Lost beneath the shipwreck
Down at the bottom of the cove
Suffering from the scurvy
With scant upon our old wood stove
No fresh water nor ripe fruit
Alone with only countless tales
Doomed with no audience nor friend
Fate of those who chase the whale
Let’s normalize matrons flashing
I fancy the unexpected & a little brash
She gets my eyes swirling & I’m lightheaded
Fully transfixed; my heart’s going to crash
I can’t help but stare at her dancer’s legs
My eyes keep placing them in second position
The way they move without effort
My pulse quickens; a love in transition
To the glee of an unsuspecting audience
The mesmerized & enchanted crowd
Now forever willing to do her bidding
She winked at me & couldn’t be more proud
I have a secret
Scribbling in the margins
The poetry of opera halls
Burning drinks of gargled sin
A letter to the editor
Words chosen for us tonight
The opinions of a fool
With only a pretty girl left to recite
I’m so happy, I’ll dance you a jig
With my eyes open, these dreams so big
Still living this life with childhood eyes
Truth always revealed as the tears dried
Sailing ships, battered by wind & storm
Ignoring reason, logic & the accepted norm
Life gets hectic, it’s often a terrible mess
Never grow up, push past into happiness
Fairy influence & the magic it might behold
Let us go now & create a story that’s yet untold
Where love & insanity will always meet
The freedom within our wild heartbeats
Close your eyes, finding something lost
Your favorite memory forever embossed
Tossed into slumbering pages of a book
Captive audiences held by Captain Hook
The golden cutlass, the prize of his plunder
Sharp, but wit marks our Boy Wonder
The best things in life are never planned
Without remorse, we return to Neverland
Immune to a power surge
I sit alone & quietly type
Not affected by technology
Refuse to be your modern gripe
I switched off my terrestrial radio
But I’ll still pound at these keys
I’m not cool or a trendy guy
I’m reserved, doing as I please
There’s never been an audience
Just a few genuine folks
Sharing myself sparingly
I’m better with these slow strokes
I’ll continue to conjure ideas
Preferring to use my typewriter
Nothing fancy; just a love of words
Old, but I can still pull an all nighter
What do I do with my words
How do I contain when they start to leak
Like the Little Dutch Boy
Who’s listening when I start to speak
But I can’t worry about the audience
I’ve got to keep playing my own tune
The steady groover with the proper notes
When it comes to our hearts, no one is immune
Choosing certain words
With connotations to stir
The hearts of the audience
Cocked crow with pubic fur
Sitting uncomfortably – like whaa?
Where the hell is he going with this
Delusional in this rehabilitating fatigue
Longing for the peace that I miss
Captain Q 