We used to know the truth
The fundamentals of our lives
Misplaced inspiration in youth
We, the lost children, who survived
Abandoned by artists searching for gold
Forgetting the dream of accepting yourself
Never admitting we’ve grown this old
Rejection of impending imperial wealth
Fuck your republicans & democrats
Those who sold the vision with betrayal
Insensitive bastards of a Cheshire Cat
Unsteady appeasement & divided we fail
Running a finger upon the spines
Treasures of unrequited wit
It can be difficult to wear a smile
When you always feel like shit
Fingerprints on the dusty shelves
Disfigured; in need of some rest
Looking for inspiration in the pages
Slowly drowning despite doing my best
We’re painting the roses red
When I spill my bottle of wine
Laughing the silly words we said
Running through the sunshine
Gathering inspiration to write
Leaning against their picket fence
Together & the songs we recite
Friendship allows life to make sense
Hanging with suspicious writers
Not an overly socialized troop
Collectively creating
An emotionally battered group
Pondering word placement
& the value of existence
The quiet utility of thought
Inspiration compounding persistence
The carcasses of inspiration
Wine glasses with Burgundy residue
Speaking to late nights & early mornings
Scribbles in the margin on the follow through
Feeling parched as I wake
Noticing your lipstick stains
Upon the rim of the glass
Reminding me of the dreams that remain
Bleary eyed, drinking the coffee grounds
Searching for a fate within the dregs
Fumbling over these typewriter keys
Lightheaded when I see your naked legs
Your smile is a distraction
But you pop a button & then one more
I’m at your complete mercy
Once the nightgown hits the floor
Image by TastyCinnamonn from Pixabay
Another day of cold coffee & inspirational songs
I’m trying to survive with all my might
I’m not looking to be acceptable
Merely wishing to cherish what’s in my sight
Ink smudges quietly upon my palms
Unsure of my words, failing with adequate prose
Years fall into decades, but still
I’m flailing; conjuring an incomplete rose
The muse sits rocking, mocking
She struts out of reach of what I believe
Taunting me to sell my soul in angst
So I cover my typewriter in a sheet of Celtic weave
Summer girls/winter women
Refreshing my sullen mind
Taste of joyous inspiration
Love heightened upon rewind
Basking in the light of sunshine
Energized by glorious visions
The heat dwells deep within
Passion rising in absolute precision
Image by mskathrynne from Pixabay
Drinking black coffee out of Delta cups
The cheap seats listening to Empire Burlesque
Mixed metaphors crawling in the night
Still pondering why a raven is like a writing desk
Dislodged tea parties & cries of Nevermore
The world swiftly swirling all around me
Reducing myself into my words
Hiding now within punctuation & necessity
Unsure of our place in time
Triangulations are stretch marks on the soul
Society wants me to be all shiny
But more often than not, I’m tired & dull
Where do we find our inspirations
The formulations upon our existence
Personalities discarded to the rubbish pile
Pushing us further away within time & distance
A careful morning
Coffee, my steady muse
Hiding in crisp pajamas
Inspiration has a short fuse
The world can only hold so many poets
Woefully claiming Bukowski as their inspiration
Worshiping a habitual womanizer & drunk
Answering questions with little to no imagination
I’m doing my best to fill up the lines & empty spaces
With these ink splotches spreading upon the page
Distinct notions of what I believe to be right
But I’m only displaying the curmudgeon side of my age
Shove off from those heroes & clip art stick figures
We need fresh voices with an authentic feel
No more grave-robbing stale words & artifacts
We need to release the future & embrace what’s real

Waking early before the morning
Monitoring the world, as I sip my achromatic brew
The front window, my porthole to beyond
From this security, I decipher what is true
I try to formulate tangible creations
Converting inspiration into mere words
Observations from my suburban perch
Sharing stories with Poe’s bleak-hued bird
Writing down the secrets she might share
Enlivening my dreams on this quiet block
Churning thoughts into hopeful spools
In which might allow my mind to dynamically unlock
Unlocking inspiration in the night
Emerging from the shadows & dark places
Rising from a migrant slumber
