The floorboards weren’t so cold this morning
Days grow longer, you can sense it in the air
Constellations shifting in the early sky
Brewing coffee pitch black to see if my pulse is still there
Waking to see the American Dream broken
But that’s only if you ever believed it was real
For now I’m going to enjoy this cup while it’s warm
& bask in this Springtime while I can still feel
Life should have more dancing
More twirls, laughs, dips, lifts & general glee
We can make anything happen
Once she comes home with me
A dream can be a reality if she believes
I know the passionate way I would hold her
My own heart pumping infinite love
Visions of slipping that dress off her shoulders
I wish to caress her by candlelight
Looking into my eyes, asking for more
Whispering all the things she wants
Dancing close until our bodies are sore
There’s war out here in these streets
The physical city pulses & seethes
Tamped down by hate of denizens
Facts challenging all that we believe
All of society calling for our attention
While our infrastructure remains unstable
Tragedy & crisis revealed every morning
But I still need to put food on the table
The magic of the Holidays still gets to me
You’ll find me wiping my tears with a sleeve
I’m not ashamed to outwardly proclaim it
I still believe
These days I walk the streets with childlike innocence
Searching for anything with the Christmas spirit
But I find most of the world has become Scrooge
A sad truth & many of you don’t wanna hear it
But I know we can be better than this
All of us can always return back here
To the love & magic of the Holidays
Let me be the first to pour you a cup of cheer
Producing love from the remnants
Scraping together all the excess joys
Those neglected in the dire nights
Reformed into a splendid noise
Never believing the crooked ones
Doubts & rebuffs will not hold true
Keeping the mind above the skeptics
For love will endure & awaken you
Mornings creak abruptly open
With the mind beginning to spool
We’re out here prayin’ & hopin’
That I won’t always be a damn fool
The promise of a new day can look glib
But I believe this soul can still be smitten
Look to the potential of a fresh nib
I know the best notes are always handwritten
Thinking of all those cowboy stories
Singing songs under a tree so shady
Virtuous heroes we can believe in
A life that attracts the prettiest lady
It was a one-eyed kind of morn
With evening’s festivities going awry
I scrawled out all I could remember
Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy
Slight images of a lovely form
Olfactory sparks upon my brain
Sketching the party’s guest list
But no new faces could remain
Racking my skull for a proper memory
Writing down every & each detail
Compiling a list to rediscover
I’m trying to think, but it’s to no avail
A faceless gown with affectionate gloves
Somehow my mind is able to recall
Cognitive fragments begin to linger
Clouded out by last night’s alcohol
Scenes slowly begin to return
I believe we’re out on the dance floor
An embrace of smoldering desire
Yet I couldn’t figure out any more
Scraps of notes spread before me
No identity to place upon the truth
Scant reason to be shy in my search
Basking in honesty of my lapsed youth
Cobwebs have been sparsely lifted
Won’t think of her in the past tense
Her ghostly touch encourages me yet
We shall meet again, I firmly sense
To hold her with determined spirit
Seems fantastical at this sad rate
Yet she’s left fingerprints upon me
Remaining until I succumb to my fate
Good morning, Beautiful
I’ve brought some coffee to share
Bathe me in your deep caresses
Make me abandon my laissez faire
Intentions have never been pure
I exist in complicated ways
I believe in healthy love & lust
& setting fire to our communiques
Another day of cold coffee & inspirational songs
I’m trying to survive with all my might
I’m not looking to be acceptable
Merely wishing to cherish what’s in my sight
Ink smudges quietly upon my palms
Unsure of my words, failing with adequate prose
Years fall into decades, but still
I’m flailing; conjuring an incomplete rose
The muse sits rocking, mocking
She struts out of reach of what I believe
Taunting me to sell my soul in angst
So I cover my typewriter in a sheet of Celtic weave
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
Searching cavernous souls
Racking what I might believe
Splitting hairs of fragrant
Ideas wandering down my sleeve
But I’m not more righteous
Than the boys down on the beat
I’m flawed, sensitive – prone to anger
Stuck in a commuting rut; weakly on repeat
There’s quiet secret I might contain
Love & passion bubbling just beneath my skin
I think in poetry, but you desire a hero
Can’t compete with expectations; our mutual chagrin
Be careful when you’re out in the woods
Dancing under the fairies & good folk
Between the dreams & murky mists
Listening to every single word we spoke
There are no secrets when you’re here
You become one with the falling leaves
Magic & Pixie Dust in the air
Before you ever see, you must first believe
I wish to whisper elegant tales
They’ll allow you to follow me
Through the transfers of light
These are moments you’ll be free
I know you have never believed
In what I forever sought & dreamed
We could have been truly great
You always wanted better it seemed
Listening to Wollstonecraft on the radio
“Don’t turn that dial!”, that’s what the DJ said
Not tied to any system; I’m still analog
I’m dangerous; so the advertisers pled
Hereditary responsibility to the common good
Therefore I don’t believe what I’ve been taught
I see y’all got opinions, from your suburban thrones
& these school systems regurgitating corporate rot
Criminal malpractice leaves us with poor examples
But we’ve seen far worse on both sides of the aisle
Bribing the lowest common denominator for votes
Rewrite history, but perhaps that’s not in your files
I’ve been cast off, labeled a subversive heretic
But I’m easy – so I’m doing my best to unlearn
To unwind these falsehoods they tried to entrench
The slow burn; time to take candor for a turn
Rash choices based upon juvenile aesthetics
The understanding that we all might partake
Though one must know speaking the truth too loud
Turns into testimony & they might burn us all at the stake
My fetish is powerful women
Standing proud in front of a crowd
Holding court with authenticity
Firmly entrenched without having to get loud
Mesmerized by the way she carries herself
Controlling me with a compassionate glance
She’s my incandescent muse
My reason for believing in happenstance
She’s regal without being out of touch
Properly expressing how it feels to be real
But I know she’s never going to give in
No matter our depravities, she will never kneel
Containing the ability to remain soft & lovely
While always making me hard
She can be inconvenient to worship
Not a plot point, won’t let you simply discard
Who am I to say no?
