Time isn’t what it once was
No longer a never-ending resource
Now I feel the aches & pains
Groggy; consuming the steaming life-force
Wiping the startled sleep from my eyes
The attempts at a structured morning
Lost a step; hard to think these days
Age comes with little to no warning
Taking the time to toe the line
Avoiding the demands of unforgiving eyes
Inventing excuses & repeating “everything’s fine”
Society’s broken where truth are all lies
Hope is now measured in slant angles & slopes
Our manufactured social media is a bust
Force fed algorithms & prickly tropes
From Camelot to dystopia when there’s no one to trust
Passing quietly in the night
Unbeknownst to a blind eye
Distractions turning nervous
Youthful visions of a divided sky
Perpetual beauty left ravished
Smudged but steady on course
Redemptions readily available
Without the gale’s full force
Answers lurking in the shadows
Though sometimes never found
We may have loved & lost
& our hearts forced underground
There is always some eternal truth
Traipsing back from your forgotten youth
A cup of coffee sounds mighty nice
Talking away hours in the sun
Warmth after this long cold winter
Experiences overall count as one
Coming times to start all over
No need to hesitate or soften your walk
Forced feelings fall a little short
Take time & measure when you talk
A friend is a friend forever
But be weary as not to injure
Broken hearts never quite heal
Through a loving soul will always endure
Running headlong into Winter
The cold air forced inside my lungs
Stopping abruptly at the end of the dock
Arms out, catching a snowflake on my tongue
I ran out of land again
Isolated out here with my soul about to freeze
There’s no place left to escape
Shanghai’d again! My fate lies on the high seas
Speak up, stand up; announce to the world
Spread the news of truth’s availability
Don’t be shy; we’re all in this together
Easy now, no need to hate on my virility
I honestly distrust anything popular or sacred
Passing them by & allow them to hide
I have to figure it out 20 years later
Force-filtered through life & time & tide
Opposing magnetic poles claiming Orwell
Both deluding themselves he’s their saint
But he was human & all the related flaws
His divinity seems a little too quaint
We need people with a firm, decisive choice
No interest in your ineffectual, intellectual porn
There’s no time for pussyfooting around
We must find the truth & feed it to the bullhorn
Transparent dresses hanging in the mud room
Saran-Wrapped for mild protection
Eyes closed to foreign tales
Tempered thoughts of stifled affection
Painted prose with regurgitated eyes
Our dreams left choking on the floor
Scribbling beliefs with thick gouges
Manufactured truth with cries of Nevermore
Redundant weight of classical heroes
Forcing us into bastardized Groupthink
Yet my mind still wanders to her opaque passion
Chasing her dragon with endless ink
Finding the courage to excel
Knowing your place doesn’t compute
Internal struggles with society
Forcing a soul to be steadfast & resolute
Innocent people lost in tragic groupthink
Needing to be fleshed out in their own air
It’s a lonely world among the righteous
Devoid of rhetoric; most are sadly unaware
She wore white to the hanging
Fingers smudged from setting the patriarchy to burn
She wore a guilty smile
For they would never ever seem to learn
By her beauty, they were always distracted
But her brains they never could comprehend
Once the fire went viral
They wished they could call her a friend
They picked such an angelic foe
Yet kept her bound by tradition & canon & law
But you can never chain ideas down
Imprudence by the state was the final straw
Continual pandering as a cultural trait
Overwrought force; their idea as the solution
The spark still smoldering in her eyes
Never again the victim, she’s the whole damn revolution
*This is a reaction to rewatching the movie Cat Ballou with modern eyes.
I want to touch you
Taking in your hips, nips & lips
Forcefully; against the bookshelf
We keep making the record skip
There’s no quenching this fire
This passion burning inside me
I want this life to last forever
Keeping pace with the love setting me free
Let us survive these dog days
The warmth still rising up to a boil
I’d rather be walking down the beach
But I’m forced to relentlessly toil
I wish to be holding your hand
As we walk in the evening’s glow
Soft words filled with eternal promises
For your love is the last I’ll ever know
Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought
Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees
Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late
You pray to the spirits of procastrination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love
Forgotten in the ether
Against the stones on the shore
Fatigue hitting hard at sunrise
Before the day might restore
You cannot outlive a memory
Our fates left to a diminished chance
Bound to the sea by luck or force
Drifting silently with suspicious circumstance
Dog eared postcards & other totems
Words from home to quench the tide
Meandering scribbles in the margin
Dreading the prospect of another ride
While we were off sleeping
The rains whipped themselves up in a squall
The flowers rose from their dormant stature
We were left to discover what never was at all
Stripped away our delinquent delusions
Forced to find the truth of this precipitation
Life is a fragile balance of our dreams
Love draws us close while fusing our imaginations
The warmth of the First Coast has returned
But the ocean haze is beating out the sunshine
Sitting on the boardwalk, cold drink in my hand
My love reading me the pages of ‘Dandelion Wine’
Summer hasn’t arrived with its full force
In the breeze, the air cool, yet warm for March
Sideways glances, thinking of her last night
Her beauty mine to behold, her back perfectly arched
Watching children playing in the surf
These quiet beaches surrounded by thick mangroves
A wilderness of paradise’s perfect setting
Your whole life waiting for such an idyllic trove
Where there’s no concern for silly tan lines
The sunshine kissing our bodies like a magic wand
Getting lost, leaving unmentionables on the line
Removed from sight, her underbrush covered by palm fronds
It’s different once your cross into the sand
Slow your mind, pour a frozen drink & a slice of Key Lime
Colors, flavors & appetites are all enhanced down here
Mother Nature’s sun, precise remedy for the Wintertime
Image by Paul Brennan from Pixabay
Rubbing their fingers over the stereo knob
The frequencies distorted on the airwaves
Kings of the new world & thus apocalyptic
Searching for something more pragmatic to crave
These technocrats with no concept of reality
Tasking – without offering an alternate fate
Demanding citizens for homages to be digital
With no power to control – or else we attenuate
Words of peace have the chance to amplify
Even when we’re feeling out of time/out of sync
Don’t need their fiber optic lies to survive
A blind man loses all when forced to blink
Tapping into a passion without any circuits
Our transistors are live; we’re lovers thus discrete
There’s no stopping us when their signal’s weak
There’s nothing but fire & sparks when our wires meet
This life is forever altered now we’re here
Do not attempt to adjust the squelch
You’re listening to Radio Free America
Standing proud & robust like Raquel Welch
Unlocking our shackles
Leading us out, presented as a mannequin
This is our coming out – an introduction
Forced grins are as useless as foreskins
Wishing we were polite in this instructional society
They have us strutting around as a debutante
The promise of a honeymoon for lewd servants
But these demons only allow us to unseemly haunt
Image by Markus Spiske from Pixabay
Quietly, the most awkward person I know
Never sure how to handle a situation
Constantly judging myself & my actions
Forcing myself deeper into this alienation
Watching all the pretty people succeed
Just trying to survive, I’m happy I’m still here
No one wants to discuss the darkness within
But here I am, attempting to confront my fears
“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.”
― James Baldwin
Captain Q 