Posting before the verse is done,
the baby not quite born
Feelings chase the words I write
—the sheep not fully shorn
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
The Present
Living within our given time,
happiness
—a present state of mind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Still They Call
Some poems are true monuments,
some lower to the ground
Some verse is loaded, stacked, and piled,
some stored away till found
A phrasing here, a meaning there,
now where to put it all
As voices cry within the womb
—unborn, but still they call
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
From Year To Year
To catch you in my rhythm,
ensnare you in my rhyme
To make the meter come alive,
and pull you out of time
With lines that end so sweetly,
words pleasant to your ear
For you to carry past today
—and sing from year to year
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Forever To Deceive
Step out from behind your ego,
see what others see
An imperfect vacuum caught in time,
a drum with empty beat
The mirror lies habitual,
to pose as your best friend
A single letter does conspire,
whose “I,” your will portends
That monetary wardrobe,
gold patches on your sleeves
To hide the truth you’ve left unsaid
—forever to deceive
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
The Prose Waits
If you finally struck gold
And were digging out the mine
Would you leave it for a month
And come back to what you’d find
That’s the way I feel each day
Being blessed to write verse
The prose insanely waiting
—for my voice to reverse
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Our Gateway
There just below the surface,
more present than you know
A prophetic Jeremiah,
calls out to us to know
His message serves as warning,
“False idols block the light”
Our gateway through the darkness
—his vision gifting sight
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Nothing But Pretend
Driven by my message,
settled by the score
Riveting exposure,
fastening secure
Burning through my memory,
reminding once again
The past and future just a myth
—nothing but pretend
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Within Her Breath
The Muse more than my mistress,
the Muse more than my friend
The Muse more than a guardian,
the Muse my blood within
She no longer comes to visit,
she only comes to stay
Each wish I make, each word I write
—within her breath I pray
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)