The Blazing Summer Sun

The blazing summer sun
Attacking my pigment
White thighs
Gonna need aloe vera treatment

Tender pink meat exposed
Another bout of the Irish curse
Naked flesh so easily burnt
Need to be saved by a smokin’ hot nurse

Can’t speak like that in 2022
I assure you, I truly understand
But my perverted tendencies
The truth remains; always the dirty old man

Drinking Black Coffee Out Of Delta Cups

Drinking black coffee out of Delta cups
The cheap seats listening to Empire Burlesque
Mixed metaphors crawling in the night
Still pondering why a raven is like a writing desk

Dislodged tea parties & cries of Nevermore
The world swiftly swirling all around me
Reducing myself into my words
Hiding now within punctuation & necessity

Unsure of our place in time
Triangulations are stretch marks on the soul
Society wants me to be all shiny
But more often than not, I’m tired & dull

Where do we find our inspirations
The formulations upon our existence
Personalities discarded to the rubbish pile
Pushing us further away within time & distance

Seeking A Spiritual Remedy

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Seeking a spiritual remedy
For my soul isn’t quite whole
Burnt out & emotionally drained
Tea cup’s empty & I’m no longer in control

Midcentury motif & I’m peeling paint
Shrinking violets & closing in walls
Pushing back against our growing pains
Energy to create, but my life remains a free fall

Manicured City Walls

 

Manicured city walls
Stomping through summer puddles
Curiosities of a finer life
Scorching rays, can’t help but befuddle


Recoiling to the chaffy shade
Searching for the talisman of the storm
Knowing we’re in for a futile calm
Who could’ve predicted it’d be this warm


But we keep on pushing through
Wicking precipitation from her summer gown
Effort to remain a head above
A damn shame if we perish & drown

Image by Terri Cnudde from Pixabay 

Finding Refuge In My Dreams

Finding refuge in my dreams
Traipsing through Baudelaire’s flowers
I sing a silent dirge to my soul
Tracing her petals within Summer’s shower


Caught in the currents of missteps
Former words no longer voiced
Lightness of a delicate vision
We heard the morning’s rain rejoice


Politely declining a dreadful umbrella
Walking out, always been man enough to weep
Soaked; tears all the way through
Drowning; maybe now the sunset will let me sleep

Finding The Energy To Jump Up

 

Finding the energy to jump up
To start the day in the sunshine
Collecting smiles from fresh faces
& always returning to the love that’s mine


Pouring another coffee to revive my soul
The blacker the better; deeper than the sea
Knowing secrets which youth will always deny
That happiness is real & it’s forever free


Nonsense & miscalculations they always spew
For they see glitter & everything they never tried
But experience will tell you simple is better
& anything worth fighting for is kept on the inside

 

Image by Alexander Belyaev from Pixabay

Finding The Sunshine

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Finding the sunshine
Feeling the glorious heat
Remembering the time
Our lonely lips did meet


Saving me from despair
A slow march to the sea
Loosening of our tongues
Another chance to be free


Getting our bodies outside
A good stretch in open air
I love your everything, but
You’re best when you’re bare

Stretching Up & Yawning

Stretching up & yawning
A lazy morning not to compete
My mind has been overloaded
Time for those files to delete

Our souls are priceless
So why do we always sell, sell, sell
This morning I’m choosing to dwell within
& the secrets I find I’ll never tell

A Finger To My Lips

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A finger to my lips
Fixated on your secrets encased
Knowing the enchanting stories
You’re upon what fairytales are based

Remaining silent with restraint
For that is your required desire
Locked into your heavenly eyes
Nothing greater than stoking your primal fire

I’m Trying To Listen To Your Body

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I’m trying to listen to your body
Trying to feel my way to your heart
I’m looking to recover my innocence
That which I lost from the start

I’m decidedly envious of your hands
For they always remain with you
Forever within reach of your flesh
When I must bow & bid thee adieu

I’m continuously jealous of your locket
& the home it has been given to rest
The natural glories akin to Heaven
God alone could bestow such a treasured chest

