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
I’m not an artist, just a guy with a pen
Upon a lonely night, I started to write
I jotted down some rhymes for me
Teen angst channeled into the light
I’ve never looked back to think
I just keep writing over the decades
I don’t edit my feelings nor judge you
Purely an attempt for the soul not to fade
There are answers in the words
Take time to look between the manual scrawl
Feel your body physically push ideas
Deliberate reflection of perfection before the Fall
Hypnotized by the handwritten thought
The slow meditation; pen gripped without pain
Effortless release of mental blocks
To be proud of these scars, but they’re mere ink stains
Broken umbrellas & sturdy desks
Making no distinctions for the loss of time
Sketching out all the possible plots
Willful heartache remains the worst kind of crime
Put away your stencils & fountain pens
These days call for someone to be original & bold
Toss aside oaken casks of yesteryear’s notion
This world isn’t ready for those who shattered their own mold
Tea cups & china dolls should stay by the wayside
They won’t last long out here if they can’t put up a fight
Early days already simmering, making my coffee feel cold
Survivors must gather; let love be the fruit by which we write
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
Sitting down to write
Nothing serious, just a rift
I wish to give you the sunshine
Through a few words to sift
Leaning forward with lovely intents
Though success or greatness I cannot claim
A mere humble boy with a pen
My heart still giddy when I whisper your name
Oh, where does our journey end
Or begin, as it so often might seem
Futile attempts to erase the past
The unknown details of our dreams
The open road panders to a false escape
The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn
Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt
Debating the path; perchance to learn
Shaky prospects in apportioned time
Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac
Further roads leading to ornate wisdom
& we keep it concealed out in the back
Thoreau mocking society with his solitude
Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be
Thoughts come to us in gentle waves
That perhaps our visions should become the sea
A reinterpretation of westward expansion
Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61
All roads have never led us home
Emily tempting Death with her life left undone
The growing wisdom of our consumed space
Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues
Introducing our souls to unrefined grace
The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse
Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks
Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin
Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again
But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in
I’m not saying I don’t appreciate
A lady of Paris, Milan & back again
A smartly dressed woman of the Times
Inspiration for me to re-dip my pen
I’m not saying I don’t cherish
A bold woman who’s a little bossy
Nudity as art upon tasteful scales
Teasing me through 8 x 10 glossies
I’m merely submitting a formal request
Publicly provide the proper image of classy
Though once their prying eyes are shielded
I’m going to need you to be gratuitous & sassy
Mornings naturally rise
Catching sunshine in my eyes
Distracted by the obvious glare
Misdirected like you really cared
Left feeling a bit obtuse
Never in pity, what’s the use
Taking a moment to feel low
Then return to what we all know
Be smarter, don’t get deceived again
Or merely rewrite it all with your pen
At this point, there are no rules
Ignore their taunts, the damn fools
Karma will get them in the end
52nd layer of hell is for fake friends
The poetess vixen
Trying to seduce my intellect
Whispering those sweet thoughts
Paused by my pen; time to reflect
But I’m not one to cave to pressure
Her pretty eyes leading me to temptation
I can appreciate & smile back
Without any need for erotic retaliation
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
Reading dog eared love letters
Smelling of her French perfume
Longing to be with her again
Clinging to memories, I consume
The candlelight quietly fading
The only sound is my pen’s scratch
Scribbling missives & shanties
Acknowledged beauty, she’s quite the catch
Redrawing my own figure
A new shape by the point of my pen
Shading away the obvious flaws
Perhaps I’ll be good enough then
Trying not to carry any burdens
Check out my new roguish stance
I’m cut from a cooler cloth now
Perhaps I’ll finally have a chance
I don’t need all that chaos
I’m content with simple taste
Up early in the morning
To ensure the day isn’t a waste
A prayer, a pen & a book
Foundations to a solid grin
Society can’t take it from me
In control as the world spins
Captain Q 