True to life, but hard to digest the pain
Adversity compounded living without rest
Altered dreams when slumbers can’t remain
Been ages since she authentically felt her best
True To Life, But Hard To Digest The Pain
age
They Don’t Have Men
They don’t have men
Down at the newspaper anymore
Dusty ages disagree
They’ve forever closed the door
They’re hiding the truth
In the time of an information superhighway
Where they locked away Dignity
They’re not telling, they won’t say
We’re on our own out here alone
You think we’re lost & have much to fear
Stranded under this desert sky
Be still thy soul, for I was born out here
The World Can Only Hold So Many Poets
The world can only hold so many poets
Woefully claiming Bukowski as their inspiration
Worshiping a habitual womanizer & drunk
Answering questions with little to no imagination
I’m doing my best to fill up the lines & empty spaces
With these ink splotches spreading upon the page
Distinct notions of what I believe to be right
But I’m only displaying the curmudgeon side of my age
Shove off from those heroes & clip art stick figures
We need fresh voices with an authentic feel
No more grave-robbing stale words & artifacts
We need to release the future & embrace what’s real
Working On This Beach Bod
Working on this beach bod
Lived my whole life up in my head
Trying to become something lovable
Society left me mostly ignored instead
Attempts to create an unique existence
Purging the dreadful; want something more
An authentic soul bent on sincerity
Giving you my all, but you’d rather have Thor
I can’t be anything that I’m not
I’m lifting weight, going for a run
Never listen to what a fool transcends
Getting old is not any fun
She Was Enraged
She was enraged
But it was merely an aesthetic
Undiagnosed shakedown calamity
Her stare leaving me cold & pathetic
She asked me why I was a Pisces
I told her I used to drink like a fish
Though attempts at humor fell flat
I was awkward; she was such a dish
I’m not as spectacular as I may seem
Age filters vexing characteristics instead
She looked upon me with curious disdain
Tangibly conceding to the voices in my head
Now That I’m Old…
Now that I’m old, there’s no chance to be cool
I’m that creepy lurker passing the delicates isle
Finding myself lost in nebulous thought
Youth dropping their eyes while I try to smile
You can’t be friendly when you’re a certain age
Somewhere along the line, I missed my cue
Oblivious to the graffiti on the decaying walls
I’m slowly dying, more with each day that’s through
Stuck before I can be the wisened old fellow
Conversations with alter egos as I deliberate
Taunting life with my aggressive apathy
Father Time impatiently waiting for my cryptic fate
A litmus test for fragile character upon my days
Emerging from adulthood with wisdom in my head
Never again a victim to society’s whims
Pushing past expectations; my own hero instead
Rising higher than their own trite requirements
Still not accepted & still the silly old fool
Sketchy, weird & perpetually the outcast
Damn, there went my last chance to finally be cool
Attempting To Maintain Where Imperfections Shunned
Attempting to maintain where imperfections shunned
Marching toward time with the burden of flaws
Waking to find age has not been kind
Slowly decaying according to physics and natural laws
Mortality; a stark reminder of life
Leaving me kneeling with a heart full of hymns
My soul rejecting this modern existence
Yet, no matter what, I refuse to be society’s Hester Prynne
I’m Pounding These Keys
I’m pounding these keys
Trying to create a landmark
Something to last through time
A rhyme to set off a sudden spark
I’m vain in ways I won’t admit
A schedule of words upon the page
Formulas/equations for me to disconnect
Memories for after I’ve withered into age
Just A Guy With A Pen
I’m not an artist, just a guy with a pen
Upon a lonely night, I started to write
I jotted down some rhymes for me
Teen angst channeled into the light
I’ve never looked back to think
I just keep writing over the decades
I don’t edit my feelings nor judge you
Purely an attempt for the soul not to fade
Dilapidated Pirate Cowboy
Dilapidated pirate cowboy
That won’t grow up
Searching for my Wendy Lady
At the bottom of a plastic cup
Time ticks alarmingly away
Each beat jarring my existence
I keep getting older
No matter my mind’s resistance
Waking Up Before The Sun
Waking up before the sun
To quietly drink coffee & read
I have this worn & aging body
But a youthful intellect to feed
Take advantage of the still hours
Before the chaos of my daughters
Soon I’ll be tied up like Gulliver
& this coffee won’t get any hotter
I’m Driving Down By The Beach
I’m driving down by the beach
Radio tuned to Lana Del Rey
Trying to turn back the clock
Warm, salty air to celebrate the day
Looking for a moment to feel alive
To relive the trappings of youth
Ignoring the aches of aging
To deny the inescapable truth
Released From The Burden Of Perfection
Released from the burden of perfection
Onward to complete this chance
Soaking in my soul’s refraction
I’m not grandiose, but I’ll enhance
Ripening with a golden age
This is nothing but a jagged gleam
A smudge on the stark white page
Determined to be more than a dream
My Whole Life On Scraps Of Paper
My whole life on scraps of paper
My soul jotted down on the page
Plot lines between scribbles
Character development as we age
Everything that I am, right here
Pushing to further keep my mind trained
My heart’s secret smudged
Within these lines my identity is contained
I’m Getting Old
OMG! I’m getting old
I’m actively searching
For the edited version
Methodically perching
Watching their content
Preserving young minds
Cultivating the innocence
For you can never rewind
Charles Dickens
“In a utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should be respected.”
(Frauds on the Fairies, 1853)”
― Charles Dickens, Works of Charles Dickens
William Shakespeare
“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.”
― William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
You Have All Your Beautiful Decorations
You have all your beautiful decorations
Your Louis bag & Burberry coat
Flaunting everything which couldn’t be
Knowing how to get my bloody throat
You’ll find your adornments gone someday
They’ll suddenly be missing as you wake
Feeling distraught with nothing left
You’ll be lonely without any Real Estate
You’ll have no glamour & no identity
Find a need to fold back within yourself
No one will care, so no reason to hide
You’ll no longer be living on the top shelf
Downcast eyes revealing all exposed lies
Once the object of unparalleled lust
Age without refinement turns ugly
Life’s not so pretty, fallen from the upper crust
Robert Frost
“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”
― Robert Frost
Oscar Wilde
“I am not young enough to know everything.” – Oscar Wilde
Captain Q 