The night retreats in silence,
   as daylight rules the fray

Darkness reigns the past goodbye
  this moment not a dream

The present all we’re given
  the future lies astray

Repeating truth inside itself
  —one time forever means

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

Unschooled, undisciplined,
  my spirit forged on

Past theory and dogma,
  past anthem and song

A serendipitous storm,
  thoughts, feelings, unshared

All masking together,
—with just one to care

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

Deception wears many faces
  —the truth but one

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2015)

Deception wears many faces
—the truth but one

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2015)

Oh, to have one thing to start the day,
  a smile to greet the sun

Oh, to have toys as a child at play,
  a field to chase and run

Oh, to have someone to love me true,
  my faults on full display

Oh, to bow righteous before the Lord,
—with one verse left to pray

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

A mind can love
  an atheist

But a soul must wed
  to God

Each troth professed
  by self possessed

One vow
  —to rise above

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

If ignorance is truly bliss,
  and the Emperor has new clothes

Then who am I to judge at all
  —where peace and freedom go

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)

There are Poets
for the stage

And Poets
for the page

The difference
  often subtle

In your eye,
  and in your ear

There are Poets
for the stage

And Poets
for the page

One well for them
  to draw from

Two voices,
—flowing clear


(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

I’d rather write the truest book
  for just one man to read

Than draft that one of mass appeal,
—to blush but never bleed

I’d rather speak that one great line
  to a canyon vast and wide

Than forever to recite mundane
  what an audience will comply

I’d rather die a poet’s death
  than an actors out on loan

I’d rather live within myself
  than in crowds where I’m alone

I’d rather give my last few breaths
  to that child at my knee

And leave with him one word of hope,
—that he may then set free

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

I’d rather write the truest book
  for just one man to read

Than draft that one of mass appeal
  to blush but never bleed

I’d rather speak that one great line
  to a canyon vast and wide

Than forever to recite mundane
  what an audience will comply

I’d rather die a poet’s death
  than an actors out on loan

I’d rather live within myself
  than in crowds where I’m alone

I’d rather give my last few breaths
  to that child at my knee

And leave with him one word of hope
  —that he may then set free

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

The cruelest thing about life
—is that it can be taken away

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2018)

She stole your heart
  without asking,
  —leaving only a dream to chase

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)

Only a Poet…
  can change feelings into air,
  begetting a new feeling

Only a Poet…
  can transform thoughts into verse,
  birthing a new thought

Only a Poet…
  can define the indefinable,
  words meaning more than their letters allow

And only a Poet can stab time in the heart,
  to bleed free and eternal,
  —only a Poet

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

You want to define poetry,
  behind the safety of your bars

Open the door to your cage,
  a world awaits, where feathers tar

Dusty journals and ‘how-to’ books,
  no longer serve you here

One price of admittance,
  the acknowledgement of fear

With words only as strong
  as the impression they leave,

And feelings only as sacred,
—as memory retrieves

(Seattle Washington: March, 2017)

There are many voices,
—but the truth speaks only for itself

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

I’m a Type A Poet,
  literarily incorrect

In the company of fools,
  my pen goes for their neck

They sing to the choir,
  while we cry and spill blood

Their trash in the fire,
  their lies in the mud

The things that we struggle with,
  just folly to them

As their dilettante pleadings,
  ramble on and pretend

Their self ******-analysis,
  and the time that they steal

Turn to dead broken promises,
  masking what they can’t feel

The thing they most run from,
  we welcome inside

As they tunnel and burrow,
  trying harder to hide

And their one greatest fantasy,
   for us never to know

That their self-proclaimed mastery
   —was at best just a show

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

My eyes overloaded
my tongue in duress
—I have to say I love you in a poem

Time of no consequence
my heart in distress
—as my pen becomes timeless and flowing

This moment is yours
its memory mine
—as the lines are unspoken but true

To tell you just once
what forever I’ll feel
—in these words written only for you

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2018)

The cusp of brilliance
  can still be controlled

While genius can neither
  be coaxed nor cajoled

Being still on the fringe
  keeps one foot on dry land

But when totally immersed
  —only God can command

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

The Dreamer….
  only he can see the journey’s end

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Without there being  
A God
I could never question  
His existence
Through the power of
The question
Divinity shines
Do birds question?
Do apes question?
Do flowers question?
Only man questions…
—and only man knows why

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)

I’m now covered in dirt,
  but the words are still clean

A vision half dried,
  their stains running deep

The sinners and saints,
  arm in arm at the bar

Each infection they share,
  --- tonight’s hookup and score

Meaningless excuses,
  all scandal affirmed

My bed made with sheets,
  from a brothel once scorned

And as I lie in the shadows,
  with my soul partly damp
  
My words are set free,
  --- to the heavens now stamped

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

I’m covered in dirt,
  but my words are still clean

A vision half dried
  with stains running deep

With sinners and saints
  arm in arm at the bar

Each infection we share
  tonight’s hookup and score

Meaningless excuses
  all scandal affirmed

My bed made with sheets
  from a brothel once scorned

As I lie in the shadows
  with my soul partly damp
  
My words are set free
  —to the heavens restamped

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

I’m covered in dirt,
  but my words are still clean

A vision half dried
  with stains running deep

With sinners and saints
  arm in arm at the bar

Each infection we share
  tonight’s hookup and score

Meaningless excuses
  all scandal affirmed

My bed made with sheets
  from a brothel once scorned

As I lie in the shadows
  with my soul partly damp
  
My words are set free
   —to the heavens restamped

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

There are many futures
  —but only one past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

There are many futures,
—but only one past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Utopia belongs to the fleet of heart,
  but the truth
   —only to the brave

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Utopia belongs to the fleet of heart
  but the truth,
  —only to the brave

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

You can’t alter reality
  with an opinion

You can’t alter reality
with a drug

To alter reality, you must force
  time upon itself

Defining the indefinable,
—leaving only what is

(Grantham New Hampshire: February, 2017)