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Mar 2018 · 71
2:00 A.M.
Alex McQuate Mar 2018
A farmer comes to love what he grows,
Even if it is just a bit,
So much effort expended,
Something has to be felt,

Warm late summer days,
Soaked in a warmth you imagine a mandolin sound would give off if it could,
Lazy clouds floating across an blue immersive sky,
Sitting underneath a tree surrounded by four fields,
The tickling of healthy grass scrunched beneath one's feet,
A gently breeze on occasion,
Brushing across one's face,
As if to lull you into a peaceful sleep.
Flower power- Greta Van Fleet
Mar 2018 · 50
Alex McQuate Mar 2018
When I was younger he was stronger than Superman to me,
Wiser than Albert Einstein,
And funnier than a book of knock knock jokes,
A constant in the ever changing experience that it is to be a kid.

As I grew older he gained a couple new facets,
He at times became a source of ire to my teenage mind,
But patience was one of those attributes that never changed,
Although at times I more than likely stretched it to it's very limits.

And as I became an adult it clicked,
And it was like it was before,
Any previous tensions were wiped away,
Connected again after a few years of being gone,
Many a Friday night's spent just drinking beers,
Shooting the **** and listening to vinyls that he bought in high school.
Sometimes just sitting quietly smoking,
The silence a place we could both find solace in.

And now I am slapped with a harsh truth,
That he's not invincible,
That anchor won't be there forever,
That even Superman is mortal.

That a man I've seen endure the impossible with barely a muttered curse and a grimace just for spite,
Could contemplate throwing in the towel.

Talk about a shift of paradigm, right?

All because of something I never planned for, even though it comes to us all.
Mar 2018 · 45
1:29 A.M.
Alex McQuate Mar 2018
Strings softly sing out from the speakers,
Drifting through the room like a piece of flotsam,
Gently drifting along some unseen current,
Dipping to-and-fro,
And like all currents tend to do,
It picks up.

Faster and faster,
Swiftly building into a crescendo that resonates in the smokey room,
Faster and faster in tempo,
Peaking as Gabriel sings on.

Torn asunder by an impossible task,
So many of us seem to be,
Sacrifices for a tomorrow that could be just a little bit better,
Impossible choices rising up like towering walls of flame.
Heros- Peter Gabriel
Mar 2018 · 47
The Before
Alex McQuate Mar 2018
It's that time again,
The voice crooning softly belongs to Josh Kiszka,
With a voice eerily reminiscent to Plant,
Perhaps a comment on the music one is raised on?

Taking a drag while thinking back,
To when times were simpler,
To when the innocence of childhood shielded one from all the nasty things of life,
To a place that was better,
The before.

Before bills,
Before taxes,
Before jobs, responsibility, and chores.

The before.

Ripped back into the now,
I exhale,
Tapping ash into an overflow tray,
Older and wiser,
But worn and a bit frayed,
Wishing for the before.

Before check ins,
Before people felt the need to lock their doors at night,
To when it was better,
A pinnacle of its own.

Drawing in again as one of the other brother rips into a solo that seems like it's straight from the Bron-Yr-Aur sessions,
To the before.

The Before can be reached again
Meet on the Ledge- Greta Van Fleet
Jan 2018 · 152
Crossroads II
Alex McQuate Jan 2018
The heros were at a crossroads once again,
But a much different one from the time before,
This one was one where they had not been,
And one they would end up not all traveling along the same path.

The Drummer and the Bassist pleaded for the Frontman to see reason,
That the path he chose only would lead to ruin,
But with the spider whispering its words their pleas fell upon deaf ears.

It is here that the Frontman struck it out alone,
Feeling betrayed upon their refusal to join him on this path.

He was alone now,
With only the spider for company,
Too blinded to it all to realize the dangers upon the road he went.
Act 4- Ypres
Scene 5- Crossroads II
Jan 2018 · 186
Alex McQuate Jan 2018
As time went on,
The days grew long,
And the struggle for The Frontman grew ever greater.

Feeling adrift in time,
Without a map or compass,
The spider ensnared him further still.

It whispered wicked things,
Full of malice and hate,
Corrupting the Frontman wings,
A cruel arrow shot through him by fate,
A great gift tainted by the spiders poison.

Like a volcano that lay dormant,
For so long it seemed almost forgot,
But after too long it exploded,
The target of it all were those that were adorant,
Tearing asunder all that it sought.
Act 4-Ypres
Scene 4- Ypres
Jan 2018 · 411
1:50 A.M.
Alex McQuate Jan 2018
Ellekari Larsson is haunting my radio tonight,

My lungs burn once again,
As the smoke enters and leaves my body,
Floating lazilly upward to form a blanket of roiling grey.