Taking Time To Reside In Detail

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Taking time to reside in detail
Coaxing ghosts off the Sunshine Coast
A temper & a crooked smile
The truth when we needed it most

Knowing differences of our secrets
Diligent with passing the changes
I’m fluid in these manipulations
But for her I am, keeping me strange

Reading cracked-spine paperbacks
Wandering by; gently grabbing her waist
Creating space & sending archaic signals
Standing proud, knowing silence accustomed to taste

Stretching Yoga To Hello Nasty

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Stretching yoga to Hello Nasty
Bending this body in awkward positions
Head bobs & an elderly b-boy stance
Personal history leads me to contrition

Doc says my ticker isn’t what it once was
My mind is young, but I’m not at my peak
Slowly degrading upon each sunrise
Not quite old, yet bordering on antique

Running Headlong Into The Woods

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Running headlong into the woods
With your meaningless tropes
Escaping any notion of your gaze
Slipping confinement & your stubborn hope

Never wished to be dubbed “wild”
At least not in your repetitive sense
Feeling numb to your expectations
Not remaining to hear your bland defense

Each step leads me further on my trek
Compounding the rules I unwittingly defied
Down the trail & away from your excuses
I didn’t listen, but I’m sure it’s all justified

Timid Changes To The Way We Survive

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Timid changes to the way we survive
Ducking our heads when the water finally rises
Perpetual fatigue ponders if we’re still alive
Each heartbeat wrapped within fervent surprises

Another day emerges from the absence of light
This mug of swill – my only source of heat
Creaking past the endless repetition of night
Punch drunk, but still standing; never admitting defeat

The Impossibilities Of Transcribing The Heart

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The impossibilities of transcribing the heart
Finding the usual tricks do less than impress
Flustered; tripping over language
Like when you see Summer’s first sundress

Yet we still have to exist in nature
Bodies moving slowly as the sun rises
Love’s hibernation deliberately stretched
The disguises that passion often emphasizes

Cautiously keeping patience in this heat
As the mercury continuously expands
Rushing to the shore to discover relief
Risking the mirage & being burnt by the sand

On The Shores Of Ol’ Patagonia

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On the shores of Ol’ Patagonia
While the citizens did sleep
Youthful fear of affection
Yet into the woods, they silently creep

Don’t let on how you feel
For you might get what you want
The pain of admitting you care
& perchance it might forever haunt

The burden of carrying embarrassment
& possibly feeling regret this long
Thy youth’s clear true love
But hindsight tells me I was wrong

For I wasn’t brave enough to trust
Too busy being incorrect by name
Fear welling into my soul
But I loved her all the same

It’s not fair to bring up old times
Immaturity & self-reject are not a virtue
I don’t deserve her thoughts nor sentiments
In the end, never good enough for you

Still thinking of what might’ve been
Or an excuse to freshly misbehave
Angst & teenaged awkwardness
Take a shot & take it all to my grave

The Gentle Fog Of Last Night’s Revelry

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The gentle fog of last night’s revelry
Walking the streets before the sun
Overcorrecting the crooked events
Getting myself right before the day’s begun

Dreamscapes fading in these early hours
Scars to tell tales of an alternate narrative
Truth impedes the recital of our union
Clinging to our bodies not always so imperative

Setting the scene amidst several libations
Resulting in sloppy notes from the underground
These aren’t mundane epitaphs from stone
Rather just trinkets for creation to remain unbound

How Do We Leave The Living?

