Love Letters To Myself

Photo by Samuel Silitonga on Pexels.com

Love letters to myself
A hug written upon a notecard
Scribbles for no one else
Sometimes life is just too hard

Taking moment away from the herd
Break off from all that I know
Losing myself in nature’s glory
Words can slow the overflow

Breathe – just letting it happen
Soon, I’ll be able to take some more
Reflecting my small truths
It’s easier to recover upon the shore

I’m Seeking A Truth

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words
My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move
Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform
My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove

I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul
There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes
Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains
Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope

The Darkness Has Not Lifted

Photo by Ekaterina Mitkina on Pexels.com

The darkness has not lifted
But the voices are getting mean
A subtle slippage in the light
I’m going to need more caffeine

Perhaps some fresh air to heal
When the dreaming has soured
I spy the image in a night shift
The lone lady out at this hour

The gloom begins to recede
With this sweet widow on the block
My heart in rhythm with her words
As the gentle hands on the clock

There Are Answers In The Words

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

There are answers in the words
Take time to look between the manual scrawl
Feel your body physically push ideas
Deliberate reflection of perfection before the Fall

Hypnotized by the handwritten thought
The slow meditation; pen gripped without pain
Effortless release of mental blocks
To be proud of these scars, but they’re mere ink stains

Opposing Dialects Of The Same Depression

Photo by Admiral General M. u2b50u2b50u2b50u2b50u2b50 GodShepherdly 33277089* on Pexels.com

Opposing dialects of the same depression
Feeling callow when we don’t commiserate
Paperback blues of a notorious sort
You got paid, but that won’t always encapsulate

Strike out to find something foundational
Charms of something more eternal than gold
Words are hollow if not properly digested
Cling to this disjointed life, if you be so bold

Delayed Motion Of Her Hand

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Delayed motion of her hand
Lost in thought; unable to translate
The slippery notion of time
Within the energy of a tangible fate

Let us remain discrete in our words
She tries to focus as I obnoxiously flirt
Concentrating on writing proper forms
Caught her unaware as I reached up her skirt

Standing Wobbly-Legged

 

Standing wobbly-legged
Spread stance, with a mock salute
Whispering; describing her desires
Soon, I hope she won’t be so mute

Passion of an fantastical nature
Possibly seeming like it’s unreal
Motioning me to come forth
Promises of a love I can feel

Building to a palpable potency
A tangible form of bemused intrigue
Charmed to dizzying arousal
Winding to a whirlwind fatigue

With which note to thoroughly enchant
Steps so sure that time cannot lapse
A smirk; mouthing words to erupt
But knowing I’ll finally leave her unclasped

I Want To Write

Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels.com

I want to write
But I don’t have the words
So I watch the ink seep silently
I know you’re thinking I’m absurd

So many empty notebooks
To fill with small little doodles & swirls
Intimidated by the stark whiteness
I don’t know how to create lasting worlds

Pondering & delving into thought
Present in my feelings with offerings to burn
Slowly churning my fickle imagination
In the hopes a bit of creativity might return

Awake Early In The Naked, Teal Morning

Awake early in the naked, teal morning
Still wet from dancing in the rain
My subconscious kissing her femininity
But the memories remain love-stained

Her fingers gripping my shoulders
Our souls constantly trying to absorb
Soft, low moans quietly evident
I’m enchanted by her fleshy orbs

We’re exposed in the light of dawn
A realness that won’t be concealed
We have a glow of our own
No words exist, but a truth she can feel

Walking Down The Street On All Saints’ Day

dress-2542263_1920.jpg

Walking down the street on All Saints’ Day
Victrolas on display at the corner store
A flirtatious greeting with the local beauty
She always smiles, but never asks for more

You’ve created another aura within her
Casting her as red-blooded in your pulp fantasy
A polite lady with those vicious high heels
Mental interludes without consent, it seems to me

Take your dreams & exit stage left
You tried to court & failed, life’s not fair
Let a true gentleman whisper elegant words
She’ll open up her passion, exposing her silky pair

I Can Still Make Mature Women Blush

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

 

I can still make mature women blush
Knowing the proper placement of words
Using my tongue to enunciate firmly
The rhythm of recitement, she slowly purred

The fertile experience of rapturous joy
Pause a moment, so she won’t catch her death
Letting her pulse settle to reasonable levels
Returning to the living, joy in each & every breath

The bold blonde with big, bouncy curls
Much-maligned missionary souls
Falling in love was always my fatal flaw
Especially once I’ve relinquished control

This Is Life.

