Sheets & Reams Of The Nonsensical

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Sheets & reams of the nonsensical
Literary blood lost in the shadow of ink
The lifeforce of a simmering soul
Marginal hearts writing love against the kitchen sink

Leaving behind the caricature of an artist
Contributions to society felt in these empty sheets
Fingersmudges marking pages not so white
Starkly exposed with revolutionary words in the streets

Traces of hereditary ideals eroding away
Igniting pages shall still be a stilted sin
Yet we rise again from our desert floor
Eternally grateful our finite letters aren’t porcelain

Trying To Overcome An Existential Crisis

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Trying to overcome an existential crisis
Harking back to those foundational years
Emerging out of my own wounded shadow
Striving headlong into those ancient fears

Transitionally limping along these days
But my injuries aren’t those to be seen
Nor the stretch marks upon my soul
Yearning for the notion of becoming clean

Throughout it all, forever fond of the Blonde
Woman, hold me close to your breast
Tell me this life is going to be all right
That together, entangled; we’ll always be blessed

Writing Sonnets For My Beloved

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Writing sonnets for my beloved
But I cannot speak in pentameters
The lines & sentiment lost on my tongue
Erasing the stray marks upon the parameters

Mother Nature is exhausted
Discovering it’s time to hibernate
Humble beauty of the landscape
Folding into herself unto the infinite

Hearing the last strains of Autumn
But the air is still hot
Clinging to a customary belief
While we hide behind a fig leaf
But we all know leaves fall and rot

Do Our Words Mark Us Guilty

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Do our words mark us guilty
Those found in books & memory’s pages
Does knowledge slowly wilt thee
Creating the soul in starts & stages

Disturbed Themes & Distant Thrombosis

Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis
A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea
Transcendental visitations
From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality

Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion
Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought
But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities
Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought

We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries
Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most
We maunder through our raging debates
Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts

Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve
Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query
Descending by the light of our candelabra
If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary

Floating Through The World

Floating through the world

Soaking up life like a sponge

Trying hard to wipe away pain

To rid yourself of this grunge

Each night another debacle

Colorful dusk marking time set

Building your wall before alarm

Shredded by demons not yet met

Midnight’s A Fine Time To Take The Jacksonville Train

Midnight’s a fine time to take the Jacksonville train
Rolling double boxcars to decide our fate
Gotta get back to my lover’s bedside
‘cause women like that don’t hardly wait

Been dreaming of her since the days of steam
Finely dressed woman with incalculable sense
I’m lagging behind schedules & timetables
Hindered by a world of devastating pretense

Spellbound, in the terminal cloister, trying to keep track
Our destiny dwindling, chanced by the tumble of dice
Fearing snake eyes when we need eleven
For lightning isn’t going to strike us down twice

Separation has me feeling on the edge of sincerity
Bleary eyes blinked time & again for some sanity
I’m not emotionally set up for these tribulations
Fear of failing, yet no marks upon my frivolous vanity

Memories of forgotten moments in the text
Perhaps it’s time for me to remain fully alert
But I can’t ignore how my insides churn
The notions of the woman so beautifully pert

It’s risky to return my heart for ante
Somewhere she’s loosening her bustle
This venture is getting out of hand
When she’s applying her legendary hustle

Pulling into the station, I know my lot
A few hours late; enough for passion to be reclaimed
I’ve tried my best, but crapped out again
In my weakness, I become loved; that’s when the angels came

Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay

Love’s Ledger Left Tossed To The Side

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Love’s ledger left tossed to the side
Margins filled by unintelligible marks
Homesick & heartbroken again
Counting constellations in the dark

Open waves rippling silently forever
A strenuous walk upon the tightrope
Each step as precious as the last
Moonlight providing a glimmer of hope

I’m So Happy, I’ll Dance You A Jig

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I’m so happy, I’ll dance you a jig
With my eyes open, these dreams so big

Still living this life with childhood eyes
Truth always revealed as the tears dried

Sailing ships, battered by wind & storm
Ignoring reason, logic & the accepted norm

Life gets hectic, it’s often a terrible mess
Never grow up, push past into happiness

Fairy influence & the magic it might behold
Let us go now & create a story that’s yet untold

Where love & insanity will always meet
The freedom within our wild heartbeats

Close your eyes, finding something lost
Your favorite memory forever embossed

Tossed into slumbering pages of a book
Captive audiences held by Captain Hook

The golden cutlass, the prize of his plunder
Sharp, but wit marks our Boy Wonder

The best things in life are never planned
Without remorse, we return to Neverland

Feeling Life Through The Paper

Feeling life through the paper
The keys leaving marks with texture
Don’t wander too long
We don’t want to leave life to their conjecture

Sitting In Front Of The Vanity

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Sitting in front of the vanity
Deciphering all your beauty marks
You see lines, wrinkles & blemishes
I see my very own Domestic Monarch

You’ll never see what my soul knows
But, I know how lucky I am to have this view
I’ll spend my days discovering new ways to cherish
I’m grateful you allow me to share eternity with you

Dimples; The Marks Of The Fairies

 

 

Dimples; the marks of the fairies
Their love touched upon the very faces
Chosen to endure above the others
Dimmed, but remaining vague traces
Magic’s residue upon your life
Nature knowing what is true
Selected to be special
Out of all the woods, they settled upon you

Spontaneous Inspiration

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Spontaneous inspiration upon my mind
Late evenings marked by dipping skies
Finding paper to seal away thought
Mesmerized with the way the ink dries

SkyFall

 

It’s not a crime to be pretty
Wearing rented dresses, searching for a breadwinner
Socialites & other plastic people
No redeeming qualities, but she wants to be thinner
Her vagina will accept almost anything
Whether it be dollars, pounds, marks or kroner
A consummate professional at all times
She expects to be well paid for every geriatric boner
You don’t look gift whores in the mouth
Searching for a sugar daddy, anyone will do
Sitting in the bullpen, hoping to get promoted
Waiting to pluck her next victim, how many already gone through
That swath leaving nothing to the imagination
Offended when the whispers mention a gold digger
Everyone can spy those silicone scars
Next time she’ll go a couple of cups bigger
Sucking more than the marrow out of life
She’s trading her youth for money & security
But once tarnished, innocence forever besmirched
Time is constantly magnifying all your impurities
There are certain priorities in this life
A father must keep his daughters off the pole
But something much less discussed nowadays
What do you do once she grew without a soul
This scene is littered with heinous & fickle creatures
Cloaked, it slowly begins to scandalize & appall
Men with large billfolds & absolutely no shame
It’s the current failure of society & they call it Skyfall

 

 

 

*sorry, feeling quite caustic today