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)
Deception
Yesterday and tomorrow…
the same impostor
—wearing different masks
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
Fame
Fame is
Contingent
On
One of two
Possibilities
Complete
Rebellion
Or
Absolute
Capitulation
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
The Title
The Poetry Of Friends
The Music Of Love
The Beginning Of The End
Death From Above
The Unwritten Word
Wuthering Heights
All Truth Now Unheard
A Thief In The Night
Advise And Consent
A Darkening Sun
An Anthology Of Perception
All Truth On The Run
A Book Never Lent
A Farewell To Arms
With Time Better Spent
Entranced By Your Charm
The Wind In The Willows
The Catcher In The Rye
Death Calls You Silent
The Long Goodbye
The Flight Out Of Nowhere
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
That Someone To Care
Islands In The Stream
The Reasons Left Unsettled
To Loan Sacred Ground
Hansel And Gretel
Once Lost And Then Found
One Unto Many
Many Unto One
Befriending Your Enemy
A Raisin In The Sun
The Russians Are Coming
What Is To Be Done
The Fire Now Burning
Fathers And Sons
All Freedom Aborting
Last Link In The Chain
The Message Retorting
A Universe Shamed
That Moment To Enslave
Destiny’s Child
Lonely Are The Brave
The Call Of The Wild
With Hope Now Asunder
Lone Wolf At The Door
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter
—Our Final Encore
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
Immunity
I’m a Poet…
—I don’t have to explain
(North Wales Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
My Emptiness Whole
Late into the night,
the characters become real
As the words that I’ve written,
cement and congeal
Late into the night,
they take over my soul
My reality transformed
—my emptiness whole
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Not For Loan
Stolen from eternity,
the feelings would not lend themselves
—to words
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Turned Into Song
How open is your window,
how tall is your door
How old is your virtue,
how slippery your floor
How fresh is your perception,
how broad is your scope
How clear is your reflection,
how real is your hope
How strong is your commitment,
how deep is your well
How solid are your friendships,
how many pray tell
How sweet is your melody,
how lyrical the dawn
Will your words play a rhapsody
—once turned into song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
In The Wine
Starving within the memory of a feast
uneaten
My bread forever disappearing
—in the wine
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Imperfectly To Song
Like me,
my Poetry is far from perfect
—a verbal oxen gored
Like me,
my words are often frail and broken
—still crying to be heard
In me,
the message has found its student
—to humbly expound
In me,
the truth can accept a birthmark
—for a promise more profound
Unto me,
the burden is left to finish
—my life to pledge headlong
Unto me,
the words now free, unsentenced
—change imperfectly to song
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)