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

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Time To Shake Loose

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Time to shake loose
With the rhythm of the keys
I’m no longer hopelessly desperate
I’ve dried up all my careless pleas
In the whirlwind, I’ve found my calm
You question my worth, but I just stare
Within my own skin, I selfishly create
Hate & jealousy left, I’m now blissfully unaware

This Blue Collar Typewriter

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This blue collar typewriter
So many hours down at Ford
Working to support the family
Under the watchful eye of the Lord
Staying together, hand in hand
There were many times that were rough
No fairytale existence here
But love & devotion were always enough

Another Day Of Cold Coffee & Inspirational Songs

Another day of cold coffee & inspirational songs
I’m trying to survive with all my might
I’m not looking to be acceptable
Merely wishing to cherish what’s in my sight
Ink smudges quietly upon my palms
Unsure of my words, failing with adequate prose
Years fall into decades, but still
I’m flailing; conjuring an incomplete rose
The muse sits rocking, mocking
She struts out of reach of what I believe
Taunting me to sell my soul in angst
So I cover my typewriter in a sheet of Celtic weave

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

Living In A John Hughes Movie

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Living in a John Hughes movie
Suburbia laid out before me
I don’t look the outlaw type
Head of this house; I’m still free
But a simmering rebellion within
Thoughts not transferred in awhile
Preparing for this revolution
But it’s my typewriter, flair & my preppy style

I Can’t Type This Early

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I can’t type this early
With my babies asleep
For circus will begin
At the first, slightest peep
The day will begin soon enough
I’d like some time for me
The unsteady quiet before dawn
Just myself, my words & this coffee

I’m Pounding These Keys

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I’m pounding these keys

Trying to create a landmark

Something to last through time

A rhyme to set off a sudden spark

I’m vain in ways I won’t admit

A schedule of words upon the page

Formulas/equations for me to disconnect

Memories for after I’ve withered into age