we all were the favorite poets of our circles
awaiting the rest of the world to acknowledge
expecting society to lust for our words
yet no one owes us anything;
become good & make them feel
anything
We All Were The Favorite Poets Of Our Circles
poet
Not To Keep Returning The Subject To Myself
Not to keep returning the subject to myself
But there are certain truths I must understand
I’m no one special, a mere footnote
A history to be written, though not as planned
Dreams & hopes that never came to be
A rakish poet nor grizzled old typesetter
Through the years & false daily realities
It is inexplicable the mundane became better
So I find myself with a specific freedom
To be able to move without any sort of cosmic retort
For I have faith in love, fate & ultimate grace
Allowed to live without any innate need to stop short
The World Can Only Hold So Many Poets
The world can only hold so many poets
Woefully claiming Bukowski as their inspiration
Worshiping a habitual womanizer & drunk
Answering questions with little to no imagination
I’m doing my best to fill up the lines & empty spaces
With these ink splotches spreading upon the page
Distinct notions of what I believe to be right
But I’m only displaying the curmudgeon side of my age
Shove off from those heroes & clip art stick figures
We need fresh voices with an authentic feel
No more grave-robbing stale words & artifacts
We need to release the future & embrace what’s real
I’ve The Heart Of A Poet
I’ve the heart of a poet
In a technician’s body
When I’m not up to specs
This society gets haughty
I wish to see hope & beauty
Expectations of a cyborg soul
Art doesn’t follow schematics
Floundering in this incompatible role
Suburban Arcades & Record Stores
Suburban arcades & record stores
Love notes left jammed in the teletype
Ancient technologies lost to whims of time
Sacrilege of consuming before it’s ripe
Littered by dreams of public-school poets
Falling to the feminine side of healing
Whose obedience to authority lingers
But only the lonely are rhymin’ & stealin’
Our literary antihero catching the cliff notes
A repressed childhood is still better by half
Trying to make up for that deleted time
But you can’t get far by writing on decaf
Standing with arms braced to the wind
Needing antiquity to know how we perform
Rolling empty dice against our loaded fates
Summer on the coast ensures the storm
Where Are The Heroes For Our Own Time
Where are the heroes for our own time
The poets & warriors to lead the charge
I’m not the effigy of your incompetent apathy
Merely the pirate of record, by & large
Who will join me among these ranks
To beat back the mind-numbing attitudes
To hell with society & its reality television
Taking my crew to more temperate latitudes
As The World Continues To Burn
As the world continues to burn
There’s a lot we’re going to miss
Even still, thou shall support the arts
& grant thy poet a kiss
Poseurs, Pacifists & Poets Reek
Poseurs, pacifists & poets reek
Sitting high on a lifeguard shack
Nighttime cloaked down upon us
Words in darkness never taken back
Ocean waves break the silence tonight
Only our thoughts to be heard otherwise
Isolation not what you thought it’d be
Tearing out your incessant broken eyes
Midnight sounds to be held on tight
A swim where you can never return
A fatigue to be felt deep down
Love exposed to moonlight will forever burn
Empty Wine Bottles Clink; Devoid Of All Inspiration
Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration
But that’s not the way you remembered they bled
Choosing the perfect wording for posterity
A trembling shadow of what the poets once said
We once set out to create a fresh universe
But that’s not the way I can any longer think
Falling in love with strange, beautiful women
The source & reason for all the dedicated ink
Our souls entwined in deliberate communion
But that’s not the way that I came to be lost
Specific writings to engrave our cosmic lust
Forever entombed within this highland frost
Captain Q 