I looked at my bookshelf today,
And realized with a start,
That I had a shelf of momentos,
Of those who were long gone.

A folded flag,
A well worn tie,
A photo of a man and boy both laughing,
A teddy bear and a cross made out of a straw,
All snapshots to help me remember.

Times that were better,
Even some that were worst,
But important all the same,
For aren't the most important lessons those that hurt, even if just a little?

A charcoal rubbing of an inscription,
A Tom Clancy novel with a dog-eared page about halfway through,
It hurts to look at these momentos sometimes,
But it feels like a betrayal to look away.

The piano and cello amble slowly along,
Like pall bearers shouldering a weight upon their shoulders,
Both physical and emotional.

A copper disc embossed with hands held together in prayer,
An antique Mr.Goodbar tin,
Containing an ascot and a box of matches.

The song slowly comes to an end and I can finally look away,
Take a drag from the cigarette,
Nearly burnt down to the filter,
As I get lost in my thoughts again.
Closer-The Tiny
Jan 2018 · 165
Alex McQuate Jan 2018
Objective upon objective,
They stack one upon the other,
Higher and higher indeed,
Until a snag scrubs it entirely away.

A new stratagem was needed,
A long term goal to help better align the rest of your life,
But steps must be taken,
And too soon they always pile up,
And the stratagem must be cast away.

This continues onwards,
Farther and farther,
Leaving The Frontman awash in an ocean of grey.
Act 4-Ypres
Scene 3- Obstacles
Dec 2017 · 58
Alex McQuate Dec 2017
Inhaling deep,
The crackling of burning tobacco and paper,
The drying sensation in my mouth as smoke is brought in,
A slight stink in the back of my throat as hot ash slightly sears in passing,
A small amount of vertigo as oxygen is deprived from the brain and the endorphins flood in.

Taking a deep breath just after,
Delivering cool oxygen to my lungs.




As another rush of endorphins hits,
Releasing a stream of grey smoke,
Contributing to the haze already collecting near the ceiling.

And ash falls from the end and collects in the faux marble ash tray,
A small mound having already formed.

Elbow on the table,
And watching the stream of smoke lazily drift up in unique patterns,
Each one different as various small winds changes each a little bit each time,
Mesmerizing really.

Take a pause and do it all over again,
Rinse and repeat.
Don't smoke kids.
Nov 2017 · 81
My Muse.
Alex McQuate Nov 2017
Pardon me friend,
I don't mean to barge in on your time,
But have you seen my muse?

It's not one,
For I once had many,
But now I had none,
Leaving me here rambling like a mad man,
Of things that had come but are now gone.

I offer great advice when I can't see to follow my own,
My muse my muse,
Wherever did you go.

Perhaps you were in my viewpoint of the world and the people in it,
That has changed so often in the times that have come before,
Or mayhaps your in my faith in something higher,
With nothing in my mind but a downward spiral,
Into Oblivion where one can never be refound?

But alas,
Fear not for that,
Dearest reader,
For my muse is found again,
Always popping up in the weirdest places,
To always be found again
Nov 2017 · 62
Old and New but Here
Alex McQuate Nov 2017
It's been too long,
Need to blow proverbial dust off my works,
Inspiration struck like lightning,
Like the sensation of hearing a song from your favorite band that you never heard before,
From when they were younger,
Their faces with so fewer lines.

Faster and faster,
For you never know when this new song is going to end,
Only that in the here and now lies you,
The you that is most present for all the major things,
Here for some of the victories but all of the defeats,
The tides are rising friend,
Do you need to be thrown a rope?

The solo is hitting now,
The song soon reaching it's conclusion,
But it's when that favorite band of yours is younger,
Full of **** and vinegar and ******* attitude,

Slowing down,
Let it all echo out,
Gotta mellow the tune,
To reach a natural conclusion and peaceful end,
Leaving your enthralled ears graced with the fading of the wave's...




You hit replay.
Pearl Jam- Present Tense
Oct 2017 · 95
The Fool
Alex McQuate Oct 2017
Look at your pool of friends,
And tell me,
If you were to label your friends with a personality that fit them best,
Which one would you end up labeling "The Fool"?

Now I never said *****,
Do not misconstrue me,
Ma'am or Sir,
For my words are only said with the purest possible intention.