When she asks me to open up for the Queen
I’m the victim of my own volition
But I love it all, if you know what I mean
With Summer’s moonlight shining down
We’re not alive to merely appease everyone
Reminder to exist for your soul’s own sake
Basking in the fickle warmth of the rising sun
Released from those winter storms
Contending with heat & humidity down there
Be comfortable in your sovereignty
& thus release yourself from their stares
Do not double back & suffer fools
Stretch to become your complete ability
Expanding your mind to finally believe
& thus be fully & truly free
Emerging from the night of lost souls
A rough morning with make-up in your eyes
Playing with fire when you dressed like Hell
You believed the Devil when he whispered his lies
Another exhilarating night of sin extinguished
But your heart now belongs to the man of flames
You don’t remember how your dress got burnt
Or how your lovely chest was branded with his name
Image by Анастасия Гепп from Pixabay
Girls with their knee-highs
Haute Couture, exposed at the side
But don’t believe everything you see
Smashed & forgotten; a murdered bride
Money left on the nightstand
A life shouldn’t be thrown away for such
Summer comes to erase memories
But down here, it doesn’t take much
She was already cast out, with her upturned jugs
A novelty for these professional suited men
They’ve wiped away (ass-print) the glass
Like she never happened, what will you do then?
Even the poor can spirit an uprising
Don’t speak to me of your pragmatic lever
I’m not going to buy into your propaganda
Never a card-carrying member, nor true believer
Ignore my fantastic ideas
For they come out in reams
Please close your eyes
Lest you believe in dreams
She’s shakin’ those hips
Drivin’ me wild with thirst
If I try to tag along
My mind’ll surly burst
Please loosen my tie
Could I have a slug of wine
If I close my eyes
Could she ever be mine
It’s a delicate inferno
Blazin’ through the night
I find myself dry
Only she’s in my sight
Vision’s gettin’ thick
Consciousness gettin’ deep
My soul to believe
She’s too salacious to sleep
Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay
I think you have the wrong notion of me
I could be wrong, but it’s what I believe
I’m neither the saint nor the villain
In which your notions are trying to achieve
I’m not nearly as arrogant as I portray
That’s merely the manifestation of a fictional role
I know confidence is sexy & I’m trying my best
But I have doubts regarding the quality of the contents of my soul
Prophets of a dwindling modern era
Looked upon as mere mischief of ravings
Old souls not to be believed
Our heart’s antidote in the pencil shavings
The weird specifics of a dream
The foundering theories of the sunrise
Possibilities for an endless dawn
Dispelled traits when we finally open our eyes
These are our prosperous times
When we find the inspiration to achieve
Minutes into hours of falling sand
But once we wake, can you still believe
The frivolity of her words
Wishing they had deeper meanings
Sunk down low in her chair
The cafe the source of her scheming
Dim lights allowing her to see
Answers within these tea leaves
Burned memories & villainous hexes
It only mattered if she truly believed
Let me borrow a glass of your mom’s wine
I get thirsty in these evening hours
Noticing silhouettes moving in the kitchen
Before too long I might need a quick shower
This humidity is slowly trying to roast me
I’m soaking wet & need fresh shirtsleeves
Her beauty wouldn’t exist without God’s consent
I’m merely appreciating that in which I believe
“After all, perhaps dirt isn’t really so unhealthy as one is brought up to believe.”
― Agatha Christie, Murder in Mesopotamia
Captain Q 