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How do we leave the living?
Thoughts on life & what’s left undone
Trampled petals & forgotten scars
Knowing the sun cannot be outrun 

How will we be remembered?
Comforted; knowing Jesus saves
Settle into being a compassionate soul
For we all end up wallowing in the grave

Brushing The Record

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Brushing the record as it goes ‘round
Morning comes faster when you can’t sleep
Sipping the tepid coffee down to the grounds
Delirious; mind wandering depths so deep

Trying to move your body; needing a gentle stretch
What more to be done when you can’t think
Misinterpreting grumpiness for ravings of a wretch
Settle down; give me a moment for another drink

Wish Goodbye To Frumpy Politicians

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Wish goodbye to frumpy politicians
& their senile glances
Robber baron approach to public service
After we gave them too many chances

I don’t care for your foreign correspondents
Time to stay home & let the meek be the victors
War machines don’t benefit those who march
Deceit & impropriety measured upon the Richter’s

I don’t understand disdain for fellow humans
I don’t care if you worship in a synagogue or under a steeple
In the end, we’re all God’s children
Here on Earth, we must remember it’s We The People

I Know Exactly What I Want

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I know exactly what I want
She tells me I’m a lurid temptation
But she eagerly kisses me back
We’re creating a whole new sensation

The only lover my forever will ever know
Doesn’t matter if you can’t understand
Together, we’re damn near perfect
& she sure feels good in my hands

No Longer Interested

No longer interested
Tell them mermaids I’m through
Adventure doesn’t beckon
My sea legs won’t follow you

I’m too old for folly
Here, I must bid you so long
Fair winds & all that
Can’t remain within earshot of the siren’s song

Jesus Was A Rouge Agent

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Jesus was a rouge agent
Calling out institutions woefully unjust
Up-ending currents & the status quo
Powers that be & reigning corporate trusts

Holding fast in the face of arbitrary traditions
We won’t look to long at your offbeat proclivities
Unnerved authenticity & outspoken truth
But they’ll chalk it up as additional incivility

Looking again to God, but knowing She won’t talk
Red-lettered honesty; realism against expectation
Unvarnished tales of the meekest souls
Rapt against our most quietly brave ministrations

The Root Of Most Of Our Evils

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Men are the root of most of our evils
Blatantly sucking out the formidable joys
Loud & egotistically neutering themselves
They can’t help but systematically destroy

Yet, we’re told of the biblical herrings
But we must reject any & all hate
In the face of most adversities
We still have women who manage to create

I’m The Footnote To Your Memory

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I’m the footnote to your memory
Everyone will remember how you touched their soul
I’m just the quiet guy in the background
Working hard to help make your vision whole

I’m not the one to be seen nor heard
But to fade away when they extinguish the lights
Forgotten once the dream falls to recess
Sealed once we find our departing flights

I never wished to distract from you
I humbly serve your silent grace
No aim to conjure something more
Merely to bask in beautiful refraction of your face

They Don’t Have Men

They don’t have men
Down at the newspaper anymore
Dusty ages disagree
They’ve forever closed the door

They’re hiding the truth
In the time of an information superhighway
Where they locked away Dignity
They’re not telling, they won’t say

We’re on our own out here alone
You think we’re lost & have much to fear
Stranded under this desert sky
Be still thy soul, for I was born out here

Hiding Under The Guise Of Tradition

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Hiding under the guise of tradition
A small man standing atop a pagan tower
Embracing ancient laws full of flaws
From which you exert all your immoral power

In a reversal & dissent from my juvenile thought
I dismiss such thought as stale as Babylon
There’s no place in a progressive society
For mindsets as negative as an electron

I’ve learned a lot in my time here on Earth
Now I know what gets her hotter than Wasabi
It’s as simple as treating women as equals
Instead of deepthroating the code of Hammurabi

Surrounding Myself With Ancient Friends

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Surrounding myself with ancient friends
Wisdom & experiences laid upon my shelf
Bare for all to quietly consume
Providing a chance for a better version of self

Absorbing past lives without pause
Silhouettes of women from long ago
Angst from existential rights in time
Visions of dreams I wish to forgo

These books are mere placeholders
For the contents of my heart upon hardwood
Gentle reminders of our former intellect
& the hope we might return to being good

I’m Trying To Live The Good Life

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I’m trying to live the good life
Exposing my heart, no matter how raw
No need to hide how I’m feeling
Coaxing compassion, so the world might thaw