New life without any of the fragile traces
A travesty banished to the past
Along with all heartache & fear
Endless scribbles upon discarded paper
The truth within ink stains & pencil smears
She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire
I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind
Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage
Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration
Tamping out the excess inspiration
Shake the thoughts loose & free
Don’t care for your learned quips
If they don’t allow me to see
I’m tired of all the accusations
Yet there remains nary any proof
Let us return our quills to the muse
& turn the future over to the youth
Finding ourselves locked in a torrent
Quietly dreaming of a harder way
Searching for the proper inspiration
Perhaps I’ll have something intelligent to say
I’m just a local loser with unlimited potential
Most will note my life has been an utter waste
Mocked & forgotten since you dismiss my face
In retrospect- you pine for my notion once you got a taste
I’m not saying I don’t appreciate
A lady of Paris, Milan & back again
A smartly dressed woman of the Times
Inspiration for me to re-dip my pen
I’m not saying I don’t cherish
A bold woman who’s a little bossy
Nudity as art upon tasteful scales
Teasing me through 8 x 10 glossies
I’m merely submitting a formal request
Publicly provide the proper image of classy
Though once their prying eyes are shielded
I’m going to need you to be gratuitous & sassy
I want nothing more than to have you
To have you dependent upon my words
To have you drunk on my inspiration
I want to be the writer you always preferred
Falling in love every morning
Reminders of the Lord’s perfect grace
A partner in this shared existence
Let me look upon your slumbering face
Slipping from the warmth of our bed
To chronicle the inspiration found in the night
Regeneration of unbridled passion
Earnestly dedicating these words that I now write
Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration
But that’s not the way you remembered they bled
Choosing the perfect wording for posterity
A trembling shadow of what the poets once said
We once set out to create a fresh universe
But that’s not the way I can any longer think
Falling in love with strange, beautiful women
The source & reason for all the dedicated ink
Our souls entwined in deliberate communion
But that’s not the way that I came to be lost
Specific writings to engrave our cosmic lust
Forever entombed within this highland frost
Spontaneous inspiration upon my mind
Late evenings marked by dipping skies
Finding paper to seal away thought
Mesmerized with the way the ink dries
The weird specifics of a dream
The foundering theories of the sunrise
Possibilities for an endless dawn
Dispelled traits when we finally open our eyes
These are our prosperous times
When we find the inspiration to achieve
Minutes into hours of falling sand
But once we wake, can you still believe
Just because you’re the inspiration
Doesn’t mean you’re the intended
Taking what life gives us
Even those not comprehended
Just because you’re the muse
Doesn’t mean you’re the truth
Finding open sores upon the soul
Lingering there since early youth
Just because you’re the source
Doesn’t mean you’re all that real
Gone once my fingers close
You’re merely a ghost my heart can feel
These notebooks drip with inspiration
Thoughts of passion in so many words
Raw relations developed from a focused mind
You want more, but you used to call me a nerd
Back in school, you were the height of popularity
I still remember how your indifference stung
Time does wonders in both directions
Beauty fades even while this life has truly just begun
Green mermaid lady
I’m still in love with you
Always been good to me
My affections are overdue
Dimly lit stages for hire
Writing out these feelings
Jittered & confused tonight
Staggered & now kneeling
Inspiration to keep on going
Confidence in my finer words
Blocked out memories past
Forgetting what was heard
Know where you want to be
So I’ve come back to you
Capitalism be damned!
Pour me something new
Image by marvette critney from Pixabay
We have quiet inspirations
Somber tones you seldom realize
Shifting away from self-imposed
Heartaches & their relayed lies
We must accept the responsibility
Adulting was never part of the plan
Though you gotta make the most of it
Take it from me – Sincerely
The Pan
Captain Q 