Immune to a power surge
I sit alone & quietly type
Not affected by technology
Refuse to be your modern gripe
I switched off my terrestrial radio
But I’ll still pound at these keys
I’m not cool or a trendy guy
I’m reserved, doing as I please
There’s never been an audience
Just a few genuine folks
Sharing myself sparingly
I’m better with these slow strokes
I’ll continue to conjure ideas
Preferring to use my typewriter
Nothing fancy; just a love of words
Old, but I can still pull an all nighter
A study in inexact notions
Differences upon the prospective scene
Our unruly burdens confound us
Nothing to save us when life turns mean
Yet we can never let apathy rule the day
In these times, we must be all the more aware
Knowing truth can be unpopular
Yet compassion is the way to genuinely care
Last season’s vintage with coffee stains
Spelling out what we might genuinely need
Hope we might outlive our transgressions
Errant dispatches; all the ones you forgot to read
I feel like a bull in a China shop
I feel ugly next to you swans
Not wanting to detract from you
I wander off into the rising dawn
I try to find a genuine smile
I feel like I’m pressing my luck
I’m not meant to be amongst beauty
For I’m not pretty; I’m just a duck
Captain Q 