Standing upright in spite of society
A little shook, but I’m still alive
Move past their hatred & negativity
Within the scope of kindness we’ll thrive

Don’t Look Her In The Eye

 

Don’t look her in the eye
For it might tip your move
Just a simple guy
With nothing to prove
She wants nothing from you
& your humble ways
Society envies her
Stack that against the strays
Don’t show her any interest
& she’ll question her worth
Twisting this back on you
Like you’re the last man on earth
Keep to yourself
Don’t be any more than polite
She’ll come calling
With a need for you to quench her plight

It Is Not A Sin

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It is not a sin, no matter what they say
For love triumph over all — beyond how we explain
For truth is greater than words
Thus loyalty & devotion shall forever remain

I’m not worried what the preacher says
For he doesn’t understand our match
Too ancient to grasp our harmonization
He has his own itch he can’t scratch

All that matters is how we feel inside
True love is not a notion they can reject
Our bodies & souls eternally intertwined
Upon a higher calling our passion connects

You Don’t See Me

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You don’t see me when you look my way
Like a ghost – I just don’t seem to appear
Faded into the background of life
Unable to compete with all you hold dear

My kind smile & open arms aren’t a reality
Merely static in your fashion-conscious day
I’m over here trying to catch your eye
Yet my shadow is not even in your way

What more can I do to attract you

The uncool of America
Not enough flash
Eagerly & quietly industrious
But we’re still short on cash

You’re out here ridin’ high on your horse
I’m down here with my heart broken
You’re clearly oblivious to my existence
I wonder if you’ll ever be woken

There’s Magic In Knowing The Soul

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There’s magic in knowing the soul
                                      you cannot live without
Is more precious than anything in front of you
The inability to cease from a scream or shout

The seas have parted
Allowing visions to reach us within earshot
You can only see the beauty of a cherished soul
Neither are we perfect, but we’re all we’ve got

Translucence when we slumber
Taken away to the shores of our dreams
The impossible comfort of paradise
Allowing for beliefs to be more than they seem

Why Are We Out Here Struggling?

Why are we out here struggling
Working our asses off to make ends meet
Inflation keeps on rising
Can only afford to walk down the street

Searching for the righteous path
So I won’t hinder my sisters & brothers
Don’t want to dislodge Oliver’s bowl
Please Mr. President, may I have another?

But he’s in the back, fiddling slowly
Inhaling the fumes from foreign petroleum
While the value of the dollar mmm drops
Loose strings dangle, but he’s not controlling ‘em

Ready to tax any of the alms we might receive
Taking our currency without any thanks
Not looked upon as human beings
Merely a vote they use as their personal piggybanks

I Want To Dance With You

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I want to dance with you
But I only have two left feet
I want to grasp you tightly
Hoping for our lips to meet

I wish to serenade you
But I cannot carry a tune
My words falter & flutter
With feeble hopes to croon

I’m not good enough
To fake or impress you much
But I’ll love you forever
With every word & every touch

The World Can Only Hold So Many Poets

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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

The Passing Of Time Is A Mixed Blessing

St.Albans Cathedral – Tomb of Saint Alban by Martin Addison is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

The passing of time is a mixed blessing
Tapping your foot with your vision blurred
Doing our best, but remaining guilty
Still searching for a way to be cured

Wrapping wrists around the tarnished rosary
Youthful dreams faded from when I wanted to be a saint
My heart still ticks, albeit a little weaker
Remembering those days, but the voices now faint

Perfection Laid Out On Satin Sheets

Perfection laid out on satin sheets
Beauty dripping away piece by piece
Every dream slipped right through
Life & loss masked by laughing creases

He said you were everything he desired
Burning deep in his soul, but you refused
Moving too fast to stop & notice him
Yet you cry foul, saying you were abused

The sun rises no matter who is pained
Recall broken hearts when you’re the cause
Plump out your pretty pink lips
In the quiet of night, please retract your claws
Calm thyself, you know your own heart
Time to realize you’re the fatal flaw

