You Don’t Think You’re Beautiful

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You don’t think you’re beautiful
Because of the pain you feel inside
Existence finds itself with a teetering lull
The path to happiness merely not identified

But you need to write your own dreams
Never settle for what others might demand
Seek out adventure & self-discovery
Find the surprising beauty of the unplanned

Falling In Love Every Morning

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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

Word By Structured Word

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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

Unfettered and Unlined

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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

Suburban Arcades & Record Stores

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Suburban arcades & record stores
Love notes left jammed in the teletype
Ancient technologies lost to whims of time
Sacrilege of consuming before it’s ripe

Littered by dreams of public-school poets
Falling to the feminine side of healing
Whose obedience to authority lingers
But only the lonely are rhymin’ & stealin’

Our literary antihero catching the cliff notes
A repressed childhood is still better by half
Trying to make up for that deleted time
But you can’t get far by writing on decaf

Standing with arms braced to the wind
Needing antiquity to know how we perform
Rolling empty dice against our loaded fates
Summer on the coast ensures the storm

My Love Resembles

My love resembles
A smattering of prose
Lady, I beg you
Won’t you touch those toes?

I’ll create any dream you like
Stories, poems or tales
Infatuation lingering now
Smitten with all you avail

I wish for your subtle tease
But I can’t handle your stare
I’ll write anything you please
Though I fear you’re quite rare

The Man Has You Grinding Away

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The man has you grinding away
The organ makes the monkey dance
You’re looking for the Promised Land
But you never really had the chance

You’re writing your soul on the page
Friends support & love all they heard
But the critics cry foul & laugh bitterly
You’re only as good as your last word

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

Watching Them March You Down The Hall

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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

Sheets & Reams Of The Nonsensical

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Sheets & reams of the nonsensical
Literary blood lost in the shadow of ink
The lifeforce of a simmering soul
Marginal hearts writing love against the kitchen sink
Leaving behind the caricature of an artist
Contributions to society felt in these empty sheets
Fingersmudges marking pages not so white
Starkly exposed with revolutionary words in the streets
Traces of hereditary ideals eroding away
Igniting pages shall still be a stilted sin
Yet we rise again from our desert floor
Eternally grateful our finite letters aren’t porcelain

Love Letters To Myself

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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

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

I Just Want You To Love Me Enough

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I just want you to love me enough
To be impressed by these words I write
To be flattered & thoroughly aroused
Granting us a bacchanalian night
I just want you to love me profusely
Passionately; all the years through
To be by my side until the Pearly Gates
For that’s how I feel about you

We Exist In A Fortuitous Moment

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We exist in a fortuitous moment
Together in a Summery field
Sipping delightful wines
Writing verse on our intercollegiate yields
They want us to come in from the cold
But I’m not concerned about their rules
I’d rather remain isolated with you
Bosh to their arbitrary ordinances to reign in fools

You Have Your Notions Of Me

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You have your notions of me
Whether it’s my rugged good looks
Or I’m a notorious scalawag
Though, I’m neither a hero nor a crook

I’m not a man of much persuasion
Nor am I a wild west outlaw
I choose to wear the eyepatch
But I’m more of a gentleman with flaws

I write fast & love slow
Without a care of what they say about me
When you have faith
You never have to wait & see

I quietly find my secrets within
Descended from that beautiful literary brogue
To hell with the naysayers; we’re gonna have fun
I’ll be your host tonight, the swash-unbuckling rogue

Many out there won’t warm to my charm
Not their cup of tea or simply they’ve no style
But you of good taste & renown class
Come share a spot with the one with the mischievous smile

Broken Umbrellas & Sturdy Desks

Broken umbrellas & sturdy desks
Making no distinctions for the loss of time
Sketching out all the possible plots
Willful heartache remains the worst kind of crime
Put away your stencils & fountain pens
These days call for someone to be original & bold
Toss aside oaken casks of yesteryear’s notion
This world isn’t ready for those who shattered their own mold
Tea cups & china dolls should stay by the wayside
They won’t last long out here if they can’t put up a fight
Early days already simmering, making my coffee feel cold
Survivors must gather; let love be the fruit by which we write

Run Away & Join The Circus

I want to run away & join the circus
To be done with this life at sea
To kiss the ground she walks on
Solid foundations forever under me
Scribbling love notes to my lady
Creating a new world of literary lust
A positive existence springing forth
My happiness nestled within her bust

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

Picking Out Tunes From A Lost Childhood

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Picking out tunes from a lost childhood
Icons from an isolated life; memories fleeting
Can’t keep track of my overblown tragedies
My own imagination responsible for these beatings
My past is a weight, tugging at my fragile soul
Written missives, but she flew off to Ontario
Shunning my offerings for a comprehensive life
I speak of love, but she merely turns up the stereo

The John Wayne Type

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I admit I’m not the John Wayne type
I’m not one who wants to fight
Though, I’m not afraid of confrontations
I’d just love rather love my woman by candlelight
I’m a sensitive soul
I’ve been called needy, immature & worse
I just want the time to write of my emotions
Creating a universe into which we’ll fully immerse