So this individual,
This "Fool",
Would you say they are content with life?
Not just happy,
But utterly content with their station in life?
Want for nothing,
These luck individuals be,
For without such individuals we as a species would have faded away into the final darkness.
Oct 2017 · 96
5:53 A.M.
Alex McQuate Oct 2017
The night is still,
A silent cold hangs crisply in the air,
A quilt of noiselessness encases the world,
Looking up upon the stars,
So dazzling in the pre-dawn air.

The moon hangs over the Eastern Horizon,
Just a sliver alit along it's bottom edge.

As the world slowly begins to stir,
Slowly cracking the sky and setting it aflame,
An all encompassing blaze that kisses upon my brow,
Warm and caring,
Loving and tender,
Like that of a mother to a newborn babe.

It is here that one can be at peace,
Where the current troubles slip away like steam from an exhaled breath in this crisp warm air.
Oct 2017 · 66
Alex McQuate Oct 2017
Across the smoky air the wave's travel,
Ihor is singing again,
Rocking out on a ****** out tune.

My lungs are burning,
Trying to contain hot ash and air,
Starving for oxygen as the chemicals seep deep.

The factory behind the house still clanging from after-hours operations,
A rhythmic heartbeat of production coinciding with that of the sleeping earth,
A tempo unheard and unfelt,
But ever present,
For how is one there if not but by the grace of the other?
Stormy Monday- ****** Jesus
Oct 2017 · 89
10:48 P.M.
Alex McQuate Oct 2017
Stan Roger's is calling out to the start sky on this moonlit night,
His baritone cadence stretching through the pleasantly tempered air.

I take another smoke out,
Lighting it quickly and taking a drag,
Trying  to figure out where all the time went,
It's as though I've blinked and everything has changed.

It's been happening for a long time,
I know,
But then again,
That's how it always is,
Isn't it?
Taking note unconsciously,
But never taking notice,
For it's change is too unwelcome.

But for now all is quiet,
The owls hooting amongst themselves,
As a breeze gently passes by.
Stan Rogers- Northwest Passage
Sep 2017 · 69
Alex McQuate Sep 2017
The air is cold,
Yet thick and choking,
As spectral fingers begin to stretch across the land,
Asserting dominance upon the hillsides,
The creeping fingers now more akin to a cavalry charge,
Bringing whatever it can into it's  mysterious embrace.

For this ethereal creature knows it's time is slipping away, like sand through a clenched fist,
And is eager to revel in every action it can.

Falling like a blanket over the countryside,
Dampening sounds,
And playing tricks on the ears.

All I can hear now is the crackling of tobacco and the roar of silence that is the mist,
My nose is cold,
But my hands are warm,
The smell of cigarettes and dew clings heavily to the air,
My own contribution to the beast hangs about,
No wind to whip it out of my sight,
My God is it quiet.
Sep 2017 · 71
Bar room Blues
Alex McQuate Sep 2017
Look at you in your wide brim hat,
Dressed in black,
Fingers dancing across the Strat's neck,
Easy as you please.
Voice of anguish and whiskey,
Telling me a story of one lost long ago.

I sit listening quietly, as the rain falls outside,
And a train can be heard lumbering across the tracks.

Your words take shape,
Odd stranger,
With hair long and black,
The shape is of a man recently sent free,
Deciding to walk through the roughest place in town.

I need a drink,
I take a swig,
The smell of pine like smelling salts for my brain,
The taste of fireworks and Christmas trees reminiscent of candies eaten on Halloween nights.

Then BAM!
You yell out,
Telling me of a poor dice rollers fate,
Like a siren's call,
******* me back into this sad, sad narrative.

And lastly of the visit,
The one dated to seal the protagonist's fate,
Of the freed man once again being put into chains,
A tale of Sisyphus best personified.

You lead off,
Leaving the bar room cold and empty.
I slide in another couple quarters,
And again you begin to play.
SRV- Tin Pan Alley
Sep 2017 · 142
2:57 A.M.
Alex McQuate Sep 2017
Andrew McKnight is on tonight,
My story teller for this bout of sleeplessness,
Thought I had shaken the insomnia,
But it's jaws had bitten deep.

The story he tells me is a sad tale,
But I think it best to share with you,
So come and sit dear Reader,
Listen for a spell,
For sometimes a sad tale is needed.

They haunt the various valley's of Virginia,
The cornfields of Maryland,
And Pennsylvania hillsides.

