Another Tepid Morning, Waiting Silently

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Another tepid morning, waiting silently
Dawn yet to break, but my head feels that way
These dog days lapse like a bit of purgatory
Standing before St. Patrick with nothing to say

Teetering & more than slightly confused
Checking my watch; praying its not too late
Did my heart stop? How did I go so astray
Jolted back- the Almighty’s nectar begins to percolate

The Drippings Of My Mind

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The drippings of my mind
The office, a soul in paper mâché
Books & notes of imagination
A collection of stories we played

It’s a subtle knowledge herein
Years of experience slightly compressed
Nicks, faults & scars smoothed over
Though I remain unimpressed

Scratching away at this drivel
Nothing created in which to be content
Scrambling for fresh ideas
At this pace, I’ll never relent

Evading Their Ongoing Tragedies

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Evading their ongoing tragedies
Forty summers spent down in the dirt
Withstanding the weight of apocalypse
Emerging; though slightly less overt
Blast furnace of the afternoon sun
Dali walking barefoot on Tampa’s shores
Pale riders within unabsorbed light
Embracing purity through perception’s doors
The paint of our secret love notes
But can only be read through the keyhole
Shying away from all public renditions
Her passionate words left imprinted on my soul

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 were 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 passed 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