My Feet Don’t Move Nearly As Well







My feet don’t move nearly as well
As they do in my mind’s eye
But I still wish to ask you to dance
For a chance to sing you a lullaby
I wish to exist in the same locale as you
To be present in a better world than mine
There are dreams that could be something
To aspire to; to be worthy of the sun’s shine


Sitting In Great Silence












Sitting in great silence
The musings of the mind’s voice
Attempts at a sly peek
Right words are the hardest choice
Greeted by a blank look
Can’t think quick; I sputter
She’s too beautiful for me
Under my breath I lowly mutter

Fresh Lipstick & Attitude To Match





Fresh lipstick & attitude to match
The pretty piano player; a punk rockette
The domestic goddess with a need to be clean
Living on the edge of the cosmopolitain set
Hoarding her guilty pleasures fiercely
The moral ambiguity is a stubborn crutch
Ignoring nature’s perfectly placed laws
But she’ll only accept the light’s soft touch
Wearing an evening gown at her elegant leisure
Within her mind, no better way to take a selfie
She’s blunt with her standards & expectations
But lucky for us all, my poems are gluten free


Listening To The Right Music




Listening to the right music
Will transform your soul to proper dimensions
Learning from those who have gone before you
Charging forth long into the fray against discretion
The latitude of the beat filtered through your mind
Exposing truth from down deep within your perception


The Truth About Women’s Feet


Love wrapped around my mind like a shroud

Full of colors, spectrums & radiant splashes

Not a day without engulfing sunshine

Blinded by pantyhose & false eyelashes

I believed in the fairytale courtships

Sipping champagne from glass slippers

Lovely damsels in need of gentlemen

Revealed to be crude strumpet strippers

My soul could not take this detail

Where was my love with elegant class

Distraught in this new reality

Stuck on feet made for crystal glass

How could my dreams unravel so

This giving me pause to think

Now I understand the truth

That women’s feet actually stink


The Government Wants To Lock Me Up




The government wants to lock me up
For I don’t fit into their diabolic plans
Turning society into robotic morons
I just can’t continue to work for The Man

Trying to sell us artificial stimulants
Fickle airwaves with their bully pulpit bought
Falsified histories & professional victims
The system wipes us away without any thought

Pharmaceutical conglomerates tell us
Conscience is a personality disorder we can’t shake
Turning our daughters into Stepford Wives
Stealing our minds – hoping we’ll never wake

Corporations in league with the dolt on the throne
Continuously embarrassing the whole of humankind
Whose agenda has a limited number of characters
How the hell is this the best choice we could find

But I won’t succumb to any of their devices
I’ll take my liberty and the happiness I’ve pursued
Rejecting the crooks & ignoring their feigned power
Won’t find me in Nurse Rachet’s line; docile & queued

I can’t live a life that’s so blatantly false & empty
My soul is no longer pristine, but I’m an honest guy
I’m taking to the wilderness; leaving the State behind
I’m trading their promises for a more natural high


Winters Along The Chesapeake


Winters along the Chesapeake
Listening to the elder’s snarling tales
Tough men looking for far gone battles
Filling their minds with wine & war sails
The triumphs of fictional characters
Can never be overstated to a fool
Blinded by a word’s sleight of hand
The mind left to unconsciously unspool
The darker corners are always inhabited
Produced marvels of unshrinking power
Weathervanes swirling from their time
Nursing pain amid their legendary glower
Survivors influencing the next generations
Of country boys wanting to go to sea
Dreaming of illusive glory & vindication
But they’ll only find heartache & misery


Catching Her Skirt In The Wind




Catching her skirt in the wind
Weathering this day nonetheless
Hair whipping across her face
Flustered; such a beautiful mess
A chilly day among the Highlands
Her tartan blowing in the breeze
The magic of something almost seen
My mind caught up in nature’s tease


She’s Got That Weirdness Flowing Through Her Veins


She’s got that weirdness flowing through her veins
She’s got that funk in her domain
She’s got the brains that I admire
& the beauty that I desire
Everything she does is a tad bit funky
I want to be the fellow with her one key
I want to be the one to love her
& have it returned to me and no other
I can tell she is one of a kind
& I can’t seem to get her out of my mind
But that’s cool with me
She’s an image I love to see
When I look at her, I see there’s a freak inside
You never know what will happen until you’ve tried

*this is an old poem from the 90’s. I’m not claiming it’s any good. I just like it.


I Know Why You Don’t Have Panty Lines





I know why you don’t have panty lines
You’re looking great in that pencil skirt
My mind does dizzying things when you smile
I focus on your delectable lips, so moist & pert
I grow quiet – I don’t wish to be taken as a fool
So you don’t notice me, I’m cast off as a clumsy guy
I’ll keep your secrets as you’re mistreated again
All the while, your laundry’s hanging out to dry