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’m Not Anywhere Near Perfect

I’m not anywhere near perfect
Contrary to your fictitious notions
Examining me through a skewed lens
Though I’ve been cleansed by the ocean

I’m not what you think you want
Flawed in all the wrong places
Underlining fragility & a fractured soul
But you’re still focused on the pretty faces

I can’t explain all the improper deviations
I’m not what you’ve wished you might discover
You’ve transcribed me into a possibility
But I’m already tethered to my perpetual lover

Don’t sacrifice your dreams
For what probably won’t ever be
Hold tight to your illusions
For only then can life set you free

Working On This Beach Bod

Working on this beach bod
Lived my whole life up in my head
Trying to become something lovable
Society left me mostly ignored instead

Attempts to create an unique existence
Purging the dreadful; want something more
An authentic soul bent on sincerity
Giving you my all, but you’d rather have Thor

I can’t be anything that I’m not
I’m lifting weight, going for a run
Never listen to what a fool transcends
Getting old is not any fun

The Dispassionate Sunshine Emerges

The dispassionate sunshine emerges
Calling out my dulled & weary name
Feeling downtrodden so early in the morn
Slowly licked by the sun’s eternal flame

Stretching as I rise from my sheets
Needing reservoirs of coffee in times like this
Stark forms in prospective movement
Daylight meets love’s surefire kiss

Searching Cavernous Souls

Searching cavernous souls
Racking what I might believe
Splitting hairs of fragrant
Ideas wandering down my sleeve

But I’m not more righteous
Than the boys down on the beat
I’m flawed, sensitive – prone to anger
Stuck in a commuting rut; weakly on repeat

There’s quiet secret I might contain
Love & passion bubbling just beneath my skin
I think in poetry, but you desire a hero
Can’t compete with expectations; our mutual chagrin

Running My Fingers Upon The Smooth Surface

Running my fingers upon the smooth surface
Keeping them always against the grain
I know my way through the Redwoods
They’re my protection against the dark stains

Born in the high desert among the cacti
Faint echoes from mission bells of yore
Great things come from fools with faith
Misguided souls remain thirsty for more

Stubborn & obstinate as hardwood
Needing my love to keep from being truculent
Even though our touch doesn’t always soften conditions
Nevertheless, she is still my favorite succulent

Weight Of The World

Weight of the world
Falling on my shoulders
Rising early to attack the day
Another coffee – going to need to grow bolder

The stress that defines life
The mess that we’ve made
Perception fades to black
Succumbed to the frustrations we’ve displayed

Sympathetic to Atlas’ condemnation
Understanding his modern fate
Premonition this load might explode
Knowing somehow I’ll eventually drop this weight

A Cup Of Coffee Sounds Mighty Nice

A cup of coffee sounds mighty nice
Talking away hours in the sun
Warmth after this long cold winter
Experiences overall count as one

Coming times to start all over
No need to hesitate or soften your walk
Forced feelings fall a little short
Take time & measure when you talk

A friend is a friend forever
But be weary as not to injure
Broken hearts never quite heal
Through a loving soul will always endure

Simple Words Resembling A Memory

 

Simple words resembling a memory
Your mind fallen into disrepair
Unable to recall her by name
We were infamous, kinda debonair


Forgotten all those sudden steps
The dramatic part of the birthright
Taking intimate reasons to be
Reality hitting hard in hindsight


Knowing where she was needed
Removed from the precise location
Often life wasn’t part of the plan
Though beauty found in the motivation

Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay 

Waking Early Before The Morning



Waking early before the morning
Monitoring the world, as I sip my achromatic brew
The front window, my porthole to beyond
From this security, I decipher what is true

I try to formulate tangible creations
Converting inspiration into mere words
Observations from my suburban perch
Sharing stories with Poe’s bleak-hued bird

Writing down the secrets she might share
Enlivening my dreams on this quiet block
Churning thoughts into hopeful spools
In which might allow my mind to dynamically unlock