This is life. This is reality.
When the pretty words drip away
When the party’s over
You’ve still got to wake & face the day

Digital lovers lavish heaps of praise
Complimenting you on your magnificent blog
While you neglect the physical world
Always remember that pain & loneliness are analog

Another Day Of Cold Coffee & Inspirational Songs

Another day of cold coffee & inspirational songs
I’m trying to survive with all my might
I’m not looking to be acceptable
Merely wishing to cherish what’s in my sight
Ink smudges quietly upon my palms
Unsure of my words, failing with adequate prose
Years fall into decades, but still
I’m flailing; conjuring an incomplete rose
The muse sits rocking, mocking
She struts out of reach of what I believe
Taunting me to sell my soul in angst
So I cover my typewriter in a sheet of Celtic weave

I Can Use All The Proper Words

I can use all the proper words
When needed, I can even be discrete
Whispering the sauciest story you ever heard
My dear, because of you, I am complete


I tend to be modest, but our love is real
By your coy smile, I know I’m on the right track
Your fingers trace & slowly reveal
My God woman! You have the loveliest rack!

Drinking Black Coffee Out Of Delta Cups

Drinking black coffee out of Delta cups
The cheap seats listening to Empire Burlesque
Mixed metaphors crawling in the night
Still pondering why a raven is like a writing desk

Dislodged tea parties & cries of Nevermore
The world swiftly swirling all around me
Reducing myself into my words
Hiding now within punctuation & necessity

Unsure of our place in time
Triangulations are stretch marks on the soul
Society wants me to be all shiny
But more often than not, I’m tired & dull

Where do we find our inspirations
The formulations upon our existence
Personalities discarded to the rubbish pile
Pushing us further away within time & distance

Finding Refuge In My Dreams

Finding refuge in my dreams
Traipsing through Baudelaire’s flowers
I sing a silent dirge to my soul
Tracing her petals within Summer’s shower


Caught in the currents of missteps
Former words no longer voiced
Lightness of a delicate vision
We heard the morning’s rain rejoice


Politely declining a dreadful umbrella
Walking out, always been man enough to weep
Soaked; tears all the way through
Drowning; maybe now the sunset will let me sleep

It Is Not A Sin

Photo by Thau00eds Silva on Pexels.com

It is not a sin, no matter what they say
For love triumph over all — beyond how we explain
For truth is greater than words
Thus loyalty & devotion shall forever remain

I’m not worried what the preacher says
For he doesn’t understand our match
Too ancient to grasp our harmonization
He has his own itch he can’t scratch

All that matters is how we feel inside
True love is not a notion they can reject
Our bodies & souls eternally intertwined
Upon a higher calling our passion connects

I Want To Dance With You

Photo by Alyssa Swedick on Pexels.com

I want to dance with you
But I only have two left feet
I want to grasp you tightly
Hoping for our lips to meet

I wish to serenade you
But I cannot carry a tune
My words falter & flutter
With feeble hopes to croon

I’m not good enough
To fake or impress you much
But I’ll love you forever
With every word & every touch

The World Can Only Hold So Many Poets

Photo by Monstera on Pexels.com

The world can only hold so many poets
Woefully claiming Bukowski as their inspiration
Worshiping a habitual womanizer & drunk
Answering questions with little to no imagination

I’m doing my best to fill up the lines & empty spaces
With these ink splotches spreading upon the page
Distinct notions of what I believe to be right
But I’m only displaying the curmudgeon side of my age

Shove off from those heroes & clip art stick figures
We need fresh voices with an authentic feel
No more grave-robbing stale words & artifacts
We need to release the future & embrace what’s real

Simple Words Resembling A Memory

 

Simple words resembling a memory
Your mind fallen into disrepair
Unable to recall her by name
We were infamous, kinda debonair


Forgotten all those sudden steps
The dramatic part of the birthright
Taking intimate reasons to be
Reality hitting hard in hindsight


Knowing where she was needed
Removed from the precise location
Often life wasn’t part of the plan
Though beauty found in the motivation

Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay 

Waking Early Before The Morning



Waking early before the morning
Monitoring the world, as I sip my achromatic brew
The front window, my porthole to beyond
From this security, I decipher what is true

I try to formulate tangible creations
Converting inspiration into mere words
Observations from my suburban perch
Sharing stories with Poe’s bleak-hued bird

Writing down the secrets she might share
Enlivening my dreams on this quiet block
Churning thoughts into hopeful spools
In which might allow my mind to dynamically unlock

A Woman Of Interest

A woman of interest
But she couldn’t comprehend
Dismissing my words
Like my missives of love could ever end

She called me droll & simple
But I yearned for her feminine pleasure
Astounding all expectation
The greatest of my Pirate treasure

Beyond all your common tales
This woman; finer than her humility
Beauty isn’t a rational equation
Though her logic doesn’t equal tranquility 

