Finding Refuge In My Dreams

Finding refuge in my dreams
Traipsing through Baudelaire’s flowers
I sing a silent dirge to my soul
Tracing her petals within Summer’s shower


Caught in the currents of missteps
Former words no longer voiced
Lightness of a delicate vision
We heard the morning’s rain rejoice


Politely declining a dreadful umbrella
Walking out, always been man enough to weep
Soaked; tears all the way through
Drowning; maybe now the sunset will let me sleep

Don’t Look Her In The Eye

 

Don’t look her in the eye
For it might tip your move
Just a simple guy
With nothing to prove
She wants nothing from you
& your humble ways
Society envies her
Stack that against the strays
Don’t show her any interest
& she’ll question her worth
Twisting this back on you
Like you’re the last man on earth
Keep to yourself
Don’t be any more than polite
She’ll come calling
With a need for you to quench her plight

We Are Here To Be Free

We are here to be free
Rise; for it is time to wake
Walk tall among your fellow man
Fill your soul with love for its own sake

Do not pluck flowers any longer
For it merely condemns them to die
Uplift all creation; we’re here as one
Carry hope with you in the morning sky

Treading Lightly On The Soft Highway

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Treading lightly on the soft highway
Searching onward for the Earthbound divinity
Through the desert with the primal scream
Broken decibels ring out, yet amount to infinity

Silver pistol tucked in drawer of hosiery
Known to man only by a chintzy nom de plume
I always preferred a thick bottomed almanac
Slowed, but we have big energy to exhume

Dawn rises, yet the Truth still silently sleeps
Looking for prophets in the glittering sun
Too bright for our modern, mortal myopia
Be still; be patient as time is not yet overrun

Middle Of the Ocean Blues

Paddling around the remotest parts
Looking for hope where there’s no merriment
Our souls evaporating in the open air
Put through this vise of a social experiment
Living out here minus the love & support
There’s only so much a man can endure
Mother Nature whirling up the darkest storms
Blowing away my dreams I’m terribly sure

Hey, hey, hey, pretty mama
Please send me some news
It’s lonesome out here
I’ve got the middle of the ocean blues

Thankful for a little spit of dry land
Feeling a bit wobbly & out of sorts
Having a nice cold one under a palm
Time to recharge my batteries in this port
Soon enough, we’ll be back floating
Feeling the Earth’s rotation upon this burn
Long days of sweat & toiling work
Wearing my body out before I return

Hey, hey, hey, pretty mama
Please send me some news
It’s lonesome out here
I’ve got the middle of the ocean blues

Emerging From The Night Of Lost Souls

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Emerging from the night of lost souls
A rough morning with make-up in your eyes
Playing with fire when you dressed like Hell
You believed the Devil when he whispered his lies
Another exhilarating night of sin extinguished
But your heart now belongs to the man of flames
You don’t remember how your dress got burnt
Or how your lovely chest was branded with his name

 

Image by Анастасия Гепп from Pixabay

I’m Rockin’ This Dad Bod

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I’m rockin’ this dad bod
& making it look good
Unapologetically localized
Home in Suburban neighborhoods

I’m not trying to distract
Any of the ladies living nearby
I’m just trying to live my life
I’m just your normal, boring guy

I’m prematurely grumpy
A hermit; writing down in the dungeon
Devastatingly handsome, locked away
Keep out! – here be a curmudgeon

Been Listening To Chet Baker All Day

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Been listening to Chet baker all day
A friend said it’d make me a better person
I’m closing my eyes while the sounds take over
I’m imagining a lost era

Every man knowing how to wear a suit
Every lady in a tailored dress

Mad Men fiction – but with a tangible feel

A stiff drink to calm my modern nerves
& realize I yearn for well dressed people

With manners.

Rubbing Their Fingers Over The Stereo Knob

Photo by Victoria Borodinova on Pexels.com

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

These Stories Are Figments Of Hope

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These stories are figments of hope
Simple words from a mind of an everyday man
These theatrics of an unknown sort
Living through each day without scope or plan
Journey to the water’s edge to find a salve
To bathe our souls in God’s great sea
I’m not close to your idea of perfection
But I’m forgiven; a better concept to be