Unplugging From The Mainframe

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Unplugging from the mainframe
Remaining forever off the grid
Don’t need their connections
Don’t know if we ever truly did

The final tragic hero of a modern culture
The soul survivor of a discarded revolution
Histories & experience outside the norm
Dreams of freedom with divine attribution

Dealing with the conceits of perfection
The concepts of loneliness & betrayal
This world isn’t what we were promised
Token hints lost behind a fractured veil

The answers are hidden beyond this life
It may look bleak, but don’t you fret
We have the Source of Light
& they’re still riding that ol’ dialup internet

Too Many Loud Souls/When Silence Will Do

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Too many loud souls/When silence will do
Fools too busy collecting trophies & stickers
Not focused on truth of what matters
Sneaking glimpses of soul-revealing knickers

But they’re plastic; not of a proper diet
A mere aesthetic for the internet’s sake
The superficial appetites of modern times
I long for days when passions weren’t fake

Somewhere there is something incorruptible
Something pure that we might know
To purge our lives of superfluous antics
To feel a little more real & a little less faux

Attempting To Maintain Where Imperfections Shunned

 

Attempting to maintain where imperfections shunned
Marching toward time with the burden of flaws
Waking to find age has not been kind
Slowly decaying according to physics and natural laws

Mortality; a stark reminder of life
Leaving me kneeling with a heart full of hymns
My soul rejecting this modern existence
Yet, no matter what, I refuse to be society’s Hester Prynne

They No Longer Play Poetry On The Radio

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They no longer play poetry on the radio
No longer exposed to life’s contextual details
We’re all lost; floating through time
Enchanted; told to swallow modern fairytales

But I’m trying to work out the specifics
Finding the reasons between the transistors
I’m guessing we’re still prone to biology
& physical failures of why I can’t resist her

Hymns For Modern Children

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Hymns for modern children
A return to morbid fairytales
Truth being slowly digested
Compassion when beauty fails

Lost in this troubled society
Where equality goes to die
Slaughtered dreams
& a speck in your brother’s eye

Life can be tough, harsh even
It seldom matters if you’re right
Morality often seems hijacked
& then they bid you a sweet goodnight

I. Among The Days

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Those were among the days we lost them
When we were doomed to the bomb shelter
Cast aside by the rising tide of modernity
Drowning in memories of the last time I felt her

I Never Said I Was Good At This

I never said I was good at this
I have no fancy training or school
I just close my eyes & spill my soul
Without any regard if it will be cool

I’m a bush league hack at my best
Wandering my way through eternity
Endless reams within your dreams
But I’ll never be a victim of your modernity

Weight Of The World

Weight of the world
Falling on my shoulders
Rising early to attack the day
Another coffee – going to need to grow bolder

The stress that defines life
The mess that we’ve made
Perception fades to black
Succumbed to the frustrations we’ve displayed

Sympathetic to Atlas’ condemnation
Understanding his modern fate
Premonition this load might explode
Knowing somehow I’ll eventually drop this weight

We’re Allowing The Modern World To Dwindle

We’re allowing the modern world to dwindle

We’ve neglected love & now slowly it dies

Crashing back to from where it came

We’ve messed up this most recent of our tries

A fragmented society in this world of hate

Our streets filled with torch bearing vigilantes 

But I’m choosing compassion & joy

I’d rather chase you around in your scanties

I’m Doing My Best

I’m doing my best, can’t you see
Amidst the horrors of our modern day
The ghost stories rising in the mind
The times when you’re in your own way

You grab at your head in pain
The frustration of structured expectation
Pressures of their unintended demands
Prompting proclamations of demarcation

The Freedom To Move Is Vastly Underrated

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The freedom to move is vastly underrated
The need to take refuge in the open air
Release yourself from these modern bonds
Get back out there if you still care

I reject their basic version of normalcy
Those rules don’t apply as formulated
Reality was never calibrated for us
Mere common folk to be granulated

Refusing to remain quiet is necessary
Return to nature – turn off that broadcast
Be elusive, for they’re coming for you
You’re necessary as long as you have a vote to cast

Cold Coffee & A Stash Of Lost Dreams

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Cold coffee & a stash of lost dreams
A distant memory of those rail yards
But we weren’t ourselves with honesty
Not the renegades or anything that hard

Images of what we might yet become
Grabbing self-regard before it fades
Destroying their notions of modernism
Returning to polka dotted shirts & dark shades

We all have our morbid skeletons
The vague semblance of a broken soul
But somewhere are the clues to the truth
Somewhere when lightning meets a weary, old skull

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

Immune To A Power Surge

Immune to a power surge
I sit alone & quietly type
Not affected by technology
Refuse to be your modern gripe

I switched off my terrestrial radio
But I’ll still pound at these keys
I’m not cool or a trendy guy
I’m reserved, doing as I please

There’s never been an audience
Just a few genuine folks
Sharing myself sparingly
I’m better with these slow strokes

I’ll continue to conjure ideas
Preferring to use my typewriter
Nothing fancy; just a love of words
Old, but I can still pull an all nighter

Crawling Away From Sudden Shores

Crawling away from sudden shores
Locked away in anterior rooms
Sunlit beauties try to remain pale
Complexities of intimate bedgloom

Modern mermaids express themselves
Repelled by their former clamshell
Their silence betrayed the insane
Meeting up again behind the bandshell

Eastbound Portola around the curve
Writing hard to retain your shape
Lost in the Inner Sunset
Catching the N Judah to escape

Been Listening To Chet Baker All Day

 

 

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.

Hanging With Beach Bums & Bashful Babes

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Hanging with beach bums & bashful babes
Swimming in the surf on late Spring days
Colorful flavors poured gently over ice
Skin glowing after hours in the pleasant rays

I thought I saw a Sea Hag along the sand
Though she revealed herself to be a Siren
Coaxing & teasing me with her demure allure
Whispering that I might be a modern Lord Byron

Uncomfortable with compliments of any sort
I quietly pull out my pen to jot down an ode
Her eyes grow wide, then a smirk & a wink
Simultaneously my mind, heart & loins explode

Prophets Of A Dwindling Modern Era

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Prophets of a dwindling modern era
Looked upon as mere mischief of ravings
Old souls not to be believed
Our heart’s antidote in the pencil shavings

The Tyranny Of Our Modern Age

The tyranny of our modern age
The repulsive nature of our exploited rights
Coming for us before the dawn
Another stolen soul in the night

But pump the brakes there Swamp Thing
Florida is basically the Outbreak Monkey
We can’t be too safe these days
Besides, a lot of y’all were already funky

I’ll be hunkered down, away from idiots
This blanket fort is causing me to itch
Stay home, so we can eventually go outside
Like Carole Baskin, the Covid is a bitch