Sitting here at the end of the world
Running my fingers through the sand
Watching the weight of the waves
Finally time is a theory I can understand
Stripped down without societal guilt
Seeking answers down along the shore
Confused it took me all these years
Yet, that doesn’t mean there isn’t still more
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
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
Sitting back; waiting on the world
Knowing her beauty’s utmost brilliance
Never been more in love with the girl
Together we’re tectonic resilience
Immune to a power surge
I sit alone & quietly type
Not affected by technology
Refuse to be your modern gripe
I switched off my terrestrial radio
But I’ll still pound at these keys
I’m not cool or a trendy guy
I’m reserved, doing as I please
There’s never been an audience
Just a few genuine folks
Sharing myself sparingly
I’m better with these slow strokes
I’ll continue to conjure ideas
Preferring to use my typewriter
Nothing fancy; just a love of words
Old, but I can still pull an all nighter
A dancing, twirling girl
Caught up in the bedglow
Free from the concerns
A proper lady to surely know
Chamber chorus versus Jazz
She couldn’t guess where I’d be
That’s what kept us apart
Improvisational styles she couldn’t see
Cocktails in the early afternoon
She liked her whiskey neat
A traditional, proper beauty
But couldn’t meet when it came to the sheets
Striking poses within silhouettes
Admittedly swooning from my words
A wry smile & another sip
We sit naked, listening to ‘Trane & Bird
I’m trying to live free & clear
While you sit around watching C-Span
Glorifying the criminals on the Hill
I refuse, I say no, I say, “Damn The Man!”
Won’t sit idle, watching from the sidelines
Letting the Man throw away the key
Remaining passive in the Shadows
All because I have the improper pedigree
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
Textured mornings
Sitting around waiting on the French press
Remnants of dreams & pleas
Filtered through a truncated dress
Beneath lies details
Of scattered lace & bows
But in the end, emotion far outweighs my prose
Choosing certain words
With connotations to stir
The hearts of the audience
Cocked crow with pubic fur
Sitting uncomfortably – like whaa?
Where the hell is he going with this
Delusional in this rehabilitating fatigue
Longing for the peace that I miss
“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Captain Q 