The Magic Of The Holidays Still Gets To Me

Photo by Any Lane on Pexels.com

 

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

It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn
With evening’s festivities going awry
I scrawled out all I could remember
Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy

Slight images of a lovely form
Olfactory sparks upon my brain
Sketching the party’s guest list
But no new faces could remain

Racking my skull for a proper memory
Writing down every & each detail
Compiling a list to rediscover
I’m trying to think, but it’s to no avail

A faceless gown with affectionate gloves
Somehow my mind is able to recall
Cognitive fragments begin to linger
Clouded out by last night’s alcohol

Scenes slowly begin to return
I believe we’re out on the dance floor
An embrace of smoldering desire
Yet I couldn’t figure out any more

Scraps of notes spread before me
No identity to place upon the truth
Scant reason to be shy in my search
Basking in honesty of my lapsed youth

Cobwebs have been sparsely lifted
Won’t think of her in the past tense
Her ghostly touch encourages me yet
We shall meet again, I firmly sense

To hold her with determined spirit
Seems fantastical at this sad rate
Yet she’s left fingerprints upon me
Remaining until I succumb to my fate

The Carcasses Of Inspiration

girl-2888917_1920.jpg

 

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

Image by TastyCinnamonn from Pixabay

 

I’m Working On A Deliberate Sound

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’m working on a deliberate sound
Tracking a feeling I’ve never found

Filtering & distilling a final abstract
Like passion was some sort of artifact

They’re still searching for their good luck
Let us dance holes in our old school Chucks

No need to worry about their errant thoughts
Let me strip naked – for I’m kinda hot

With the beat down to your toes
Secrets of my soul, I’ll cautiously expose

No Matter How Old I Become

Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Ahmet Polat on Pexels.com

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

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 

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

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

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

Trying To Conjure The Ghost

Photo by mohamed abdelghaffar on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

Word By Structured Word

Photo by Dziana Hasanbekava on Pexels.com

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

Lost In A Deteriorating Moment

Photo by Brady Knoll on Pexels.com

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