A Woman Of Interest

A woman of interest
But she couldn’t comprehend
Dismissing my words
Like my missives of love could ever end

She called me droll & simple
But I yearned for her feminine pleasure
Astounding all expectation
The greatest of my Pirate treasure

Beyond all your common tales
This woman; finer than her humility
Beauty isn’t a rational equation
Though her logic doesn’t equal tranquility 

Disturbed Themes & Distant Thrombosis

Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis
A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea
Transcendental visitations
From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality

Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion
Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought
But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities
Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought

We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries
Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most
We maunder through our raging debates
Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts

Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve
Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query
Descending by the light of our candelabra
If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary

Dreams Of Pretty Dancing Girls

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Dreams of pretty dancing girls
Tartan skirts & gold buckles on their shoes
Legs draped in such fine stockings
High kicks, but treasure out of view

The fantasy of a joyous party
Spirited music playing a bit loud
Fiddles & bagpipes; what a scene
You pulled me out of the dense crowd

Beauty of drinking black beer all day
My stature begins to slightly tilt
You quietly asked me for a light
But there’s no pockets in this kilt

Envisioning what the night might bring
Is it possible that you could be this real
Sharing a pint in a secluded corner
A second Guinness is considered a meal

Collecting Fragments Of Free Thought

Collecting fragments of free thought
The missing pieces of a discarded word
Unknown & forgotten loves in innerspace
Unfortunately time reduces us by a third

Intellectuals hunkered down – protecting wisdom
Throwing bones, sharpening knives & wit
Critical theories to counteract
The cultural elite reminding me I ain’t shit

But I continue down my solitary path
Creating worlds out of the persistently intangible
I return- baring all for artistic intent
But alas this vessel’s no Michelangelo

We’re Allowing The Modern World To Dwindle

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We’re allowing the modern world to dwindle

We’ve neglected love & now slowly it dies

Crashing back to from where it came

We’ve messed up this most recent of our tries

A fragmented society in this world of hate

Our streets filled with torch bearing vigilantes 

But I’m choosing compassion & joy

I’d rather chase you around in your scanties

I’m Not Worried What You Think Is Silly Or Weird

I’m not worried what you think is silly or weird
I’m not concerned with judgements nor opinionated chatter
The world exists outside any of my control
I refuse to change & become another useless natter


Let me continue on & be steadfast in being me
The strength of a persevering personality
Shining on with a decorous grin
Jaunting forth; shunning your beliefs in reality

Just Let Her Run

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Just let her run
Don’t be the one to impede
Get the hell out of her way
Respect will always supersede

You don’t have to understand
Try to support whatever she chooses
Be present in her life
& kiss away the inevitable bruises

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

I’m Doing My Best

I’m doing my best, can’t you see
Amidst the horrors of our modern day
The ghost stories rising in the mind
The times when you’re in your own way

You grab at your head in pain
The frustration of structured expectation
Pressures of their unintended demands
Prompting proclamations of demarcation

It’s Been A Long, Hard Ride

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Its been a long, hard ride
To get where we’ve found
Bumps & bruises are everywhere
Keeping our souls on solid ground


There’s a small humility
Hidden within the secrets of Spring rain
Heartache never fully goes away
But what made you take a Westbound train


There’s no escaping the pressures
But by embracing love we’ll be able to cope
Turn towards the hearts that beat for you
Open your eyes, know there’s always a semblance of hope

Picking Out Tunes From A Lost Childhood

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Picking out tunes from a lost childhood
Icons from an isolated life; memories fleeting
Can’t keep track of my overblown tragedies
My own imagination responsible for these beatings

My past is a weight, tugging at my fragile soul
Written missives, but she flew off to Ontario
Shunning my offerings for a comprehensive life
I speak of love, but she merely turns up the stereo

Trying To Conjure The Ghost

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She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire


I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind

Watching The Paper Soak Up Errant Coffee

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Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage

Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration

Let Me Get Out Into The World

Let me get out into the world
While everyone else is still in bed
Let me move these old bones
I need to get fresh air into my head

