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

You Give Up Your Voice

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You give up your voice
When you choose to take their hand
You sacrifice your honor
When you go joining their faceless band

You deem yourself unremarkable
Once they take away your vote
No longer choosing for yourself
Their drudging spirit grabs your throat

The hoard directs you how to think
& can make you recite all sorts of things
You deserve your time in Hell
When you hand them your own strings

I’m Too Old To Chase You

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I’m too old to chase you
Regardless of beauty, understood
Taking a step back to see if you wish to continue
For I never want you to walk away for good

Times are tough- its not easy to love forever
I can’t guess how you feel or what it will take
But silence leads to a sharpened sever
I wish to stop this inevitable heartbreak

I’m not naive enough to think things shiny & new
But my pulse is weak; unsure what it can go through

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

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

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

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

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

You Don’t Know Me

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You don’t know me
You’re thinking an intellectual heavyweight
You’re imagining prestigious scrolls
But I’m still the Pirate they love to hate


A dapper fellow with impeccable manners
A literary tongue that makes the ladies shout
But I’m really a boring guy
A mere freshman dropout

Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought

Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees

Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late

You pray to the spirits of procastrination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

Hot.

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Hot.
That’s all I can think about you
But I’ll restrain myself
Such notions simply won’t do

Lovely, gorgeous or beautiful
I choose to roll off my tongue
You deserve to be treated better
Your praises shall be sung

Meandering Down An Etched Path

Meandering down an etched path
With vines & foliage on all sides
The overgrowth keeps secrets locked
& provides the perfect place to hide

I know where I always wish to be
A forgotten realm; a place no one thinks to look
Reality, hatred & cruelty forever expunged
I’m safe here – alone in nature – me & a book

I Think You Have The Wrong Notion Of Me

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I think you have the wrong notion of me
I could be wrong, but it’s what I believe
I’m neither the saint nor the villain
In which your notions are trying to achieve

I’m not nearly as arrogant as I portray
That’s merely the manifestation of a fictional role
I know confidence is sexy & I’m trying my best
But I have doubts regarding the quality of the contents of my soul

The Winter Is Too Warm

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The winter is too warm
But it’s too cold for tanlines
The beach not quite deserted
But I think that’s just fine
I could use some freedom
But you’d just call that semantics
Splitting hairs when I’d rather
Be engaging you in some bedroom antics
You’d blush and slap my cheek
But that’s mere foreplay to me
I went kissing a little too low
That’s when you spilt your daiquiri

Rubbing Their Fingers Over The Stereo Knob

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Rubbing their fingers over the stereo knob
The frequencies distorted on the airwaves
Kings of the new world & thus apocalyptic
Searching for something more pragmatic to crave

These technocrats with no concept of reality
Tasking – without offering an alternate fate
Demanding citizens for homages to be digital
With no power to control – or else we attenuate

Words of peace have the chance to amplify
Even when we’re feeling out of time/out of sync
Don’t need their fiber optic lies to survive
A blind man loses all when forced to blink

Tapping into a passion without any circuits
Our transistors are live; we’re lovers thus discrete
There’s no stopping us when their signal’s weak
There’s nothing but fire & sparks when our wires meet

This life is forever altered now we’re here
Do not attempt to adjust the squelch
You’re listening to Radio Free America
Standing proud & robust like Raquel Welch

Frayed Cuff On Antique Khaki

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Frayed cuff on antique khaki
Knowing thy state of dress
I wasn’t as dapper as she was used to
Hoping she wouldn’t think any less

He wasn’t any better than a prig
Her dance card drawing sideways looks
Quietly, she enjoyed my wicked tongue
& the way we shared our crooked books

Shaking the dust off our neglected spines
Certain steps lead to an awkward courtship
But faith in the power of pristine passion
That’s when I met her puckered cherry lips

Empty Wine Bottles Clink; Devoid Of All Inspiration

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Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration
But that’s not the way you remembered they bled
Choosing the perfect wording for posterity
A trembling shadow of what the poets once said

We once set out to create a fresh universe
But that’s not the way I can any longer think
Falling in love with strange, beautiful women
The source & reason for all the dedicated ink

Our souls entwined in deliberate communion
But that’s not the way that I came to be lost
Specific writings to engrave our cosmic lust
Forever entombed within this highland frost

thinking nostalgic thoughts

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thinking nostalgic thoughts
on an empty stomach
rediscovering grunge tunes
stuck at home in a pandemic
remembering the pain of high school
couldn’t fit in anywhere
reliving dark moments
where it could’ve ended
remembering lost loves
& how warm they made you feel
but you know it wasn’t real
leaving you cold & alone
abandoned until life truly began.

I Want To Know The Secrets

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I want to know the secrets
The ones you have buried deep within
I want you to whisper your love
Kiss me so long they’ll think it’s a sin

Running away from sunsets & goodbyes
Feeling the lead of stained windowpanes
These houses don’t hold strained memories
Washed away in the softening of Winter’s rain

I’m freely exposed in these dimmer days
Wrap me with the sound of rigorous hymns
I listen, but don’t fathom your parlance
I can’t keep up with your acronyms

I Trace Your Lips

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I trace your lips with my finger
Such pouty perfection in this face
I want to devour you right here
But in public is not the proper place
So I whisper one word: “tonight”
& let you think upon that all day
You’ll stew & simmer & imagine
How all this love will be conveyed

I Didn’t Mean To Get Too Personal

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I didn’t mean to get too personal
I merely noticed your exposed slip
My thoughts took me to uncharted waters
Thinking of us – alone- a subtle skinny dip
An abandoned wedding gown crumpled
The satin too white against your lace
I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel
Though I could see the muted joy in your face
You kicked off your heels & removed your gloves
Walking too close you whispered ‘yes’ to my surprise
I loosened my tie before you took charge
I’ll never forget how you looked with your laughing eyes

With The Inmates Running The Asylum

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With the inmates running the asylum
The cavernous tunnels are cold & dank
It can be difficult to remember the faces
The ones who put you here, the ones to thank
But we’re not twiddling our thumbs at night
We’re sharpening our words for vengeful retort
You think we’re numbed & harmless fools
Our bunker: in the guise of a blanket fort

Just A Guy With A Pen

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I’m not an artist, just a guy with a pen
Upon a lonely night, I started to write
I jotted down some rhymes for me
Teen angst channeled into the light
I’ve never looked back to think
I just keep writing over the decades
I don’t edit my feelings nor judge you
Purely an attempt for the soul not to fade

Collecting Fresh-Faced Girls With Monogrammed Asses

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Collecting fresh faced girls with monogrammed asses
Spending the morning listening to the Blues
An old soul within that youthful mindframe
Toe tapping, blackout shades & misleading tattoos
I begin to think I’m the one lured
But all we have between us is coffee stained mug rings
Embrace the possibilities of the moment
Join in the beauty of desperate sorrow of BB King
This day is such a sunny tease
Through passion, we become another bedpost notch
A memory Today will keep for all posterity
As she makes me taste the glories of her vagazzeled crotch

I’m Not Your Reluctant Hero

 

I’m not your reluctant hero
I’m nothing along those lines
Don’t think so highly of a fool
With your lips crumbling into your wine
Please don’t raise me up to be much
I’m not what you see with your eyes
A figment of an imagination’s dream
I’m lost within these warm Florida skies