Blowing The Dust Off Our Individuality

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Blowing the dust off our individuality
Making sure our hands have the proper grip
Clutching the pen to jot a delicate ode
Black coffee; bold inscriptions with each sip

Once awake, I turn to the written word
Exacting the notes conjured; never by rote
Lost with the margins of a fool’s errand
I’m quiet, but compassion might just be the antidote

Wet Sunday Mornings

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Wet Sunday mornings
Grass still damp from the rain
Fresh air still cool to the touch
Rising without a hint of pain

Voluptuary visions upon a treasured bond
Hoping we might become bosom buddies
Remotely fond of the Bon Vivant’s taste
When I proposed to you in the study

My parochial quips; unacceptable in polite society
Profane & unprintable odes to her formidable posterior
Writing what catches my mind’s eye
I can’t help it if my motives might be ulterior

Vice & folly are complimentary rectitudes
But please stop staring at the lady’s chest
There’s only so much to explain away
& no one cares the origin of your Preppy crest

Tell me what constitutes good head
With my mind clinging to her curves
These dreams; had their own Silicone Valley
Yet, when she speaks I’m a pile of nerves

Boxing Day is the day for cunninglingus
Cauliflower ear from her thighs
Witnessing nature’s perfect curvature
Nonperishable lust eschews the dandy’s lie

Vanity is fundamentally unstable
Draping you in silks & laces so gaudy
New souls full of an easy virtue
Just know, how badly I want your bawdy

Plastering The Interweb With Fragmented Thought

Plastering the interweb with fragmented thought Cultivating an insane kind of fame Convincing an illiterate society That you’re more than just a silly name Penning out frivolously piddly odes Basking in the lack of their attention span Trying so hard to be cool, plus Your slams make me not want to give a damn The barely legible equivalent of an Insta-model Don’t you know, writers write & speakers squeak A farce played out in bits & bytes Preying on the vapid, the stupid & the weak You’ve grown your hipster beard You fancy yourself as suave & dapper But I know your dirty little secret That you’re no PaRappa the Rapper

I Can’t Explain

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I can’t explain
I don’t have the frightful words
Just know I can still feel
Yet my notions contain the absurd

These nuisance actors linger
Youthful mistakes I always regret
The musty smell of a cracked spine
Odes & reams I can never forget

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