Saturated in writer fluid,
lost feelings self ignite

Inebriate of a time distilled,
drunk in the burning light

Memories aging 100 proof,
the flames all dance alone

Memories aging 100 proof,
—this fire now my home

(Plane To Las Vegas: January, 2018)

Saturated in writer fluid,
  lost feelings self ignite

Inebriate of a time distilled,
  drunk in the burning light

Memories aging 100 proof,
  the flames all dance alone

Memories aging 100 proof,
  —this fire now my home

(Plane To Las Vegas: January, 2018)

Quantum Superposition,
  forever preying on our minds

Refusing to admit what consciousness knows,
  its theory never finds

The more complex the argument,
  the further afield it falls

Roaming and scattered amidst the trees,
  blind to the forests call

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Is beauty connected,
  or to a vacuum condemned

Is truth then required,
  for it to enter within

Can beauty be measured,
  by the heart or the mind

Can it chase, or displace, or replace
  what it finds

If beauty is truth,
  let all reason be shown

Why judgment and logic,
  to our hearts stay unknown

As semantics untangle,
  and the linguists all kneel

The question stays formless
   —to astound and congeal

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

From the rock of ages
  a pebble thrown

A thundering crash
—from David’s stone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

If you ask me to read,
  I’ll say only the good
   —in spite of what others might think

Once your blood has been spilled,
  and the cut is deep
   —my task to heal, not push to drug or to drink

If the pain is too great,
  my heart you may take
   —as I suture you back from the brink

From this deepest of wounds
  that I surround and embrace, as a fountain
   —where you may now drink

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Your ideas have merit,
  that your words can’t support

Your spirit is strong,
  but your language is weak

Your eyes are wide open,
  while your tongue remains tied

Your voice now enslaved
   —to the freedom within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Empowering the indolent,
  the fox is now inside

The vermin on the loose,
the truth now plagued by lies

The takers stalk the givers,
those on the dole now scream

“We want what you have worked for,
—the fruit without the tree”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

The older I get…
  the more exclusive I become
  with distant mountains to climb  

The older I get…
  the shorter the moods swing
  and the longer I can laugh out loud

The older I get…
  the more vivid the memory
  of what we almost became

The older I get…
  with feelings that burn, the future ablaze
    —the older I get  

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)

Being my number one fan,
  I never waited for applause

Living within my own code
  all reasons fixed on—just because

Being in charge of myself
  the days flowed freely into years

Dying from living too hard
  the past exposed—the future clear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

Coffee Shop traveler
Caught
Between the beginning
And the end
Revolving
On a stool
Of broken dreams
Waiting
For a check
That never comes
Holding
A twenty-four hour vigil
For all who pass through
Dreading
A future sign that reads
  —WE’RE CLOSED

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2015)

Like a hard drive out of memory,
  Alzheimer’s attacks

The downloads that you stored before,
  still there and looking back

All recent entries in the trash,
  a reboot not the fix

The present distant—past so close,
  and future nondescript

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)

The 4th dimension,
  space and time

Godel agreed,
  Einstein opined

If set in motion,
  the future passed

Time self negated
  —its truth recast

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

The pen and the keyboard…
  their white flag of truce

Now shattered and tattered,
  new words on the loose

The ink stains once mighty,
  a cursor now reigns

As deep into cyberspace,
—the future proclaims

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

I took you into my arms,
  to ask about tomorrow

But then you went and stole my heart,
from dreams of yesterday

Reaching deep inside my pain,
  you took away the sorrow

All hurt now gone and future spun,
—the present here to stay

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

No one reads it,
  more reason to write it

No one understands,
  or seems to care

No one reads it,
  the verse sits muted

Not to abandon,
—the future to share

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

To tell if you’re a Poet,
  from the first line to your last

Do your words connect with feeling,
—the future to the past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Once truth is judged delusion,
  we choose the lesser of two lies

Abandoning that voice unheard,
  stillborn—a baby cries
  
The ideal in dark remission,
  all hope now cast in flames

Making bargains with the Devil
  —as the future writhes in pain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Once truth is judged delusion,
  we choose the lesser of two lies

Abandoning that voice unheard,
—stillborn, a baby cries
  
The ideal in dark remission,
  all hope now cast in flames

Making bargains with the Devil,
—as the future writhes in pain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Long before the clocks ticked,
  the garden was burning

The law had been laid down,
   only the animals ran free

Long before the clocks ticked,
  two lovers were yearning

The power, the struggle
—the lust to deceive

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Long before the clocks ticked,
  the garden was burning

The law had been laid down,
   only the animals ran free

Long before the clocks ticked,
  two lovers were yearning

The power, the struggle
  —the lust to deceive

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

The pathway to happiness is laughter
—the gateway to laughter is children

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)

Living inside the moment,
Temporal things
Pass me by
On their march to permanence

Attached to everything
But themselves,
They stand as false Icons
To a time once lived–then put away

A trophy case of remembrance…
Enshrining what was lost
In the gathering
Dust

Never rediscovered…
Defining what death means
In the gathering
Dust

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)

There’s a gene embedded in every parent
  to recreate
  what their parents had done

Sometimes good, and sometimes bad,
  passing it down
  from father to son

To repeat family history through memories past
  the circle
  a lingering fate  

Excuses come early with reasons
  too late
  DNA always proffered as bait

The young and the old both prisoners of time
  their footsteps in sequence
  to fall
  
And when questions are posed why they acted this way,
   they’re too busy passing it on
      —to recall

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

The great gift of intelligence…
  the gift of language

The great gift of language
  —the gift of verse

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

It’s not the money,
and it’s not the fame

The great gift of life
—is life

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

Her hair blown free,
  with eyes ablaze

She walked toward me,
  through morning haze

Her steps unmeasured,
  her cutoffs tight

Eyes palest blue,
  the lightest light

Would I speak first,
  would she respond

In ten more seconds,
  her image gone

Our shoulders brush,
  she passes by

My arm goes numb,
  my heart on fire

I had no choice,
  I’d lost control

My breathing stopped,
  I’d play the fool

And looking back,
  all fear defied
  
An all-star waited,
—her ‘Chucks’ untied

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Thank you for the confusion Lord,
    thank you for the doubt

Thank you for those unsure moments
   when I could neither whisper nor shout

Thank you for the people Lord
    who loved me or hated in vain

But thank you most for the girl I wed
   —who took away my pain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
      ‘From The Book Of Prayers’