You Can Keep Your Digital Playgrounds

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

You can keep your digital playgrounds
I care not for a Kindle nor a Nook
There’s no time for your technology
At the end of the day, just give me a book

The old fashioned kind, maybe a paperback
Anything without a power source
I don’t need your highbrow radiation
I’ll stick with tangible pages of course

I may hail from generations past
Perhaps I’m boorish, perhaps I’m a lout
But I’m pretty damn basic when the day is done
I’ll still have my pages when the lights go out

Sitting Here Dissenting All Forms Of Gov’t

graffiti-1634518_1920.jpg

Sitting here dissenting all forms of gov’t
Looking for answers in these coffee grounds
Uncovering more & more hatred, with less hope
These political ovations do nothing but compound


Society has gone astray, Jesus take the wheel
We’re all being watched by a perched black bird
Incoherent shrieks & mumbles of “Nevermore”
Universities stacked with all the quotes they misheard


Where are the heroes to protect democracy of the republic
In the wake of fraudulent saints & a presidential pretender
We must devise a prophecy to overtake our future
Lady Liberty’s hem is ablaze; with no elder statesmen to defend her


We’re led by fools, fractures & frauds
Finding ourselves at crossroads armed like Checkpoint Charlie
History won’t be kind to the weak or evil all the same
Needing a guardian like Justice Ginsburg on a Harley

I’m raising a small army of Lost Girls
Feminist soldiers marching – in all but the name
Seeking love, peace & equality for all the people
Hindering harmony will leave you squarely to blame


We all have our differing loyalties
But truth will prevail when time comes to an end
Our trials will be but mere footnotes to antiquity
Faceless angels guiding youth; they shall forever be a friend

Watching The Condensation Seep Into The Desk

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

Watching the condensation seep into the desk
I think of the glories that have gone away
The ice melting/mixing into my single malt
I’ve been nervous, but I’m okay by the end of the day

These days weren’t the ones we’ve been dreaming of
Idealistic thoughts when we were on foreign shores
Imagining celebrities dancing in their formalwear
Fancy & festive role models displayed forevermore

Upon the big screen & locked into our minds
Americana lost & the golden age of Hollywood
Stoking the passion of our fervid imaginations
Inspiring our dreams like nothing else ever could

Our hopes & desires abandoned & hung out to dry
March realizations our fantasies are mere celluloid
The cold night, withering on the streets alone
Upon the credits, leaving the theater broke & into the void

Those Matchbox Fantasies

Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on Pexels.com

Those matchbox fantasies
Gunmetal grey panties with soft pink polka dots
She placed a stiletto on her wooden leg
Character assassination plots go all for naught
Unassuming by way of distraction
She’s hiding a switchblade under that dress
She’s dangerous down to her core
A beautiful woman – you don’t want to mess
Beware of their corrosive accolades
There’s no exoneration in the line of fire
She’s insolent about your theoretical love
In the end, she’s killed you with her underwire

I’m Out Here Trying My Best

Photo by Ahmet Polat on Pexels.com

I’m out here trying my best to contribute
But in the end, you drank me dry
Never thought this life would be a crapshoot
I said forever. It wasn’t meant to be a lie

Each day I feel your eyes searching for flaws
Things aren’t right, this is no way to live
Even with love, there’s a line we must draw
For now I’ve got nothing left to give

On The Shores Of Ol’ Patagonia

Photo by Omar Zetina on Pexels.com

On the shores of Ol’ Patagonia
While the citizens did sleep
Youthful fear of affection
Yet into the woods, they silently creep

Don’t let on how you feel
For you might get what you want
The pain of admitting you care
& perchance it might forever haunt

The burden of carrying embarrassment
& possibly feeling regret this long
Thy youth’s clear true love
But hindsight tells me I was wrong

For I wasn’t brave enough to trust
Too busy being incorrect by name
Fear welling into my soul
But I loved her all the same

It’s not fair to bring up old times
Immaturity & self-reject are not a virtue
I don’t deserve her thoughts nor sentiments
In the end, never good enough for you

Still thinking of what might’ve been
Or an excuse to freshly misbehave
Angst & teenaged awkwardness
Take a shot & take it all to my grave

How Do We Leave The Living?

