Art Survives In This Modern Society

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Art survives in this modern society
It hasn’t fallen away with technology’s rise
The oppressive stench of hate hasn’t quelled
Our need to unload a soul without compromise
Imagination is one of the few things we have left
Untouched by their ever growing, catastrophic greed
Washington is all the same, no matter how you voted
Within ourselves, through art, we can truly be freed

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Immune To A Power Surge

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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

We’re Allowing The Modern World To Dwindle

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We’re allowing the modern world to dwindle
We’ve neglected love & now slowly it dies
Crashing back to from where it came
We’ve messed up this most recent of our tries
A fragmented society in this world of hate
Our streets filled with torch bearing vigilantes
But I’m choosing compassion & joy
I’d rather chase you around in your scanties

Hanging With Beach Bums & Bashful Babes

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Hanging with beach bums & bashful babes

Swimming in the surf on late Spring days

Colorful flavors poured gently over ice

Skin glowing after hours in the pleasant rays

I thought I saw a Sea Hag along the sand

Though she revealed herself to be a Siren

Coaxing & teasing me with her demure allure

Whispering that I might be a modern Lord Byron

Uncomfortable with compliments of any sort

I quietly pull out my pen to jot down an ode

Her eyes grow wide, then a smirk & a wink

Simultaneously my mind, heart & loins explode

 

I’m Doing My Best

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I’m doing my best, can’t you see
Amidst the horrors of modern day
The ghost stories rising in the mind
The times when you’re in your own way
You grab at your head in pain
The frustration of structured expectation
Pressures of their unintended demands
Prompting proclamations of demarcation

I Never Said I Was Good At This

  

I never said I was good at this
I have no fancy training or school
I just close my eyes & spill my soul
Without any regard if it will be cool
I’m a bush league hack at my best
Wandering my way through eternity
Endless reams within your dreams
But I’ll never be a victim of your modernity

Crawling Away From Sudden Shores

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Crawling away from sudden shores
Locked away in anterior rooms
Sunlit beauties try to remain pale
Complexities of intimate bedgloom
Modern mermaids express themselves
Repelled by their former clamshell
Their silence betrayed the insane
Meeting up again behind the bandshell
Eastbound Portola around the curve
Writing hard to retain your shape
Lost in the Inner Sunset
Catching the N Judah to escape

A Modern Day Philosopher

A modern day philosopher
Hiding away from the crowd
Society – a poison leeching
Anxiety – they’re far too loud
Finding a simple spot
A place to quietly write
Thoughts, words into deeds
To be myself without a fight

 

 

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