Old Floridian parchment
Written histories upon ink stains
How to think within today’s tragedies
Wondering how any sanity can remain
We try to build ourselves back up
When the world tears itself down
The ruckus in the middle of silence
The tears when you can’t quite frown
Truth isn’t worth what it used to be
Righteousness has overtaken the price
We struggle to exist without persecution
They’re coming for you, even if we play nice
Falling stars upon the Caribbean
Heat baking down to my bones
Wishing for a spit of dry land &
Marooned with a lady of nice tones
Mirages dancing out on the water
Out on the flight deck for the breeze
Need to flesh out my humid mind
Fantasies alive out on the high seas
Transactionally stealing poetry from her diary
Thinking pretty thoughts, my lady crooner
Shedding our shared idealized past
Ravishingly disheveled from another nooner
These things are seldom spoken aloud
Angels sing out; no longer so distant
Breached actions distorting our thoughts
Heartbroken; leaving you feeling resistant
I’m out here worshipping my secular goddess
Looking for quiet now & avoiding unsolicited advice
Passion not always akin to pleasure
Focused to ensure my kisses are nice & precise
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
Waiting for lightning to strike
Within these summer storms
I’ve found a good woman
Her love keeps me nice & warm
No need to venture out there
For then we’d need to find clothes
I’m content right where I am
Watching everything from my bedroom windows
She wore a smart suit
Setting her apart from the rest
She was a fine specimen
Altered from her years out West
The tailor created perfection
It loved her feminine curve
The details you won’t miss
Feeling beauty in your structured nerves
Those blonde curls, nice & tight
Noticing underthings peeking through
Regaining my composure in time
Don’t want my excitement to be misconstrued
Image by Daria Nepriakhina from Pixabay
Excuse me, Miss
I need help between the books
You look down your glasses at me
Don’t worry about their errant looks
You’re dressed mighty nice
I think it’s by the back shelves
It seems I’ve gotten us lost
Oh my, I think we’re by ourselves
I pull you in close
A hand sneaks under your skirt to play
You moan aloud; onlookers’ smile
Apparently we’re still on display
Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay
Perfect tags & titles
Simple little names
Fitting nicely into a box
You should be ashamed
How long did we fight
For the people to be free
You fold under pressure
Not the way it’s supposed to be
“Home is the nicest word there is.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder
Captain Q 