There are those secrets we whisper
& then there are the ones we keep
Compressed down, deep inside
The one that makes us cry as we sleep
We are all messed up creatures
Some days I might smile & think I’m well
But only I know the Hell simmering within
I’ll continue to rise, but some things I’ll never tell
You might find me boorish
A buffoon with sensibilities from another age
An undereducated hack with perverse interests
Jotting down any ol’ thought on the page
I can be oblivious, sullen & exhausting
Rarely the life of the party, it’s true
You might find me infuriating
But I assure you, my wife does too
Patrolling the underground realms
Lifting thought from prepared pages
Easing youth that won’t overwhelm
Knowing craft requires poise upon the stage
The dissidents lining streets in praise
While heroes grow cold, lying in state
Sharpen your pens lads, we rise by days
Attune your focus & we might outlive our fates
Taking time to exist in faded dreams
The errant thoughts of a noble mind
Our hands smoothing the stray lines
The margins left blank & us unrefined
Ripped pages scribbled with defaulted hope
We try to emerge from the harrowing sea
But what more can we write about love
The caution of trying to speak of what might be
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
She’s not hurting anyone
What’s your inherent need to control
Let her be to live her life free
Treating her like there’s no sovereign soul
She’s young, trying to have fun
Release her from your archaic notions
You fear unbridled joy & autonomy
Unable to handle her natural range of emotion
Time to hand the world over to the youth
No need to continue your attempts to entrance
We had our time & we failed miserably
With their fresh blood, we might have a chance
Avoid conformity at all cost
Don’t succumb to traditional roles
The last traipsing of the mind
The return of structure of the soul
But you don’t need their approval
Nor the organization of their might
Society’s labels are numb to life
They won’t give you harmony in the dark of night
On the shores of Ol’ Patagonia
While the citizens did sleep
Youthful fear of affection
Yet into the woods, they silently creep
Don’t let on how you feel
For you might get what you want
The pain of admitting you care
& perchance it might forever haunt
The burden of carrying embarrassment
& possibly feeling regret this long
Thy youth’s clear true love
But hindsight tells me I was wrong
For I wasn’t brave enough to trust
Too busy being incorrect by name
Fear welling into my soul
But I loved her all the same
It’s not fair to bring up old times
Immaturity & self-reject are not a virtue
I don’t deserve her thoughts nor sentiments
In the end, never good enough for you
Still thinking of what might’ve been
Or an excuse to freshly misbehave
Angst & teenaged awkwardness
Take a shot & take it all to my grave
Can we puncture our transcendent eyes
Feeling fantasies no one can understand
Trapped behind responsibility & expectation
Failing to grasp foundations as we planned
The difference in our souls transmit
Expounded by the beatings of our hearts
Revolutions begin when the cerebral are tired
But their might will never sever our parts
You cannot be weak if you’re truly weird
There’s no time for the molecules to rearrange
These burdens of an unimaginative society
Simply cannot fathom the depth of how you’re strange

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
Dark clouds forming over the horizon
Storms threaten to assuredly comply
A day drifting away without recourse
Dreams hang-dogged in the evening sky
The slow buildup to another slumber
I tried to be reasonable, but I think too deep
Took a leap, but might’ve been too far
In the end, relegated to remaining the black sheep
Don’t succumb to the pitfalls
Don’t seek permission to live clean
We all owe the future an honest try
To what might be; not as was once seen
The warmth of a January day
A bright golden sun to start the year
Taking off clothes when its cold everywhere else
Mercury doesn’t cause a Floridian any fear
***
Time to take stock of what might be
Refreshing breaths while we can clearly see
Taking a moment to pause
Allowing all the colors & sounds
To penetrate my senses
I’m going to miss being around
Soon to return to the sea
Riding waves with crushing might
Darkness closing in on me
Holding fast to escape the night
*not really going back to sea. just remembering the feeling of writing this before the holidays a few years ago
I’m no hero
Just trying to make it through the night
Terrors & dreams haunting me
Still, daylight expects a man of might
I went for a walk in the predawn hours
I could feel something wasn’t quite right
’Twas a red sky morning/sailor take warning
Amiss; something’s gone bump in the night
There was a time I went walking in the woods
Fatigued; this existence has become too tense
It was there I encountered the damned zombies
They stole my peace along with my sensibility & sense
Now, I don’t do much walking outside of the wire
If I must, I seek protection from my Heavenly Lord
I never fail to bring along a prayer upon my lips
& in my hand the weight & might of the Wu-Tang sword
*found this graffiti in Wilhelmshaven, Germany in 2017
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
Strapped into a mourning gown
That might survive our winter garden
Rebasing all these dreams
This predicament has begun to harden;
I beg your pardon
Slowly peeling off your layers
Caught us in a lightning storm
Feeling excited electricity
Between our adrenalized forms
Standing naked before the darkness
Illuminated only by midnight flashes
Perfection within a moment
Emotion dripping from your eyelashes
Hiding discarded notes in a shoebox
A back-catalog of creativity to mend
Offering our souls to be consumed
& an apology if we might offend
This head won’t be controlled
There’s no way you can tame
Wild by its very nature
Sweet by any other name
Don’t judge me, lady
Savage, feral & barbaric for sure
My words might be, but my
Hair’s anything but demure
Chiseled words are never all that permanent
For we can be reincarnated as a muse
Awakening creation scribbled in the margins
Foundational folly that we might instinctively use
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
Lost in a deteriorating moment
What more can we do to be free
Close our eyes to the darkness
Tiptoeing quietly, down to the sea
Searching franticly for the answer
But the obvious truth is often a ghost
False memories are unruly traipses
Inclinations leading me, down the coast
Is there a way to be clean again
To bathe in the ocean’s gentle roar
Hope against hope; possibly a way
To find sunshine that might restore
Captain Q 