A fresh morning in a shabby hotel
Sunshine pouring through open drapes
Heavy, yet obviously threadbare
Blinded; only seeing abstract shapes
Sitting on the edge with a warm mug
Need to move, but my legs won’t go
A few more moments in this peace
Hell begins once I’ve finished this cup of joe
External pressures without comparative edges
Weighing down the spirit of our voice
The uneasy relationship with original thought
Fate passes us by when we cannot rejoice
Dissidents wishing for anarchy
Amid the noise at the city’s edge
Marching toward the inevitable
With blinders afixed & a solemn pledge
Roustabouts & preachers agreeing before light
Yet the jury will always cry out for more
Cannot tolerate the president’s folly
The juxtaposition of hippies going to war
Lounging early in the morning
She wore an animal print I couldn’t recall
I poured another cup to erase the cobwebs
A chilly morning; slipping past Fall
She was sleek & beautiful, a deadly shade
Overly dramatic in the best possible sense
Passion in abundance for my sole benefit
Edging to a climax at our soul’s expense
Still sleeping on the edge
Your side is far too cold
The house feels empty
Without you here to hold
Never washed your lipstick
Off the wine glass at the table
I can’t lose everything I have
Missing you makes me unstable
Midnight’s a fine time to take the Jacksonville train
Rolling double boxcars to decide our fate
Gotta get back to my lover’s bedside
‘cause women like that don’t hardly wait
Been dreaming of her since the days of steam
Finely dressed woman with incalculable sense
I’m lagging behind schedules & timetables
Hindered by a world of devastating pretense
Spellbound, in the terminal cloister, trying to keep track
Our destiny dwindling, chanced by the tumble of dice
Fearing snake eyes when we need eleven
For lightning isn’t going to strike us down twice
Separation has me feeling on the edge of sincerity
Bleary eyes blinked time & again for some sanity
I’m not emotionally set up for these tribulations
Fear of failing, yet no marks upon my frivolous vanity
Memories of forgotten moments in the text
Perhaps it’s time for me to remain fully alert
But I can’t ignore how my insides churn
The notions of the woman so beautifully pert
It’s risky to return my heart for ante
Somewhere she’s loosening her bustle
This venture is getting out of hand
When she’s applying her legendary hustle
Pulling into the station, I know my lot
A few hours late; enough for passion to be reclaimed
I’ve tried my best, but crapped out again
In my weakness, I become loved; that’s when the angels came
Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay
Finding an edge to life
Loose thread; ripping out the seams
Setting out for an independent life
No purpose if they’re not your dreams
Perplexing choices to those
Who forgot to shake in quaking fear
You hope to wither in the memory
Of these who are content to remain here
Stone cold stereotypes
We’re lost in the void
Sudden depression creeps
On edge; constantly annoyed
Deep breaths to calm
We’re all out of control
Transparent in our pain
A generation of lost souls
Red lipstick & a tight ponytail
The pretty piano player; a punk rockette
The domestic goddess with a need to be clean
Living on the edge of the cosmopolitain set
Hoarding her guilty pleasures fiercely
The moral ambiguity is a stubborn crutch
Ignoring nature’s perfectly placed laws
But she’ll only accept the light’s soft touch
Wearing an evening gown at her elegant leisure
Within her mind, no better way to take a selfie
She’s blunt with her standards & expectations
But lucky for us all, my poems are gluten free
Image by Kelsey Vere from Pixabay
Teetering on the edge of normalcy
The unraveling of misguided forms
This mind won’t settle into boredom
Will not compromise the quelling of the storm
Do not attempt to dampen this fire
My spirit will continue to actively soar
For I won’t be cajoled to become bland
Feeling fresh & alive, always reaching for more
These stories are figments of hope
Simple words from a mind of an everyday man
These theatrics of an unknown sort
Living through each day without scope or plan
Journey to the water’s edge to find a salve
To bathe our souls in God’s great sea
I’m not close to your idea of perfection
But I’m forgiven; a better concept to be
Captain Q 