Watching The Paper Soak Up Errant Coffee

Photo by Anastasia Ilina-Makarova on Pexels.com

Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage

Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration

Thought It To Be An Easy Read

Photo by u041eu043bu044cu0433u0430 u0412u043eu043bu043au043eu0432u0438u0446u043au0430u044f on Pexels.com

Thought it to be an easy read
Yet the words were hard to digest
Meaning dancing slowly in my mind
Subtly creeping past the singular rest

Retracing lines to navigate ritual
Where do we reform elegant words
Removed from obvious transparency
Heaped among the notorious & absurd

But we can still be returned to normal
Reassembled without any scars of the war
Truth absolved of the fictions we wrote
Back to the pages I quietly implore

I Don’t Have Pretty Eyes To Attract

I don’t have pretty eyes to attract
Nor a beautiful body to distract
A middle aged, middle class white dude
with no street cred
With charm & gentlemanly conduct
instead
I’ll have to choose the proper words
To prevent from being misheard
Where did our youthful exuberance go
Closed off from a litany of feelings of truth
But I don’t want to be like them
Not worried about a bent halo or tarnished tiara
Angst of foregone conclusions
I want something of substance
Never tamed by society’s expectations
A slow, smoldering strangeness
Embracing the stature of being a little weird
Impervious to judgements of being bland
For through and through, I can only be me
Never standing for someone else’s brand
I hope to always be wild enough to be free

& So I Taught Myself

Photo by ArtHouse Studio on Pexels.com

& so I taught myself
Digging deep into classical books
Borrowing from their bright words
Until some knowledge overtook


Then I broke free of their grip
Slicing my own path & charging off
I sit by the fire, gathering my wits
I block you out – you merely scoff


I don’t care for your opinion
You regurgitate falsehoods & lies
I’m running through the wilderness
& now I’m the Lord of the Flies

Falling In Love Every Morning

chair-1866784_1920.jpg

 

Falling in love every morning
Reminders of the Lord’s perfect grace
A partner in this shared existence
Let me look upon your slumbering face

Slipping from the warmth of our bed
To chronicle the inspiration found in the night
Regeneration of unbridled passion
Earnestly dedicating these words that I now write

Immune To A Power Surge

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

The Illustrious Words Of Hunter (the elder)

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

The illustrious words of Hunter (the elder)
We ante’d more than our parents’ share
Broken cups of mottled modeling clay
Abstinence leaving you lonely & bare

Chanting Yeats without a voice
A rye smile at the lively night’s end
Cocktail girls when only a wife will do
Looking to the heavens to make amends

Time is failing on a tractional level
Bleak mornings to come calling back
Needing to move without giving notice
Resurrection only possible with coffee this black

Let Us Survive These Dog Days

Photo by Darren Lawrence on Pexels.com

Let us survive these dog days
The warmth still rising up to a boil
I’d rather be walking down the beach
But I’m forced to relentlessly toil

I wish to be holding your hand
As we walk in the evening’s glow
Soft words filled with eternal promises
For your love is the last I’ll ever know

A Dancing, Twirling Girl

Photo by Bob Clark on Pexels.com

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

Unfettered and Unlined

Photo by Samson Katt on Pexels.com

Unfettered and unlined
Drinking coffee deep into the night
Unfiltered; seeing life as it truly is
Feeling raw, returning to my machine to write

I’m pulling the strings, creating fictional tales
A life breathing under these mechanical keys
Slowly coming to the surface
A birth in words, triumph in moment’s like these

Trembling Coins In My Pocket

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Trembling coins in my pocket
A disconnect in time; rapidly repulse
Our words twisted soon after spoken
Inferiority complex became our natural impulse

But we knew life could be far greater
If we could only escape our own fates
Get out of our own disturbed minds
& embrace the love that patiently awaits

Forgotten In The Ether

Photo by Soly Moses on Pexels.com

Forgotten in the ether
Against the stones on the shore
Fatigue hitting hard at sunrise
Before the day might restore

You cannot outlive a memory
Our fates left to a diminished chance
Bound to the sea by luck or force
Drifting silently with suspicious circumstance

Dog eared postcards & other totems
Words from home to quench the tide
Meandering scribbles in the margin
Dreading the prospect of another ride

I Can’t Explain

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

I can’t explain
I don’t have the frightful words
Just know I can still feel
Yet my notions contain the absurd

These nuisance actors linger
Youthful mistakes I always regret
The musty smell of a cracked spine
Odes & reams I can never forget

I Won’t Judge You

stool-963179_1920.jpg

I won’t judge you for your past
I don’t care how your body looks
Inward – we all contain equal souls
We can all absorb the beauty of books

