I want to be subversive for more than shock value
To be a thorn in the sensitive & proverbial side
I want to spark action & not merely IG posts
The revolution will be dire, not a Fantasyland ride
I Want To Be Subversive
fantasy
Falling Stars Upon The Caribbean
Falling stars upon the Caribbean
Heat baking down to my bones
Wishing for a spit of dry land &
Marooned with a lady of nice tones
Mirages dancing out on the water
Out on the flight deck for the breeze
Need to flesh out my humid mind
Fantasies alive out on the high seas
Please Don’t Question My Reality
Please don’t question my reality
You’re pandering to a common goal
I’m eradicating acute boredom
Freeing another fractured soul
Redefining fantasy on a personal level
The subtle witness under the veil
Finding happiness outside expectation
Wishing our dreams weren’t so frail
Standing Wobbly-Legged
Standing wobbly-legged
Spread stance, with a mock salute
Whispering; describing her desires
Soon, I hope she won’t be so mute
Passion of an fantastical nature
Possibly seeming like it’s unreal
Motioning me to come forth
Promises of a love I can feel
Building to a palpable potency
A tangible form of bemused intrigue
Charmed to dizzying arousal
Winding to a whirlwind fatigue
With which note to thoroughly enchant
Steps so sure that time cannot lapse
A smirk; mouthing words to erupt
But knowing I’ll finally leave her unclasped
Watching The Condensation Seep Into The Desk
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
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
Our Nakedness Is Best
Our nakedness is best
Embracing the natural glory of bridal lust
Silken sheets draped over vulnerable flesh
Nothing more generous than her copious bust
Searching for each other in the dark
Feeling the nerves of the unnamed
Blamed for objectification of beauty
Obscured by passion of the untamed
Invoking the obstacle to love
Falling voiceless midstream
Our consensual fantasies
Not a normal woman, yet a rare dream
Let me compose my magnum opus
Moans & silences are highly deductive
We cling to each other forever
Yet the eye contact is steadily seductive
Perfect tendencies as I slowly caress
Knowing the words to make you blush
Grand moments of our unrestrained union
Grateful you’re still my soul-revealing crush
I’m Stuck With This Middle-Aged Mug
I’m stuck with this middle-aged mug
I’m no woman’s cabana boy fantasy
She pines for your affection – but only yours
Yet I can write the romance you forgot to be
Walking Down The Street On All Saints’ Day
Walking down the street on All Saints’ Day
Victrolas on display at the corner store
A flirtatious greeting with the local beauty
She always smiles, but never asks for more
You’ve created another aura within her
Casting her as red-blooded in your pulp fantasy
A polite lady with those vicious high heels
Mental interludes without consent, it seems to me
Take your dreams & exit stage left
You tried to court & failed, life’s not fair
Let a true gentleman whisper elegant words
She’ll open up her passion, exposing her silky pair
Radiating A Positive Vibe Henceforth
Radiating a positive vibe henceforth
A smile & skip in the most mundane chores
Yet perceptions of domestic divinity
Always can accomplish just a little more
Backlogged Cinderella fantasies
Dancing amid a swirl with a feather duster
Cautiously watching; epically vulnerable
Wondering if my heart might trust her
It’s no fairytale ending, but a good life
A drink & a fire, quietly getting better
She’s content without our consent
Cracking a book, curling up into her sweater
We’ve Built Our Mysteries & Fantasies
We’ve built our mysteries & fantasies
Every time we close our eyes
I’m not rich nor the most handsome
No reason to dispel all those lies
But you’re everything to me
Excited whenever I tug on your hem
I wish I’m the one you hope to see
Each & every time you open them
Can We Puncture Our Transcendent Eyes
Can we puncture our transcendent eyes
Feeling fantasies no one can understand
Trapped behind responsibility & expectation
Failing to grasp foundations as we planned
The difference in our souls transmit
Expounded by the beatings of our hearts
Revolutions begin when the cerebral are tired
But their might will never sever our parts
You cannot be weak if you’re truly weird
There’s no time for the molecules to rearrange
These burdens of an unimaginative society
Simply cannot fathom the depth of how you’re strange
