Small movements while sorting absent thought
Surrealist painting hanging over the bedframe
Remaining warm with past subscriptions of the Dial
Shunning the past, but somehow still the same
I cannot make myself extroverted
I’ve never been a joiner; not very verbose
An overactive imagination & searching mind
Yet, outwardly I appear sullen & morose
I’m trying to crawl out of my own way
I’ve been a misogynist & a cynic; it’s all in the file
Shedding the weight of pessimistic sin
Yet some days I still wear a curmudgeon’s smile
Feeling out of sorts on a Spring afternoon Broken teeth on the cog / an unbalanced wheel Blinking to bring the world back into focus Society commingling with that natural world Searching to absorb any thought I can feel I try to smile; they said I’d be better soon
Photo by Willian Justen de Vasconcellos on Pexels.com
Waking up with a distracted mind Aftershocks from a week on the grind Trying to find value before the end of life’s lease Notes on the venerable self & a lyrical muse to find
Walking up the cold steps of Old Main A place to encounter books out of the rain An affinity for the ones with the creases A shared notion of binding pain
Wondering what fresh barriers to get through But, I’m not here to explain anything to you I’m here to love you as we search for peace That our story & passion continue their rendezvous
We used to know the truth The fundamentals of our lives Misplaced inspiration in youth We, the lost children, who survived
Abandoned by artists searching for gold Forgetting the dream of accepting yourself Never admitting we’ve grown this old Rejection of impending imperial wealth
Fuck your republicans & democrats Those who sold the vision with betrayal Insensitive bastards of a Cheshire Cat Unsteady appeasement & divided we fail
The magic of the Holidays still gets to me You’ll find me wiping my tears with a sleeve I’m not ashamed to outwardly proclaim it I still believe
These days I walk the streets with childlike innocence Searching for anything with the Christmas spirit But I find most of the world has become Scrooge A sad truth & many of you don’t wanna hear it
But I know we can be better than this All of us can always return back here To the love & magic of the Holidays Let me be the first to pour you a cup of cheer
The carcasses of inspiration
Wine glasses with Burgundy residue
Speaking to late nights & early mornings
Scribbles in the margin on the follow through
Feeling parched as I wake
Noticing your lipstick stains
Upon the rim of the glass
Reminding me of the dreams that remain
Bleary eyed, drinking the coffee grounds
Searching for a fate within the dregs
Fumbling over these typewriter keys
Lightheaded when I see your naked legs
Your smile is a distraction
But you pop a button & then one more
I’m at your complete mercy
Once the nightgown hits the floor
Standing naked In the front window in all my glory Watching cars pass by in their haste Hands on my hips – I am the Pan Maybe not like your bedtime story Searching for the beauty they tend to waste
OMG! I’m getting old
I’m actively searching
For the edited version
Methodically perching
Watching their content
Preserving young minds
Cultivating the innocence
For you can never rewind
No matter how old I become I’m still searching; I’m still seeking Obtaining considerable sums With any passion, go ahead & start peeking
I’m not one to judge an attitude I can be sinful so I won’t go there I’m no Christian Grey, but I’m no prude If you come unannounced, you’ll find me rather bare
I’m out here trying my best to contribute
But in the end, you drank me dry
Never thought this life would be a crapshoot
I said forever. It wasn’t meant to be a lie
Each day I feel your eyes searching for flaws
Things aren’t right, this is no way to live
Even with love, there’s a line we must draw
For now I’ve got nothing left to give
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
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
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
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
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
Treading lightly on the soft highway Searching onward for the Earthbound divinity Through the desert with the primal scream Broken decibels ring out, yet amount to infinity
Silver pistol tucked in drawer of hosiery Known to man only by a chintzy nom de plume I always preferred a thick bottomed almanac Slowed, but we have big energy to exhume
Dawn rises, yet the Truth still silently sleeps Looking for prophets in the glittering sun Too bright for our modern, mortal myopia Be still; be patient as time is not yet overrun
Transitional glories of the forlorn Where do we begin to find solace Ancient cries of those forgiven Trading a reckoning for eternal bliss
Standing high on a sailor’s mount Searching for souls in which to confide A bounty shall be easily & surely lost Yet remaining steadfast with the coming tide
Word by structured word Searching for concrete textuality She dropped her handkerchief coyly Never again to forget her sexuality
Her head thrown back in a laugh What makes her heart quicken its beat I’m pacing – racking my distracted brain Inspired to write, I hasten to take a seat
I’m sitting here morose Reading pages & thumbing my nose Bored by the status quo Breaking off from the path we chose I’m searching for a worthy woman To take by the waist & forever dance Who desires to explore love & live by the seat of her underpants
Looking for a tepid note
Passion hinted in the scrawl
Something lost that night
When we last lovingly balled
One eye never shuts now
Always searching for you
No dreams to rile or navigate
I’m wandering without a clue
You think you need
Everything polished and packaged
Nary a wisp nor a stray note to linger
Jealousy breeds contempt
Searching for digital praise
But perfection is a myth
A trick played upon us by lesser Devils
Headed downtown for the literary type Searching for the scribes of our weary day To heal my heart with words that matter I’ve tried, but I don’t see any other way
Falling stars may not mean much to you But I’m here without any expectation or hope Where do we find our reasons for love Even we can kill our dreams, given enough rope
Lost in a deteriorating moment What more can we do to be free Close our eyes to the darkness Tiptoeing quietly, down to the sea Searching franticly for the answer But the obvious truth is often a ghost False memories are unruly traipses Inclinations leading me, down the coast Is there a way to be clean again To bathe in the ocean’s gentle roar Hope against hope; possibly a way To find sunshine that might restore
Searching for unique approaches I want the proper words so I don’t gush You’ve heard it all before I’m sure Honing my tactics to make you certainly blush
Aviation exhaust & diesel fumes Hands, face & soul; covered in grime Expectations placed firmly I’ll relax when we have the time Wandering this lonely vessel Before passageway lights go red Slowly searching these oceans When I’d rather be with you instead
Captain Q 