Too many stagnant mornings
With nothing to show for the exertion
Feeling low in my spirits
Like I’m a soul still prone to desertion

I need to discover a permanent solution
To rid my life of heartbreak & pain
I don’t want to struggle anymore
Results from my effort & not simply remain

Thought It To Be An Easy Read

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Thought it to be an easy read
Yet the words were hard to digest
Meaning dancing slowly in my mind
Subtly creeping past the singular rest

Retracing lines to navigate ritual
Where do we reform elegant words
Removed from obvious transparency
Heaped among the notorious & absurd

But we can still be returned to normal
Reassembled without any scars of the war
Truth absolved of the fictions we wrote
Back to the pages I quietly implore

The John Wayne Type

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I admit I’m not the John Wayne type
I’m not one who wants to fight
Though, I’m not afraid of confrontations
I’d just love rather love my woman by candlelight


I’m a sensitive soul
I’ve been called needy, immature & worse
I just want the time to write of my emotions
Creating a universe into which we’ll fully immerse

 

 

 

Doing It Wrong

You say I’m doing it wrong
I’m about to gavel you with my dong

I don’t need any instruction
You say I’m due for destruction

Fuck off with your prophecies
You’re not quite Socrates

Stop, these attempts are futile
I reject your whole kit & caboodle

You’re not the Lord, you have no domain
I am here and I shall always remain

Just an old poem that made me laugh. Hope You enjoyed it! (yes, that’s me on 2/18/97 according to the date stamp… my senior year!)

I Search For Hope In The Early Morning

I search for hope in the early morning
Trying to find truth before first light
Without the influence of assholes
Perpetually kept themselves in the right

This absurdity of life
Fallen into realms beyond our thought
But still we shine on for the future
This isn’t who we are; let us believe not

We can change the status of time
& act not out of debilitating fear
That we might find a way to be better
Cast out hate & return to being sincere

I Don’t Have Pretty Eyes To Attract

I don’t have pretty eyes to attract
Nor a beautiful body to distract
A middle aged, middle class white dude
with no street cred
With charm & gentlemanly conduct
instead
I’ll have to choose the proper words
To prevent from being misheard
Where did our youthful exuberance go
Closed off from a litany of feelings of truth
But I don’t want to be like them
Not worried about a bent halo or tarnished tiara
Angst of foregone conclusions
I want something of substance
Never tamed by society’s expectations
A slow, smoldering strangeness
Embracing the stature of being a little weird
Impervious to judgements of being bland
For through and through, I can only be me
Never standing for someone else’s brand
I hope to always be wild enough to be free

Knowing The Bottom Of The Depths

Knowing the bottom of the depths
Untold theories where passion lies
Encased all in a delicate French lace
The truth that logic & gravity defies

Earthbound creatures can’t be understood
It’s simply not in our fallible DNA
Attempted in conversational tones
But we’ve lost connection anyway

Trying to find a way back to the meaning
Reason doesn’t apply to moments like this
Disregard the pressures of our past
That we might create our own sustainable bliss

Image by Dayron Villaverde from Pixabay 

Surviving By The Bright Light of Day

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Surviving by the bright light of day
Pouring coffee directly into my weary eyes
Can’t sleep at night since I must remain alert
Anxious; trying to hide my soul’s invisible cries

Gathering my wits to merely successfully exist
Waiting for the other shoe to drop & Hell to begin
Tired of cowering away in forgotten silence
Appearing strong since no one sees the enemy within

Lighting The Wicks On A Rainy Day

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Lighting the wicks on a rainy day
Blowing the dust off the vinyl
Finding comfort in the subtle tones
& knowing these days aren’t final

Seeing those palm lined drives
Standing out in the mist
Reassuring my lonely soul
& remembering lips I wish were kissed

Her love hidden in the liner notes
Buzz words & other incantations
Knowing she’s my answer
& becoming my perfect temptation

