Under each new leaf,
  I was offered love

As her face
  then changed again

“Please stay, don’t go,”
  she pleaded dear

As boredom
  then set in

The names have gone,
  the memories stay

The guilt,
  my stone to drag

At night this weight,
  to crush my chest

In dreams
—so very sad

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

I turn my collar up against the wind
  and place my eyes along the skyline

Hoping in the darkness for some sign of you
  a colder truth I’ve never known

I pull my jacket tight across my chest
  and watch the waves crash upon your shadow

Knowing the tide is like your receding heart
  washing my footsteps from the sand

The sun has now gone, the moon in flight
  and my hopes rise o’er the waves

My collar frozen and my soul on fire,
—as my wait begins again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

I turn my collar up against the wind
and place my eyes along the skyline

Hoping in the darkness for some sign of you,
a colder truth I’ve never known

I pull my jacket tight across my chest
and watch the waves crash upon your shadow

Knowing the tide is like your receding heart,
washing my footsteps from the sand

The sun has now gone, the moon in flight,
and my hopes rise o’er the waves

My collar frozen and my soul on fire,
—as my wait begins again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Each time when it almost mattered,
  it mattered not that much

Old feeling’s hijacked and held for ransom
  memories cold and stuck

But the day when it really mattered,
  my heart was set on fire

My will unfrozen and left to sear
   —in a burning hot desire

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Are those thoughts you put in
  what I once valued more

Or would what I put out
  be the end winning score

Did I need your ears
  for my voice to become whole

Or would I rather them deafened
  words deep in my soul

In my twenties your opinion
  carried some weight

In my thirties I listened
  but asked you to wait

In my forties I turned
  and walked slowly away

Now alone in the twilight
  —to carry the day

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Why is ‘Almost Good Enough’
  never what you need?

Why is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
  an ounce more than you deserve?

Why is ‘Almost What You Need’
  the most you’ll ever have?

Why is ‘It’s Not Only That’
  the only thing that’s left?

Why is ‘In Almost Every Case’
  not in any case at all?

Why is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
  the thing sure to be missed?

Why is ‘In Actuality’
  in real terms actually not?

Why is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
  the biggest lie you tell?

Why is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
  the one you continue to try?

Why is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
  the one you repeat again?

Why is ‘Really’ not real at all
  and spoken then in vain?

Why is ‘Probably’ not possible
   or even close to that?

Why is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
  the top of your agenda?

Why is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
  strictly out of school?

Why is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
  the easiest thing you do?

Why is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
  so much harder than before?

Why is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
  the end of the debate?

Why is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
  the beginning of what comes next?

Why is ‘So What’ a euphemism
  for the most important thing you do?

Why is ‘It Is What It Is’
  categorically not, and never meant to be?

Why is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
  ceramic and for sale?

Why is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
  the one taken in disgust?

Why is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
   four points more than its worth?

Why is the special ‘Love You Lost’
  the only one you’ve never found?

Why is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
  the one that flies away?

Why is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
  the silence you extol?

When will your words wrap like copper wire  
  to conduct the truth unrobbed

When will you cease to pander and mislead
    —naked before the mob

  
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

When is ‘Almost Good Enough’
  never good enough?

When is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
  an ounce more than enough?

When is ‘Almost What You Need’
  the most you’ll ever have?

When is ‘It’s Not Only That’
  the only thing that’s left?

When is ‘In Almost Every Case’
  not in any case at all?

When is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
  the thing sure to be missed?

When is ‘In Actuality’
  in real terms actually not?

When is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
  the biggest lie you’ll hear?

When is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
  the one you continue to try?

When is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
  the one you repeat again?

When is ‘Really’ not real at all
  and spoken then in vain?

When is ‘Probably’ not probable
   or even close to that?

When is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
  the top of your agenda?

When is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
  strictly out of school?

When is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
  the easiest thing you do?

When is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
  so much harder than before?

When is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
  the end of the debate?

When is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
  the beginning of what comes next?

When is ‘So What’ a euphemism
  for the most important things you do?

When is ‘It Is What It Is’
  categorically not, and never will be?

When is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
  ceramic and for sale?

When is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
  the one taken in disgust?

When is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
   four points more than its worth?

When is the special ‘Love You Lost’
  the only one you’ve never found?

When is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
  the one that flies away?

When is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
  the silence you extol?

