Something Noble

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Sally came to her Advanced Writers class that evening without much inspiration. The winter semester was headed toward finals. The stress kept building upon her. There had not much time to write lately. When she had wanted to write, she found the well was dry.

She was a junior at the University. A notebook could always be found in her bag. Sally had a habit of trying to write down any interesting thought she came across. She had been keeping faux-diaries since she was a little girl. Sally was shy about her writings before she met like minded people at school here. Now, she was cautiously open about what she was capable of writing.

Outside was bitter and cold. The snow hadn’t been cleared from the streets that afternoon. Everyone was walking carefully, if they went out at all. She wore her ancient clunky Docs an old boyfriend had bought her years before. They provided decent traction on the sidewalks.

She removed her coat and hung it on a hook at the top of the auditorium. She wore a light blue sweater and leggings with a scarf around her neck. Sally would be considered pretty once you took the time to look at her. She had a slightly nerdy appearance. She tried to look attractive without wasting too much time on superficial endeavors.

This class was her favorite of the week. She tolerated the rest of her schedule to be able to sit here and listen to Dr. Fitzgerald. As the class went on, she sat mesmerized. She had come to this school to learn from her favorite poet. This was her dream come true. She awkwardly smiled as he spoke.

“No matter what anyone tells you, you can’t teach poetry. You can only encourage someone to feel onto the page.”

She scribbled that quote into her notebook. As the class ended, Sally put her belongings in her bag. She noticed the professor was the only other person left. She took a deep breath and approached him.

“Can I buy you a drink or a coffee, Professor? I’d really like to talk about some of my writing.” Sally bounced nervously as she spoke.

“No, my dear, the Missus is eagerly waiting for my return.” And with that he limped off, down the corridor . He used an old shillelagh as a cane. She just smiled as she watched him. There was something noble about that man.

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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

You’re Gonna Get Old

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You’re gonna get old
But I’ll still be right next to you
Flesh will droop, drop & sag
& my absolute infatuation continues
A dirty old man, I’ll perpetually be
Every view of you – I feel romance
I’m gonna be that 100 year old
With excitement for you in his pants

False Attempts At The Old Scottish Jig

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False attempts at the old Scottish jig
Distant past lingering – nothing wise
She was never the heroine you always needed
Finally gave up after all those tries
Beauty’s eye was never truly blind
Having been lied to, left you distraught
Perpetual cycles now cold & mean
Never the quality you had always thought
Smile inward, you are the crowned victor
Playing their game with the cards dealt
Karma worms its way into a deserving soul
They’ll never know how your true love felt

We Used To Know The Truths

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We used to know the truths
The fundamentals of our lives
Misplaced inspiration in youth
We, the lost children, who survived
Abandoned by artists searching for gold
Forgetting the dream of accepting yourself
Never admitting we’ve grown this old
Rejection of impending imperial wealth
Fuck your Republicans & Democrats
Those who sold the vision with betrayal
Insensitive bastards of the Cheshire Cat
Unsteady appeasement & divided we fail

Sitting With Pirates & Thieves

 

Sitting with pirates & thieves

But you’re wandering about the old oak tree

You know you can never go home

Wishing for a life when you weren’t so free

You sold your precious soul

But there’s nothing left to retrieve

You’ll spend your ending days

Dying with those pirates & thieves

This Pirate Is An Old Wives’ Tale 

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This Pirate is an old wives’ tale

Passed on by sorority sisters these days

Mythical pleasure & infatuation –

Fluttering love; let them count the ways

World renowned for his nautical exploits

But not true they were all naughty

Legends told of a bad boy untrue, for

That infamous passion belongs to only one hottie

Starting The Process Of Feeling Human

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Starting the process of feeling human
But this is merely my first cup
I’m going to need a couple more
Before my mind will finally wake up
I stretch & hear pops & creaks
My body won’t keep up with my thoughts
But my heart will always beat for you
For this love resides when the coffee’s no longer hot

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

Drinking Out Of The Good Crystal

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Drinking out of the good crystal
Pouring another glass of Scotch
I’m not going to waste this life
I’m not going to stand by & watch
I want to get my hands dirty
Experience should be more than a page
I’m not going to live by proxy
I’m going die a virile man in my old age