Perhaps I’m A Bit More Prudish

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Perhaps I’m a bit more prudish

Than I ever expected myself to be

Shying away from their exhibitions

Folding my soul back into propriety

Maybe I’m not as cool as you thought

I’m more of a meandering old fellow

Writing out lines of cautious fantasy

Whereas reality reveals itself to be rather mellow

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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

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

 

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

She Liked To Remain In The Shadows

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She liked to remain in the shadows
To avoid casual glimpses of her features
But I loved her no matter what she thought
She was beautiful, one of God’s lovely creatures
I always knew it was her by the extravagant handbags
& the way she wore her coat over her shoulders
The darkness could never hide her from my soul
With each step, desire allowed my heart to grow bolder

I’m Not A Fancy Poet

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I’m not a fancy poet
I don’t have a soul patch nor a beret
Within the confines of each breath
Trying to create a literary bouquet
I merely write how I feel
Without thought to how I’m perceived
No time for such arbitrary notions
True to myself, I know I’ve achieved

Words Keep Me Buoyed

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Words keep me buoyed
Sanity sifted, then promptly returned
Thought processes turned on end
Satisfaction smells like salty sunburns
But we were born out of time
Scribbles & poems don’t mean anything anymore
But to a few hidden scoundrels
The fringe of society behind unmarked doors

A Question Of Intents & Purpose

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A question of intents & purpose
Where & why; the source of our confusion
Time swaying with each movement
Closing our eyes, believing the illusion
Do you remember or it is all a memory
Lost within the darkness of our souls
I’m not who I ever thought I could be
Dreams evaporating when the moon grows full

I’m Writing

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I’m writing
Trying to find a lost charm
Not of Bedazzled elements
A memory folded away from harm
I’m searching for a thought
The secret learned from these years
Not of scandalous deeds
But the love I forever held dear