Dowager Queen Dressed Like A Nun

Photo by Maria Luiza Melo on Pexels.com

Dowager Queen dressed like a nun
Looking for courtesies in murky nights
Whispering to me “this is gonna be fun”
Shadows dance in tranquil candlelight

I’m all in as she shucks her brassiere
Mixing metaphors with her gin
Titillated whenever she comes near
Pulling lace away from her original sin

We Have Different Moments To Emerge

We have different moments to emerge
Life telling us uniqueness isn’t enough
Parsed moments of steadfast tranquility
Rendered improbable when mixed in the slough

But sunshine will eventually return
We’ll rise up beyond the hindered clouds
Proving to the world our love conquers
Truth & evidence transcend once we get that loud

The Passing Of Time Is A Mixed Blessing

St.Albans Cathedral – Tomb of Saint Alban by Martin Addison is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

The passing of time is a mixed blessing
Tapping your foot with your vision blurred
Doing our best, but remaining guilty
Still searching for a way to be cured

Wrapping wrists around the tarnished rosary
Youthful dreams faded from when I wanted to be a saint
My heart still ticks, albeit a little weaker
Remembering those days, but the voices now faint

These Broken & Delayed Dreams

These broken & delayed dreams
Electric toothbrushes that constantly hum
A pocketful of change
& girls with eyes so pretty it makes me dumb

I’m not one to make a great scene
Yet I’m your average middle-aged guy
Not counted among the mundane
I couldn’t be normal, even if I tried

So we’re all stuck in this spinning limbo
A world with mixed up priorities & hate
I’m confused by all this wasted time
One of these days the hourglass will cease to rotate

So, I’m probably going to be late for work
For my beautiful woman resides in this bed
I could be responsible & get there on time
But I’m always going to choose to love instead

Image by Claudio_Scott from Pixabay

The Twinkling Of Stars At Night

Photo by Jeswin Thomas on Pexels.com

The twinkling of stars at night
Dispatched souls with nothing to lose
Our lost matchbook fantasies
Dwindling into aging suburban blues
Not fond of Covid nor the Spanish Flu
I’d rather have some Spanish Fly
Mix it in my cup, “yo baby, what’s up?”
I’m still that awkward ass, abnormative guy
Fading time to time into darkness
But I try to emerge into the light these days
A bounce in my step/mischief in my eye
Growing younger in spirit despite all these grays