Dreams Of Pretty Dancing Girls
Dreams of pretty dancing girls
Tartan skirts & gold buckles on their shoes
Legs draped in such fine stockings
High kicks, but treasure out of view
The fantasy of a joyous party
Spirited music playing a bit loud
Fiddles & bagpipes; what a scene
You pulled me out of the dense crowd
Beauty of drinking black beer all day
My stature begins to slightly tilt
You quietly asked me for a light
But there’s no pockets in this kilt
Envisioning what the night might bring
Is it possible that you could be this real
Sharing a pint in a secluded corner
A second Guinness is considered a meal
Telling Stories After Dark
Telling stories after dark
Occasionally with Tom Waits in the lead
Fantastical little allegories
Bringing a light to those souls in need
No need to whisper in the shadows
Luminous words to prepare the way
Removing barriers to our enlightenment
Witticisms fleshed out & on display
Short tales to get creative juices flowing
Harking back to dreams that we might meet
Subtle differences between the pauses
Allowing our imaginations to properly greet
Scenes from our own round table
Foreplay within our cheeky banter
Conjuring visions of a keen passion
Diluted memories at the bottom of our decanter
Bad behavior leads to a more examined life
Though through fiction we can live eternal
A little more sensitive than you want to believe
Yearning to be held by a beautiful dame so maternal
Out here with our hearts raised to the sky
Searching for better answers on the midnight shore
With the freedom to imagine wisdom laid bare
Parsed theories for when we sent them off to war
Subtle manipulation within our romantic esthetics
Unreliable narrators marching; our literary brigade
There’s no vernacular for hearts’ folly
Pushing forth our gentle notion love might persuade
In the end, dear friends, our parable is contrite
In this heinous world, we all have a simple choice
I lay myself to slumber, a fatigued sailor
Wishing for a lullaby coming from Nick Cave’s voice
Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay
Elegant Evenings; Long Gown Shimmering
Elegant evenings; long gown shimmering
Cackling & racking back the slide
Uncomfortable theories in the moonlight
Recasting guilt on the day Jesus died
Some of us aren’t natural beauties
We must rely on intellectual fortitude
Ashamed to exist outside fantasy
Wishing for a more temperate latitude
Sweat pooling under our winks & grins
With anyone else, this would be a bummer
But I can’t get enough of your adventure
Basking in the pleasantries of a hot book summer
Perhaps I’m A Bit More Prudish
Perhaps I’m a bit more prudish
Than I ever expected myself to be
Shying away from their exhibitions
Folding my soul back into propriety
Maybe I’m not as cool as you thought
I’m more of a meandering old fellow
Writing out lines of cautious fantasy
Whereas reality reveals itself to be rather mellow
Tisk Tisk, Mr. Smith
Tisk tisk, Mr. Smith
She slapped her hand with the pointer
Looking up, I see she’s stern
I stand, wishing to anoint her
I am commanded to about face
I’ve committed an infraction
Taking stock of my flesh
She swoons in satisfaction
But I’m returned to my kitchen
Now pouring a cup of Lady Grey
The kettle broke the spell
My imagination had taken me away
For Whom The Bell Jar Tolls
For whom the Bell Jar tolls
Chasing demons down the dark hall
Scratching an itch until it bleeds
Beyond a fantasy that wasn’t there at all
Never letting the imposter take hold
Growing larger in our own impression
Sizing up unquestioned confidence
Surviving in spite of a soul’s transgression
Our Olden Fantasies
Our olden fantasies
Not quite matching casual conversation
The heart’s silent secrets
Masked by our gilded incantations
A kind smile to hide our fears
The dreams left by the tragic shore
But there’s always a way back home
To drink from the hopeful waters to finally restore
The Twinkling Of Stars At Night
The twinkling of stars at night
Dispatched souls with nothing to lose
Our lost matchbook fantasies
Dwindling into aging suburban blues
Not fond of Covid nor the Spanish Flu
I’d rather have some Spanish Fly
Mix it in my cup, “yo baby, what’s up?”
I’m still that awkward ass, abnormative guy
Fading time to time into darkness
But I try to emerge into the light these days
A bounce in my step/mischief in my eye
Growing younger in spirit despite all these grays
Captain Q 