When will your words line with copper wire
  to conduct the truth unrobbed

When will you cease to pander and mislead
   —naked before the mob

  
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

The days were long
The cotton was high
—laughter was all they had

The sun beating down
Their hands rubbed raw
—spirit’s conjoined unclad

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

Different birds,
  the same call

Time frozen,
  the hour stalls

Mother earth,
  ******* son

Nature flees,
—damage done

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

The Russians have taught me
  that nothing has changed

Instead of Nazis and Fascists,
  we have terrorists to blame

Whether Turgenev or Chekhov,
  Tolstoy or Marx

When our nature’s in play,
—much of life remains dark

(Wayne Pa.-Minella’s Diner: June, 2016)

The Russians have taught me
  that nothing has changed

Instead of Nazis and Fascists,
  we have terrorists to blame

Whether Turgenev or Chekhov,
  Tolstoy or Marx

When our nature’s in play
  —much of life remains dark

(Wayne Pa.-Minella’s Diner: June, 2016)

The winter wind was blowing
  through an autumn of despair

A reckoning was coming
  and now carried on the air

The winter wind was blowing
  as the leaves began to fall

Revealing what was waiting
  —buried deep in nature’s call

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

Truth thrives in contradiction
  the difference sharply honed

A neither nor redemption
  as zero-sum is known

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Never let intelligence
Get in the way of good judgment
Never let excuses
Inside your dreams
Never let the refusals
Cancel out the invitations
Never let tomorrow
—destroy today

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

How open is your window,
  how tall is your door

How wide is your pool,
  how slippery is your floor

How fresh is your perception,
  how broad is your scope

How clear is your reflection,
  how real is your hope

How solid are your friendships,
  how many pray tell

How strong is your commitment,
  how deep is your well

How right is your grammar,
  how your words become strong

How your heart achieves freedom,
—turning verse into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

In the darkest final hours,
  I began to write

And my words once spoken new
  from scattered ashes light the sky

To begin and end each day
  caught up in beauty’s distant wake

All loneliness filled by pages lined
  with happiness and joy

My fate betrothed, once mistress
  scorned
   —a lover more than wife

Whose vision so much sharper,
  her dissection cuts through bone

To slay the muted dragon’s fire
  in present tense delight

Beyond all past and future clouds
  above the darkening storm

To mate each breath and gifted word
  that heaven sends *****

Never destitute in blessings shown
  —or in things I wish I’d said

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

In the darkest final hours,
  I began to write

And my words now spoken new
  from scattered ashes light the sky

To begin and end each day
  caught up in beauty’s distant wake

All loneliness filled by pages lined
with happiness and joy

My fate betrothed, once mistress
  scorned
   —a lover more than wife

Whose vision so much sharper,
  her dissection cuts through bone

To slay the muted dragon’s fire
  in present elocution

Beyond all past and future clouds
  above the darkening storm

To live each breath and gifted word
  that heaven sends pristine

Never destitute in blessings shown
  —or in things I wish I’d said

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Blank verse
And blanker memories
My mind shouts
As feelings die
Blood drains
An artery is cut
Flowing with the seasons
—stain never to dry

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)

All time shattered memory,
  and faces now past

Stare back as I dream
  —meant never to last

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

I’m a Poet….
  don’t try to trap me with words
  or with logic you don’t understand

With your barrister’s training
  you’re out of your league
  this arena beyond your command

In some ways
  I’ve already said it all
  but never in the form you approve

Or with comforting platitudes
  lining your shell
  as pontification behooves

The slick easy answers
  unfit for a Sage
  but the pundit and liars attest

My message as spoken
  comes at great cost
    —your conscience never to rest

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Like eating your own cooking,
  do you favor what you write

Do the words digest completely,
—the stove again to light

As you walk that final mile,
  in those shabby cobblers shoes

Will you then embrace at last,
  —what was never yours to lose

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Where bullets and bombs end,
—the Poet begins

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

My Poem still an open wound,
  unstitched by edits snare

Running free on a salted page,
—new blood for all to share

(James River Writers Conference: October, 2016)

My leaves fall distant from her tree
  and flee along the ground

Stripping bare a summer tryst
  old promises unbound

Set to ride the Autumn wind
  like all those times before

New forests call, as Spring awaits
  —my love to loan once more

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

Coming from nowhere
Going the same
The tracks in front
Pointing to
Tracks behind
The wind on the lake
Reminding
That I am still a guest
The snow on the ice
An invitation
Begging acceptance
New Hampshire Winters
Are white
In my memory
And frozen in their
Clarity
Even whiter
Dawns
Out of the stillness
A Moose crashes
Through the snow
Never acknowledging
My presence
His majesty
Confirming everything
That unfound I’ve lost
His spirit cries out
And with quiet respect
I follow him across
The frozen lake
Leaving tracks of memory
One final time
—never to be seen again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

Coming from nowhere
Going the same
The tracks in front
Pointing to
Tracks behind
The wind on the lake
Reminding
That I am still a guest
The snow on the ice
An invitation
Begging acceptance
New Hampshire Winters
Are white
In my memory
And frozen in their
Clarity
Even whiter
Dawns
Out of the stillness
A Moose crashes
Through the snow
Never acknowledging
My presence
His majesty
Confirming everything
That unfound I’ve lost
His spirit cries out
And with quiet respect
I follow him across
The frozen lake
Leaving tracks of memory
One final time
—never to be seen again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)