Physics over Metaphysics,
  the cart before the horse

The chisel praised, the sculptor blamed
  —the tool the icon sourced

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

If you stare into the Devil’s eyes
  with righteous intent

You will always return
  —transformed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

You can’t step into the same river twice,
  and have the water be the same

You can’t throw wishes into the wind,
  and recall them time unclaimed

You can’t put a baby back in the womb,
  once the cord of life has been cut

And you can’t change a lie into the truth,
  your intention—the devil’s good luck

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Treachery,
  thy art is ******

Perfidy
  —no justice found

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Not reliant on your approval,
  I soared to the heavens

Not seeking your acceptance,
  I burned past the brightest star

Not wanting anything from you,
  I gave myself back to the beginning

In need of nothing
  —the devil's scar

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)

The Devil’s Teapot
—a witches brew

Remembrance poured
  in sorrows true

The Devil’s Teapot
  bone china cracked

New leaks a bane
  in virtue lacks

The Devil’s Teapot
  it fills once more

With pain now forked
  to stir rancor

The Devil’s Teapot
  whose lid seals tight

To curse and scald
  —this endless night

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Peasant bread to feed the masses,
  millers stone between the classes

Grovel here and grovel there,
  crumbs for beggars—no meat to share

Caught inside the rising dough,
  leavened voices cry out low

Baking deep within the flames,
  bribes that lie—and Lords to blame

With each slice cut, Hell calls a name,
  its coals to brand, ignoble fame

Bread for the masses, meat off the bone,
  revenge on fire—the Devil’s throne

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

The power to look beyond himself
—the difference between a man and a king

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2018)

The universe orders
  the questions and answers

Eternity caught
  —within their difference


(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

We anticipate the future
  —by remembering the past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

The Doggie was white,
  and the Kitty was black,
  as they crouched at opposite ends of the floor

Their eyes never met,
  because the rules were set
  that the dog would chase the cat as before

At night came the darkness,
  and the Kitty stood up
  and headed right straight to the door

But the Doggie just lay there with his head
  on his paws, and thought….
    —today is quite different for sure

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
‘For Kiley, Hunter, Braden & Parker’
            My Grandchildren

The Doggie was white,
  and the Kitty was black,
  as they crouched at each end of the floor

Their eyes never met,
  because the rules were set,
  that the dog would chase the cat as before

At night came the darkness,
  and the Kitty stood up
  and headed right straight to the door

But the Doggie just lay there with his head
  on his paws, and thought:
  “Tonight—is quite different for sure”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
‘For Kiley, Hunter, Braden & Parker’
            My Grandchildren

Locked inside my indecision,
  death opened up the door

And let me look inside my fear,
  which I hated and abhorred

The view not half as frightening,
  as the deception and the lies

And its arms extended toward me,
  standing frozen—eyes on mine

My steps then hesitated,
  and its threshold wasn’t breached

As I watched the door shut slowly,
  todays outcome never reached

But a key was left before me,
  to unlock what’s yet to know

Of a still uncertain future
  —through the doorway I was shown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

Cowardice and bravery
Not either/or
But different levels of…

Valor and shame
A swinging door
Whose facings change when swung

A foil to confound
The poets dream
With glory and disdain

Bravery and cowardice
Not zero-sum
—but often look the same

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)

The Democrat party,
  all masters and slaves

G.O.P. left in tatters,
  their promises frayed

Haves lie to the have nots
  bright futures a whim

As the dragon’s fire burns
  —the thick with the thin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

All of life happens
—between the crest and the trough

(Molokai Hawaii: February, 1989)
‘Tribute To Duke Kahanamoku’

Like a telescope in focus,
  the words get sharp and clear

And magnify within the thought,
  a feeling oh so dear

Each letter worth a hundred times,
  what yesterday did know

New verse now burning laser bright,
—eternal in its glow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

The earth cracked in Nepal,
  with fire and shame

And thousands lay dead,
  in the mountains and plains

Her crust was ripped open,
  a heart now exposed

And lives were reclaimed,
  from a heaven deposed

The story for mystics,
  a legend say some

As nature demanded,
  for things that we’d done

Her climate infected,
  and sky ringed in black

Our future as payment,
—with no turning back

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Seven dark prodigals approached in the night,
  saying: “One has escaped and
                  journeyed into the light”

Seven dark prodigals with shadows now gone,
  longed for he who had left them,
  —for he who was strong

Seven dark prodigals wandered the dark,
  no safety in numbers,
  in search of their heart

“We must look till he’s found,” I heard two of them say,
    seven sins unforgiven,
   —the eighth gone astray

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

Can you be conscious
  without being self conscious,
  philosophers disagree

Being aware of your
  awareness,
  seems logical to me

But logic has its
  failings,
  as we pierce the inner mind

Perception,
  the most elusive ghost
   —and hardest to define

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The Emperor walks naked,
with eyes all alone

To his subjects he panders,
his pride for a throne

His strut his true signature,
exposure supreme

Your opinion of no matter,
—as he colors you green

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

A father teaches a son
  everything he knows . . .

Sometimes, it
  isn’t enough

Furrows plowing, seedlings
  dying, a daughter screams,

As young Johnny goes off
  to the city

A step-child of his
own desire

Wandering the avenues
  and alleyways

Searching high in the lights
  for his name

But only a shadow
comes down from the neon

Dark and invisible
   as he walks

A soul without
  acceptance

A new emptiness fills
  the hardened cracks,
  —and hallowing cement void

Where the stench of severed roots
and singed beginnings,
  —meet and die

And from 1000 miles
   a father walks in the darkness,
  —ancient and alone

Passing an empty bed
  in a dimly lit country hallway,
  —asking why

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)

Are you now denied all access
Has your ticket long been punched
Is your fear stuck in the alley
Intermezzo—out to lunch

Will you even see the picture
From the far end of the line
Would a curtain serve to raise your hopes
Can a loser ever shine

The doorman calls “It’s Showtime”
As the lights all start to dim
An usher cries “There’s One Seat Left”
You madly rush within

With eyes now strained in darkness
You find that one last chair
And on the stage, hope kisses fear,
—all encores yours to share

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)