"villanova" poems
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls
After Midnight
The bugles will blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know
After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
All tales to reflect
After Midnight
The ticking won’t stop
After Midnight
The bottom has topped
After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known
After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege
After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Last palate uncleft
After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
A star for the dunce
After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell
After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals
After Midnight
The plain and the slack
After Midnight
There’s no turning back
After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn
After Midnight
The wheels bend and turn
After Midnight
Lost vision relearns
After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn
After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow
After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—new eyes that believe
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
With every cold defeat
of the human spirit
The answers move deeper
within the polar arc
Victim to its wanton roaming
and endless chill
Questions left to wander
—fatherless and alone
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2013)
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
A motorcycle and leather bag,
life seemed so perfect then
When everything I cared about…
my backseat was for them
The world was such a smaller place,
ideas grandiose
To wander aimlessly I did,
and never be morose
The road became my staunchest friend,
new places passing by
Those girls I met, the love I spent,
the promise in their eyes
That special place my memory held,
for years now time sets free
A motorcycle—a leather bag,
and all that was to be
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls
After Midnight
Last bugle to blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know
After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
Old tales to reflect
After Midnight
The ticking will stop
After Midnight
The bottom will top
After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known
After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege
After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Lost palates are cleft
After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
Two stars for the dunce
After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell
After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals
After Midnight
That voice in the back
After Midnight
There’s no turning back
After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn
After Midnight
The wheels bend and churn
After Midnight
Lost vision returns
After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn
After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow
After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—creation redeemed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
There just below the surface,
more present than you know
A prophetic Jeremiah,
tracks leading through the snow
His message serves to buttress,
those standing in the light
A pipeline to eternity,
—his vision gifting sight
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Giving and taking,
both day and night
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Some then mistaken,
some often right
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Last right of refusal,
the one holding tight
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The lows though not many,
the feelings they wrought bright
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Words ever radiant,
the music so fair
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The sweetness of children,
my soul they ensnared
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The darkest of moments,
their message to share
On my own terms,
I lived my life
A voice though unchosen,
inside me declares
On my own terms,
I lived my life
As the days grew short,
and the visitors came
On my own terms,
I lived my life
Their voices cry out,
now calling my name
On my own terms,
I lived my life
One verse was enough,
no time to explain
On my own terms,
I lived my life
My final breath,
a lasting refrain
On my own terms,
I lived my life
The money fleeting,
any fame now gone
On my own terms,
I lived my life
A 5-Star boardinghouse,
no curtains drawn
On my own terms,
I lived my life
With arms open wide,
and the peace to move on
On my own terms,
I ended my life
All that I’ve written,
—turned into song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
To my Grandchildren, those great and beyond,
whom I will never meet
Know that I love you and have seen you in the
eyes of your parents when they were very small
I’ve heard your voices in the trees, when the
wind blows softly calling my name as I walk
I’ve seen your arms reaching out to me in my
dreams, as you cry “Papa" and then drift away
Your spirit is mine, as my spirit is yours; and no
lifetime can keep us apart
I watch over you now and will watch over you then,
whenever the need is great
I’m that voice you hear when no one else listens, and
no one else understands
And the heart that feels what you will feel, when no
one else seems to care
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
Sages and broomsticks
motherless pearls
Witches that threaten
fatherless girls
Curse of the ages
old grudges remain
A coven of stages
to hide from the rain
The markings of Satan
the touch of the Lord
A death plated sunset
and winner forlorn
The trap now a quandary
and you must break free
As with all soiled laundry
to burn once deceived
The truth is not distant
first word never feigned
The peace that you’re seeking
inside you unclaimed
So let go of the dogma
the medals will melt
New songs of arrival
you’ll write most heartfelt
But the moment is now
and the moment is clear
Once the moment is christened
new joy spins from fear
To those who still threaten
with eternity ******
Say:
“Away with your blasphemy,
stop where you stand
These wings have reopened
my eyes looking in
New life has been gifted
—I’m blessed to begin”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
Science…
a handmaiden of knowledge
The upstairs maid
in a mansion of discovery
Chauffeuring itself
along roads it has built
A quantitative valet
—in the closet of the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
The progressive death knell sounded
—one final serpent to mount
With excuses now abandoned
—the dragon’s fire is out
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
March Madness
Villanova beat Pitt
I had no money on the game
I really didn’t care
Perhaps March with its
Big thaw
Always
Accompanied
By the frequent Colorado blizzard
Is its own madness
But I have no money on that game
either
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 2:38 PM UTC
The rain stopped,
the sun was gone
Mercy was in
short supply
Smoke hung over
the trenches
A bugler in the mud
with his cry
Bodies were being
carted off
New songs were written
to the dead
Just another day in
World War 1
That started and ended
in dread
Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2014:
Opening page to my new novel, 'Death From The Sky.'
