to seek love
  but now avoid hate

I used to be captive
  of what comes to be

Until time was destroyed
  —and its lies were set free

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Not grabbing
  but reaching

Not pushing
  but pulling

Not telling
  but listening

Not beginning
  or done

Not mad
  but then joyful

Not sad
  but then hopeful

Not before
  or then after

In this present
—begun

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Not grabbing
  but reaching

Not pushing
  but pulling

Not telling
  but listening

Not beginning
  or done

Not mad
  but then joyful

Not sad
  but then hopeful

Not before
  or then after

In this present
  —begun

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

I need to bring more Poetry
  into my Prose…

To spill the blood richer
  flowing out of my veins

To reseason the words
  going into the fire

To spread the wings open
  —on a future untold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

I need to bring more Poetry
  into my Prose…

To spill the blood richer
  flowing out of my veins

To reseason the words
  going into the fire

To spread the wings open
  —on a future untold

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Dreams, like orphaned water lilies,
  float across the surface

Ferrying my last token wish,
  adrift—this silver pond

The swans make way,
  as faith glides freely upon the wind

Carrying my fervent hopes
  into this moment, present sent

Their petals weaving in the breeze,
  to spin and turn as one

Silhouettes change and soften,
  as the mirrored distance calls

Arriving at the far bank,
  two children play and laugh together

With pant legs high and feet now wet,
  splashing to and fro

Smiling to each other, their laughter  
  churns a magic torrent

As they reach into its spray,
  and take my dream into their hands

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Long before title,
  and long before name

A wish was granted,
—to begin again

A legacy ransomed,
  escape from the night

A voice breaking through,
—calling into the light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

I stare back from the last horizon,
  and scientists look bemused

Theologians prey among themselves,
  mystics stay confused

Once through the light Divining
  no beginnings or their ends

All truth transcending within itself
  —as time and space descend

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

That road that I searched for,
  led me into the words

Their geography inward,
  their ownership heard

All possessions relinquished,
  no teeth left to bite

The journey soft spoken,
  —walking into the light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

Chasing the morning…
Out of the trees
Over the hill
Quixotic trapeze
Through the valley
Crossing the lake
Into the meadow
Time overtakes
A messenger calls
The cave now in sight
Daylight behind us
—into the night

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July,2016)

Poetry is the effect
  never the cause

A living remembrance
  —of a legacy spawned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

(An Anthology Of Perception Vol. 3)            


            “I write the first draft
                and paint the second

                 “But the third
                  —I get to sing”

Concerned with self
  birds in a row

Concerned with self
  all droppings show

Concerned with self
  the blindfold tight

Concerned with self
  not day or night

Concerned with self
  what’s real distorts

Concerned with self
  my voice retorts

Concerned with self
  front turns to back

Concerned with self
  —in truth I lack

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

It was Hemingway
  early

And Dickinson
   late

Those early
  exposures

The trail of
  my wake

No bar left
  unvisited

Or brawl left
  unfought

No school that could
   answer

Dialectic
  corrupt

Now this corner
  I sit in

Both welcomes
  and warms

And the thoughts
  it retriggers

No movement
  just form

I once had
  looked over

What I now look
  within

From this chair
  that I captain

Where in virtue
  —I sin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

It was Hemingway
  early

And Dickinson
   late

Those early
  exposures

The trail of
  my wake

No bar left
  unvisited

Or brawl left
  unfought

No school that could
   answer

Dialectic
  untaught

Now this corner
  I sit in

Both welcomes
  and warms

And the thoughts
  it retriggers

No movement
  just form

I once had
  looked over

What I now look
  within

From this chair
  that I captain

Where in virtue
  —I sin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Day surrounds your memory,
  as evening frames your smile

But what I most remember
  —is morning in your eyes

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Not like her,
And
Not like him,
And
Not like you
  —I write!

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

I remember art deco things,
  I remember peaches and wine

I remember sirens in the night,
  I remember waving goodbye

I remember the boardwalk on a cloudy day,
  I remember an elephant in pink

I remember the fire engine returning,
  I remember my father—I think

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
     ‘Memories of the Korean War’

Is anyone ever a total fraud
  or totally sincere?

Is anyone committed beyond mere space
  to a notion fond and dear?

Is anyone ever one hundred percent
  with subtraction the rule of the day?

Is anyone better than what they believe
  or worse than a mother can pray?

Is anyone ever truly in charge
  of that moment that slips through the hand?

Is anyone willing to dance beyond hope
  to a melody lost by the band?

Is anyone chosen from those who are not
  or entitled to what can’t be earned?

Is anyone welcomed straight into the light
—on a path where all others have turned?

(Airplane-Las Vegas To Philadelphia: January, 2016)

Is death the price of truth...

  “The light shines brightest
    that shines at the end”

Is death the price of truth...

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

I knew I shouldn’t,
  but despite the pain and hurt I still could

Like the Bluesman said…
  “You got a bad way of doing me good”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Is there a difference between
  judgment and observation

Is there a difference between
  opinion and introspection

Is there a difference between
  atonement and damnation

Is the difference only in the words
—or is it something more

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)