The Freedom To Move Is Vastly Underrated

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The freedom to move is vastly underrated
The need to take refuge in the open air
Release yourself from these modern bonds
Get back out there if you still care

I reject their basic version of normalcy
Those rules don’t apply as formulated
Reality was never calibrated for us
Mere common folk to be granulated

Refusing to remain quiet is necessary
Return to nature – turn off that broadcast
Be elusive, for they’re coming for you
You’re necessary as long as you have a vote to cast

Rereading Orwell And Taking Notes

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Rereading Orwell and taking notes
Not going to be ruled nor romanced
By an adolescent philosophy
Anyone’s faulty & retched political stance

We need to think for ourselves again
Too many left for dead it seems
Generation of choreographed absurdity
& gathering the news by sharing memes

But I have faith we can regain our promise
By exposing kindness & compassion instead
It is possible to lead by inspiration
Instead of ruling by threats & dread

***
and another thing;
a note to those in power
we need to rename political parties
CSPAN is the lamest way to spend an hour

Finding Ourselves Locked In A Torrent

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Finding ourselves locked in a torrent
Quietly dreaming of a harder way
Searching for the proper inspiration
Perhaps I’ll have something intelligent to say

I’m just a local loser with unlimited potential
Most will note my life has been an utter waste
Mocked & forgotten since you dismiss my face
In retrospect- you pine for my notion once you got a taste

Break Free From All Your Interlocking Rules

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Break free from all your interlocking rules
Unsatisfactory way to start your day
Too fatigued to suffer gladly these fools
Waiting for a sunrise in an errant way

I’d rather return to my bed, closing my eyes
No other way to explain how I’m so damn tired
Can’t get my life together after all these tries
My number always called, but I’m feeling expired

What will it take for me to finally see
Time to stumble forward for that pot of coffee

Have Typewriter

Have typewriter

Not going to travel

This B is heavy

Besides;

I’ve seen the world

I’ve seen bombed out churches in Berlin

I’ve seen the beggars on Cathedral steps

I’ve seen disparity of wealth in Banana Republics

I’m going to stay home & remind my family

They’re worth more than all the forgotten empires around the globe. 

Riding The Cooler Winds Back East

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Riding the cooler winds back east
Someday my simple dreams will prevail
Spent too many nights frozen & cold
Once again lost, I know he’s on my trail

Speak to me, for I’ll know if you tell the truth
Look at me, so I’ll know we’ll make it through
This soul damaged in these distant years
Wanting to be pure & return back to you

I need to shine down a path for your life
I want to be an example for you as you grow
May you always have shelter to weather a storm
I contain a perfect love you’ll come to know

You don’t know it yet, but you’re going to save me
A lifetime of joy just waiting for us to find
Adventures & endless discoveries ours to share
A new life, released from that which binds

*written many moons ago before the birth of my first child

I’m Not Feeling Strong These Days

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I’m not feeling strong these days
With my soul in traction
Weakness seems to manifest itself
Sustaining a chain reaction

I’m not feeling invincible anymore
With my heart on the gallows block
Life can crush your spirit
While we’re busy serving the clock

I’m not feeling perfect, quite honestly
But I know there’s toughness somewhere
Upon a solid foundation I shall rise
With a firm grip on love & a fist in the air

Sitting At The Windowsill

Sitting at the windowsill
Fingers stained by my ink
Face red & tranquilly humbled
Cold & tumbled; too frozen to think


The nights are dropping temps
I’ll need to do everything to keep warm
Though I’m unwrapping each layer
Eagerly embracing your gracious form


Life is a fine chance to love you
Trading kisses as I adjust your weary crown
Telling stories of our younger days
& the magic that happened in a little Arizona town

Image by Lou Blazquez from Pixabay

I’m Tired Of Being So Dry

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I’m tired of being so dry
In need of an outlet to release my brain
Creativity gone; leaving me stagnant
Building into a wreck of anxiety & pain

My thoughts stunted by vapid feelings
Finding myself too tense, filled with stress
Needing to drink from restorative waters
Like those I found under her dress