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
Man's inhumanity to man,
knows no country, religion, or race
Man’s inhumanity to man,
the one shame that all time can’t erase
Man’s inhumanity to man,
as constant as the spring driven rain
Man’s inhumanity to man,
—rising over and over again
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
A sweetness comes with age,
like fruit that’s overripe
A Poet then a Sage,
on this journey into night
A wish distilled from all regret,
its seeds to be re-sewn
A sweetness comes with age,
that buried youth could never know
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October,2016)
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
You stir it one way and they the other,
but the mixture stays just as hot
You attack their motives and they attack yours,
while the contents boil and rot
“It needs to be this way”… the other side revolts,
“Your mind’s faulty with avarice and greed”
The *** has simmered; the broth is thick,
and its bottom not easy to see
A mutual exclusion, first left then right
a feast—all soul’s consumed
With spoon or fork, its offering slick
when the bowls come out at noon
In single file, day turns to night
pointed talk with nothing said
Both cupboard’s bare, two rat’s within
guarding their last crust of bread
When the final story is written and told
of what in concert you destroyed
A drum will beat, zero-sum complete
leaving you soulless—but still conjoined
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June,2016)
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
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)
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
Beneath the cover of defeat,
final victory comes late
Sustained only by a will
—refusing to give in
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
The present blocked,
by words unsaid
The pastures torn,
its furrows bled
The present blocked,
by words unsaid
The future cries,
—its orphans dead
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
Life’s ending is short,
its beginning unknown
The middle is long,
chasing stone after stone
Memories most vivid,
from decades ago
Feelings now drifting,
like wind driven snow
Our seconds tick off,
as minutes run down
The big picture fades,
tracks left on the ground
Beginning or ending,
the next step unclear
The last cut the deepest,
—to suture or sear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
Through the keyhole darkly,
he could now remember his name
Through the keyhole darkly,
his medicine kicked in once again
Through the keyhole darkly,
he knew his daughter by her face
Through the keyhole darkly,
he was back at home in his space
Through the keyhole darkly,
his dog was closely by his side
Through the keyhole darkly,
his eyes though saddened, opened wide
Through the keyhole darkly,
her voice unwrapped the precious gift
Through the keyhole darkly,
a love once anchored, set adrift
Through the keyhole darkly,
he felt the light begin to dim
Through the keyhole darkly,
his markers fade, his reference thin
Through the keyhole darkly,
the killer thief arrives once more
Through the keyhole darkly,
all loss of self—a closing door
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Money and wealth
used to accompany class
Now more often than not,
it tends toward the crass
There used to be style
that went along with good luck
Now nouveau riche dogma
just passes the buck
The internet minions
and rappers galore
Litter our vision
as they buy out our stores
This newest gold standard
obsesses with bling
Their knowledge in tatters
they read not a thing
All intention is focused
on numbers that climb
Like lasers, they pierce
the mercurial dime
But time marches onward
for rich and for poor
Looking back, a past wasted
—ahead nothing more
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
How now the vanishing wind…
The days are upon us
last season begins
All words are regifted
and placed into song
As time has now shifted
our last excuse gone
How now the suffering lies…
The light burns immortal
old visions decry
What’s done long behind us
new storms call our name
The clouds mark their entry
—the past left to blame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC
Not a professional writer
Not a commercial writer
Not an academic writer
—of tomes
Not a writer of poetry
Not a writer of prose
Not a writer of colloquy
—heaven knows
Not a writer of fiction
Not a writer of fact
Not for comic depiction
—do my words then attack
Not a writer in residence
Not a writer then banned
Not a writer of circumstance
—just a writer, I am
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
No more book fairs or tours
no autographs signed
My words are my gift
the privacy mine
No talk shows or fetes
New York Times to eschew
Questions unanswered
—my thoughts unreviewed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
I don’t bow to money,
I don’t bow to fame
I kneel to that one thing,
that time cannot change
I don’t speak for right,
and won’t speak for wrong
My liege is the truth,
all court jesters gone
I don’t hope to be knighted,
my shield more concave
And rejecting all title,
the past still enslaved
My will lay unbroken,
my heart for a throne
A crown jeweled with memory
—all scepters disowned
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC