Watching The Sun Rise Over Norge Hills

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Watching the sun rise over Norge hills
Waiting for nature to gently overspill
These are special days, even if we don’t see
Reality collapsing into itself; the only place we can be
Still quiet homes with subdued families at rest
Admiring the calm while it’s still at its best

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Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

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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 procrastination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

*previously posted on former blog

Aroused By The Typewriter’s Bell

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Aroused by the typewriter’s bell

I’m salivating like Pavlov’s dog

Imagining caffeinated mornings

Walking the Sunset within the fog

Though those were forgotten emotions

I’m not able to repeat that form

So I do my best to feel the original

Sometimes I’m hard to notice before the storm

Sometimes I’m An Awkward Lover

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Sometimes I’m an awkward lover

I try to slap your ass & pull your hair

But I don’t always have confidence

But I’m doing my very best down there

But I can promise you one thing, dear

I will love you and only you forevermore

I may be a gentleman at public events

But I’ll be your pirate behind locked doors

Where Do We Keep Our Secrets

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Where do we keep our secrets
The ones we can never use
Buried beneath lost hopes
But you can’t choose your muse
The beautiful bleeding hearts
Or scantily-clad ladies; so demure
Inspiration reigning down upon us
Souls perform best when the soul is pure

I Won’t Listen

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I won’t listen
To whispers & how you judge
I’m quite adamant in my refusal
I’ll pay no heed to your rude little nudge
You can keep your disciplines
They’re not worthy for me to see
I’ll continue to write how I authentically feel
For I’m the the best at being me

Wrong Way Down A Slanted Street

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Wrong way down a slanted street
Each step is a new kind of burn
Through the low, sloping trees
The Coit Tower for which I yearn
Thirty-Seven years through this life
With only a dream left to cling
Watched your best girl leave you
She wanted far more than a ring
Your Eden never bore fruit
Only possessing a barren vine
Taking off for Occidental today
Toss away this dying, rancid wine
Know there’ll be sun tomorrow
The City will only cause you to spoil
Remove yourself from endless poison
Toil in warm & encouraging soil

I’m Not Christian Grey

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I’m not Christian Grey
I don’t have money to burn
Women shouldn’t be bought
A point I easily discern
I don’t care how you live
But quit preaching of your escapades
I will never judge or condemn, but
I’m exhausted by your 50 shades
I don’t want the cameras rolling
Don’t need you to be impressed
For eternal happiness, I’ll bet
That vanilla sex might actually be best

*Author’s note: Just a little fun here. I’m not disparaging anyone’s lifestyle. I’m just trying to have some fun. I don’t care how you get laid, I just hope you do! 💋💚

**PS: If this offends you, perhaps you need a good spanking for taking yourself too seriously! 😉

Differentiated Between All Your Loves

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Differentiated between all your loves
The former still intense among
Compounding the delicate feelings
Not wishing to be tattered or strung
We cannot control which way to flow
We merely have always tried our best
These are our most pure intentions
Injured since you left me out West