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
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
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
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
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