Photo by Ellie Burgin on Pexels.com

How do we leave the living?
Thoughts on life & what’s left undone
Trampled petals & forgotten scars
Knowing the sun cannot be outrun 

How will we be remembered?
Comforted; knowing Jesus saves
Settle into being a compassionate soul
For we all end up wallowing in the grave

Wish Goodbye To Frumpy Politicians

Photo by Laura Musikanski on Pexels.com

Wish goodbye to frumpy politicians
& their senile glances
Robber baron approach to public service
After we gave them too many chances

I don’t care for your foreign correspondents
Time to stay home & let the meek be the victors
War machines don’t benefit those who march
Deceit & impropriety measured upon the Richter’s

I don’t understand disdain for fellow humans
I don’t care if you worship in a synagogue or under a steeple
In the end, we’re all God’s children
Here on Earth, we must remember it’s We The People

Oh, Where Does Our Journey End

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Oh, where does our journey end
Or begin, as it so often might seem
Futile attempts to erase the past
The unknown details of our dreams

The open road panders to a false escape
The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn
Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt
Debating the path; perchance to learn

Shaky prospects in apportioned time
Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac
Further roads leading to ornate wisdom
& we keep it concealed out in the back

Thoreau mocking society with his solitude
Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be
Thoughts come to us in gentle waves
That perhaps our visions should become the sea

A reinterpretation of westward expansion
Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61
All roads have never led us home
Emily tempting Death with her life left undone

The growing wisdom of our consumed space
Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues
Introducing our souls to unrefined grace
The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse

Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks
Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin
Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again
But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in

Mornings Naturally Rise

Photo by Saliha on Pexels.com

 

Mornings naturally rise
Catching sunshine in my eyes

Distracted by the obvious glare
Misdirected like you really cared

Left feeling a bit obtuse
Never in pity, what’s the use

Taking a moment to feel low
Then return to what we all know

Be smarter, don’t get deceived again
Or merely rewrite it all with your pen

At this point, there are no rules
Ignore their taunts, the damn fools

Karma will get them in the end
52nd layer of hell is for fake friends

The Illustrious Words Of Hunter (the elder)

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

The illustrious words of Hunter (the elder)
We ante’d more than our parents’ share
Broken cups of mottled modeling clay
Abstinence leaving you lonely & bare

Chanting Yeats without a voice
A rye smile at the lively night’s end
Cocktail girls when only a wife will do
Looking to the heavens to make amends

Time is failing on a tractional level
Bleak mornings to come calling back
Needing to move without giving notice
Resurrection only possible with coffee this black

Celestial Bodies Writhe

milky-way-923738_1920.jpg

Celestial bodies writhe
She may not be an answer
But perhaps she’s the key

At the end of the Earth
You’ll find no more ground

Dust falling off the coast
Sail around for awhile

Nurture love & freedom
Return to find me here

Within her, I find truth
A value to be upheld
Know the stark secret

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

Daylight Creaking Up Over The Atlantic

Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com

Daylight creaking up over the Atlantic
First light’s rays struggling over the sea
My bones seem to have a bit of rust
Better lubricate with some more coffee

Dancing upon the shores of the St. John’s
We don’t need carpets; red or otherwise
We only need our bare skin to touch
Ending with me whispering between your thighs

Unfolding Broken Dreams

Photo by Brett Jordan on Pexels.com

Unfolding broken dreams
The distant & diluted flow
Our hopeless choices astound
The truth? We still don’t know

But we can never give up
Clinging to the last of our visions
Memories cultivated on dark nights
Leaving us exposed with obvious incisions

How do you translate a morning
When your soul bears undiagnosed pain
Scars from a life well lived
For in the end, disillusioned cannot remain

thinking nostalgic thoughts

Photo by Tomas Anunziata on Pexels.com

thinking nostalgic thoughts
on an empty stomach
rediscovering grunge tunes
stuck at home in a pandemic
remembering the pain of high school
couldn’t fit in anywhere
reliving dark moments
where it could’ve ended
remembering lost loves
& how warm they made you feel
but you know it wasn’t real
leaving you cold & alone
abandoned until life truly began.

Textured Mornings

Textured mornings
Sitting around waiting on the French press
Remnants of dreams & pleas
Filtered through a truncated dress
Beneath lies details
Of scattered lace & bows
But in the end, emotion far outweighs my prose