Month: October 2022

You Have Your Notions Of Me

/ Captain Q / Leave a comment
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You have your notions of me
Whether it’s my rugged good looks
Or I’m a notorious scalawag
Though, I’m neither a hero nor a crook

I’m not a man of much persuasion
Nor am I a wild west outlaw
I choose to wear the eyepatch
But I’m more of a gentleman with flaws

I write fast & love slow
Without a care of what they say about me
When you have faith
You never have to wait & see

I quietly find my secrets within
Descended from that beautiful literary brogue
To hell with the naysayers; we’re gonna have fun
I’ll be your host tonight, the swash-unbuckling rogue

Many out there won’t warm to my charm
Not their cup of tea or simply they’ve no style
But you of good taste & renown class
Come share a spot with the one with the mischievous smile

Saddle Up To The Counter

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Saddle up to the counter
Anxiety requiring a shot or two
Feeling warmth of liquid bliss
Slowly beginning to feel like you

Tension of these recent events
But knowing he’s always on your side
Methodically flirting for good measure
You’re aglow; his fair-haired bride

Hand in hand to go dance in the rain
Never letting storms dampen your night
Electric kisses & a dress clinging as it drips
It’s perfectly transparent; albeit no longer virginal white

Broken Umbrellas & Sturdy Desks

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Broken umbrellas & sturdy desks
Making no distinctions for the loss of time
Sketching out all the possible plots
Willful heartache remains the worst kind of crime


Put away your stencils & fountain pens
These days call for someone to be original & bold
Toss aside oaken casks of yesteryear’s notion
This world isn’t ready for those who shattered their own mold


Tea cups & china dolls should stay by the wayside
They won’t last long out here if they can’t put up a fight
Early days already simmering, making my coffee feel cold
Survivors must gather; let love be the fruit by which we write

I Caught You Outside In Your Slip

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I caught you outside in your slip
The gossamer wisps within my view
A ripe side of the ever lovely
I couldn’t help but stare at you

Running through a Summer rain
Racing to the steps of a Victorian porch
Draped in a thin dress of pale tulle
The heavy heart of a burning torch

Amid the seduction of incantations
I knew your illusions were clear
Transparent upon the fresh flesh
& I thought only my intentions were sheer

I always look where no one looks
Trying to see what no one is willing to see
Saturated; glory beyond Heaven’s bounty
I’m out here shooting for immortality

I’ve Been To The City

/ Captain Q / 3 Comments
Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

I’ve been to the city
But I didn’t like what I saw
There’s no air to breathe
Such congestion of humanity
Infestation should be against the law

Authoritarians canvasing your timeline
Dourly grudging along in their jackboots
Manipulating digital ledgers & statements
Nothing worse than those savages in suits

No, I’ll stay here where Divinity is clear
The minor sophistications are plain to see
Occasionally sidestepping hillbilly nonsense
But at least my soul is still free

I Once Had A Chicken That Went Meow

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I once had a chicken that went meow

I need to go I need to get out now

They’re after me, you must understand

Please help me, gimme a hand

I’m constantly having to watch my back

To keep them from giving me the smack

Soon I’ll be taking flight

I’ll be gone before the night

The moon still shines in the day

It’s part of their sinister plan

When they get me, I’ll say

Who’s you, man?!

Sun, beaches & waves

To save yourself, you must be brave

I must not make a sound

Or else I’ll be found

They’ll torture me till I’m blue

I’ll cry & scream out for you

Would you come rescue me

Would you come set me free

My childhood comes wanting to play

How long till oppression they will ban

Soon my mind will stray

& I’ll say, who’s you, man?!

Circa 2000

(An old poem that reminds me how simple life once was)

A Dreamer Of Hope In This Jaded World

/ Captain Q / 2 Comments

A dreamer of hope in this jaded world
The cutting edge of a disinherited brigade
Avant-garde though we’re quite tame
Collecting ideas, though dusty, will never fade

Manifest destiny is a crippling crutch
A mere novelty for a spoilt rich kid
Mankind doesn’t deserve such trumpery
& these militant spirits can never be hid

Be proactive in your revolutions
The rhetoric tied to the strings in their back
Politicians are ideologues with ripped seams
Promising anything to increase their stacks

Opinions are constitutionally protected lies
Our submissions will dictate the norm
Disguising etiquette with a 20 Pound note
Anti-conformity is another path to conform



*I wrote this in a pre-pandemic world.

Transactionally Stealing Poetry From Her Diary

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Transactionally stealing poetry from her diary
Thinking pretty thoughts, my lady crooner
Shedding our shared idealized past
Ravishingly disheveled from another nooner

These things are seldom spoken aloud
Angels sing out; no longer so distant
Breached actions distorting our thoughts
Heartbroken; leaving you feeling resistant

I’m out here worshipping my secular goddess
Looking for quiet now & avoiding unsolicited advice
Passion not always akin to pleasure
Focused to ensure my kisses are nice & precise

I Don’t Speak Of The Dark Times

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I don’t speak of the dark times
For I don’t know how to describe
Numb from the constant rows
Beating my head against the tide

All the while, I’m trying to keep in step
Attempts to parry everything exterior
Concurrent remedies do nothing
Resulting in the residue of the inferior

Intentions to escape these trappings
Quietly absconding along the coast
Ambitions to enliven another day
& thus a creation of a ghost

Not To Keep Returning The Subject To Myself

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Not to keep returning the subject to myself
But there are certain truths I must understand
I’m no one special, a mere footnote
A history to be written, though not as planned

Dreams & hopes that never came to be
A rakish poet nor grizzled old typesetter
Through the years & false daily realities
It is inexplicable the mundane became better

So I find myself with a specific freedom
To be able to move without any sort of cosmic retort
For I have faith in love, fate & ultimate grace
Allowed to live without any innate need to stop short

Drinking From These Suburban Tropes

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Drinking from these suburban tropes
We’ve remained lost after so many tries
The suggestion that we might hope to cope
But the result is not ever ours to surmise

Your mixed metaphors aren’t so cute
When we’re still dizzied after midnight
Yet not late enough for ideas to take root
& all I can feel these days sound a bit trite