Go read! Fitzgerald, Kerouac, Twain
Emerson, Rand, Tolstoy, Hemingway
Thoreau, Dostoyevsky, Neruda, Yeats
Great words are forever here to stay

It is solely up to you
To build up your literary wealth
But I will constantly judge you
For the contents of your bookshelf

Image by klimkin from Pixabay

Poets, Artists & Mischievous Folk

woman-792162_1920.jpg

Poets, artists & mischievous folk
Proclamations & unsorted semi-true theories
Stories of unfounded revolutions
Their propaganda always makes me a little leery

Taking creativity as an undisciplined religion
Allowing me to remain high on dopamine
Though I’ve never been one for public consumption
Hiding behind my words; staying forever unseen

Image by Karolina Grabowska from Pixabay

Poseurs, Pacifists & Poets Reek

pink-beach-1761410

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

What Do I Do With My Words

leave-1522005.jpg

What do I do with my words
How do I contain when they start to leak
Like the Little Dutch Boy
Who’s listening when I start to speak
But I can’t worry about the audience
I’ve got to keep playing my own tune
The steady groover with the proper notes
When it comes to our hearts, no one is immune

Watching Them March You Down The Hall

Photo by Anna Vedischeva on Pexels.com

Watching them march you down the hall
Empty auditoriums to drown out your words
Writing out rants my mouth will never recite
The world run not by the cool but angry nerds

Step away and log out of their data systems
We’ll send out love & peace in serial form
Never trusted anyone with such confidence
We’ll burn their egos to keep us warm

The Voices Come Calling

The voices come calling

Like shattered visitors in the night

Darkness expunged within thought

Auditioning words; trying to get it right

Vapid orations coming from the podium

Stacks of the wrong books & loose leaf notes

The dumbing down makes a tedious existence

But ideas are the traditional spark of an antidote

Transfiguring Lips Into Fabergé Petals

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com

Transfiguring lips into Fabergé petals
Feeling decadent painting the night sky
Let us rejoice with our illustrious words
Palpitating deliberately when bliss is nigh
These fanciful & bountiful thoughts of yonder
Possibly plentiful but not quite enough for us
Imaginative; creating a softer substantial side
We’re most serene when we’re a bit mussed

With The Inmates Running The Asylum

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

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

Guiding Honor Of The Fallen

Photo by Keenan Constance on Pexels.com

Guiding honor of the fallen
Valkyries of the night
With ragged & rugged wings
Taking to unheralded flight

They’ve had their wars
They returned, albeit broken
Surviving the tragic game
Internalizing words not spoken

Silenced trumpets by the side
Undying love of those who protect
Can’t fathom the burdens they carry
& for everything, you have my respect

These Notebooks Drip With Inspiration

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

These notebooks drip with inspiration
Thoughts of passion in so many words
Raw relations developed from a focused mind
You want more, but you used to call me a nerd
Back in school, you were the height of popularity
I still remember how your indifference stung
Time does wonders in both directions
Beauty fades even while this life has truly just begun

I Want To Figure Out The Words

I want to figure out the words

That will decrypt certain feelings

Causing an insatiable thirst

Finding me irresistible & your mind reeling

I want you to grasp my intent

& share the secrets of the codex

Together; living united toward purpose

Each day, locked into our fervid sex

These Stories Are Figments Of Hope

Photo by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com

These stories are figments of hope
Simple words from a mind of an everyday man
These theatrics of an unknown sort
Living through each day without scope or plan
Journey to the water’s edge to find a salve
To bathe our souls in God’s great sea
I’m not close to your idea of perfection
But I’m forgiven; a better concept to be

Those Words Come To Me In Those Coffee Dreams

tea-party-1001654

 

Those words come to me in those coffee dreams
A spontaneous marvel of literary delight
There’s a difference between manufactured beauty
& a real beauty, founded by nature’s authentic right
But I can’t explain the nuances with the definition
I’m not one to judge such subjective whims
Focusing on my own qualms & dangling thoughts
Let us sit, pour another cup, let’s solve these problems
I’m not bothered by such trifling issues as rules
Let them worry about my intents & being misconstrued
I let my chosen pages explain all I’m willing to
I’m more concerned if that pot has finished it’s brew

Green Mermaid Lady

Green mermaid lady
I’m still in love with you
Always been good to me
My affections are overdue
Dimly lit stages for hire
Writing out these feelings
Jittered & confused tonight
Staggered & now kneeling
Inspiration to keep on going
Confidence in my finer words
Blocked out memories past
Forgetting what was heard
Know where you want to be
So I’ve come back to you
Capitalism be damned!
Pour me something new

Image by marvette critney from Pixabay 

Choosing Certain Words

  

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