Two Old Coots by the Sea

I'm retired now from working,

but nowhere near from life;

I'm done with all that parenting

stuff, scot-free from any wife.

I’m not alone, nor am I lonely,

contentment’s now my plight;

no longer burdened by my life,

it’s of my life here that I write:

I’m residing now in Key West

in a small artsy, comfy, condo;

Vinnie, my VW bus, 'n myself,

with lotsa beer and lotsa bondo.

Two gracefully aging bodies,

sharing one fun youthful spirit;

we refuse to ever act our age:

ask why, and we won’t hear it.

We’re both getting a bit rusty,

yet we still go hunting up fun;

our evenings may end sooner,

yet we always get ‘er done.

We creak ‘n ache now and then,

the day after when feeling stiff,

we have our WD-40 ‘n aspirin 

to adequately lube 'n give a lift.

Most heads turn 'n cameras click,

whenever we come cruising by;

kids smile and make peace signs,

while the elderly pause ‘n sigh.

A fantasy here on Fantasy Island;

while others dream vicariously,

we're living large in first person:

two old coots down by the sea.

~gj duerrschmidt

For more by this writer, visit:

The Orangenous Zone 

Holy Crusade: In Search of Self Realization

I remember being young,

handsome ‘n hung;

with a bold song within

still yet to be sung.

Everyone told me what

and who I should be;

stifled my spirit when it

so longed to be free.

Things then were different;

if I’d only known,

how much they’d all lied,

I might’ve grown

Into the person I always

knew I could be,

much sooner, more fully,

serendipitously.

Yes, I’m off to a late start,

but better than never;

to conquer self realization 

is my holy endeavor.

~gj duerrschmidt

 For more by this writer, visit:

The Orangenous Zone

Group Photo (Class Reunion)

We know we can’t go back to

yester-year;

to those times and places we

held so dear;

still we journey from afar to

gather here,

challenging memory and to

seek closure.

We have gone different ways,

shy or bold;

tasted failure and success, all

stories told;

we are old friends, not friends

who are old:

a picture of life with imperfect

exposure.

~gj duerrschmidt

 

For more by this writer, visit:

The Orangenous Zone 

Identity Crisis: Lost in Rhyme

How should I live

the rest of my life?

Still not knowing

is a mental strife!

A rustic cabin on

the mountainside,

deep in the woods

where I can hide?

A wooden cabana

on a tropical isle,

livin’ la vita loca

in a covert style?

An artsy apartment

in some major city,

lost amid millions,

writing silly ditty?

An old hippie bus

on the open road,

chillin’ all the way

in free spirit mode?

Who am I, really;

does anyone know?

By which persona

should I now go:

A mountain man,

or a Jimmy Buffet;

an artsy metro guy,

or a gypsy rough it?

I’ve been all four,

from time to time;

searching for self

in lines of rhyme.

~gj duerrschmidt

For more by this writer, visit:

The Orangenous Zone 

Boys of Summer Rising

(Photo courtesy of Zachary Wilde)

Knaves ‘n waves ‘n salty suds,

sunshine glistening on y’er buds;

wet, revealing swimming duds…

Tame those thoughts for now.

Wild, matted, windblown hair,

the smell of ocean in the air,

playing all day without a care.

The teasing flies so freely.

Tossing a football hand to hand,

with lots of tackling in the sand,

the body contact feels so grand.

Time will come for scoring.

Running and diving in head first,

sand in all cracks feels the worst;

frolicking naked builds a thirst.

It’s five o’clock somewhere.

Playfully drying in nature’s own,

not surprising some have grown;

it’s nice to see you’re not alone.

Beer cans pop in celebration.

Sitting with towels loosely hung,

sipping suds, the night is young;

one by one the empties flung;

sun gently sets into the sea,

 to the boys of summer rising.

~gj duerrschmidt

For more by this writer, visit:

The Orangenous Zone 

Best Seller

I’m writing a new novel,

it’s going to be hot;

most likely a best seller,

of substance it’s not;

it wreaks of familiarity,

hints of surprise,

foreshadows its ending

(yes, the man dies);

it brims with characters,

who have none;

looking to screw others

simply for fun;

it offers shallow intrigue,

sadness, disaster;

chasing many a lost cause,

but, oh the laughter;

rich in naughty animal sex

(I couldn’t forget that:

the choking of chicken,

the licking of cat);

something for everyone,

written to please;

it dots all of the i’s,

crosses all of the t’s.

~gj duerrschmidt

For more by this writer, visit: 

The Orangenous Zone

Old Stiffy

I’m writing sensual poems

fully erect;

an issue with blood flow,

I would suspect.

When seated long it tends

to get hard,

so, I try to go walk it off 
in the yard.
I'm sure it's not what you
might suspect.

I’m talking about my leg

here,

let's have some respect.

~gj duerrschmidt

For more by this writer, visit:

The Orangenous Zone