Silent specters spectating upon the states,
If only we could hear their thoughts,
But alas the roar of the vacuum is all assuming.

Andy spins his tale,
Weaving one of a Young Greyback,
Cut down in his prime,
His words a portal into the thoughts of these silent Specter's thoughts.

That war turns boys into men,
And men into memories,
That no one ever wins at war,
That the last loser asks for terms.

It's a tale of grave matters,
But a necessary one I believe.
Was listening to "The road to Appomattox" by Andrew McKnight
Sep 2017 · 79
Alex McQuate Sep 2017
Traversing through sewer like tunnels,
Never quite large enough to stand in,
The air reeking of fetid bile.

Sounds bounce all around,
Tricking the mind endlessly,
Jets of steam from various pipes obscuring various dark tunnels.

I am not alone...
And whatever it is is hungry.

The sensation crawling down my spine,
Is that of dozens of spiders,
With needles instead of feet.

As I stop to take a breath I am looking down,
But the sound of a rock being disturbed on front of me makes me halt.

Screeching cries reach me from all sides as they bounce all around,
It is then that I look up and freeze,
For there are bright orange eyes in the dark just ahead.

It doesn't move,
And neither do I,
But it's silhouette remains shrouded by the dark.
A heavy air is settling now,
The silence like a blanket over all.

But from the silence comes a paralyzing sound.

A throaty and demonic like chuckle,
Crackly like the crunch of moist grave soil being struck by a shovel.

Clearly coming from behind me.
Sep 2017 · 91
Lost Crossroads
Alex McQuate Sep 2017
It's late out,
Michael Trent and Carry Ann Hearst are spinning me a tale,
Of which they constructed around the end,
Of two Musicians,
Crossing paths many a time on the road of life,
To only find out their paths soon merge.

Now ain't that interesting?
To think of those we meet at crossroads,
Only to find out soon enough they are the ones you come to rely on most.

So many crossroads,
To weave a pattern much like a tapestry,
Where do your crossroads lead?

Neil Young is on now,
A song written in a time that he was homesick,
In lands far away,
Even though he had no home to go back to.

A place where it's lush and green.

There's a Russian word for an ache like that,
It's called tocka,
A great longing and anguish,
With nothing to long for.
Sep 2017 · 148
Alex McQuate Sep 2017
Numbness spreading like a creeping wildfire,
Carrying heat along the wave's crest,
And that's when it hit,
Ideas spewed forth,
Everything was clearer,
Everything was bright.

The Trio were on fire,
Immortal in their success and youth,
On the rise ever higher,
To some their words were truth.

To be loved by all,
Their following seemingly limitless.
As was their potential.

Look upon thy creation and shudder.
Act 4- Ypres
Scene 2- Cadmean
Aug 2017 · 172
Century (Poem #100)
Alex McQuate Aug 2017
A century,
100 years,
Almost 1,200 months,
A hair over 5,214 weeks,
36,500 days,
Et cetera and Ad Nauseam.

A lot of time,
To build,
To demolish
To create,
To destroy.

But even with it all it is just a grain of sand that's in the hour glass.

But let's narrow our discussion here,
Let's just say part of one year,
More specifically 118 days.

Prose thoughts and insomniatic ramblings given a cohesive direction.
And a long time passion project procrastinated until now.

A lot can happen in 100 years,
A lot can happen in 100 seconds,
Your bloods makes 5 complete laps in your body,
The Earth moved 3,000 kilometers,
And the average human being has 70 thoughts.

Imagine if you just latched onto one of those fleeting thoughts,
Seeing which way it took you,
New ideas perhaps?
Perhaps you remember something you long thought lost.

Et cetera and Ad Nauseam.

The air is thick,
Grey eyes bloodshot from the cigarette smoke and lack of sleep.

Townshend in a rare role,
As he holds court over the airwaves.
Warning of the masks worn by those who derailed others while rising to the top,
Their vices always taken to an extreme.

The night air is finally cooling down,
It's gentle waves giving me occasionally goosebumps.
100 pieces. Kinda hard to describe it. Honestly never expected to still be writing but I've come to love this community that  I've happily stumbled across. I hope to be here in another 100.

-Alex MacQuate
(P.S. The song mentioned in this piece is The Who's song "Eminence Front". I'd recommend a listen.)
Aug 2017 · 63
The living contradiction
Alex McQuate Aug 2017
Didn't have any schooling after turning 17,
Yet by the time he retired he was living in a home that he had designed.

He would run out in the middle of making lunch to chase squirrels from the bird feeder,
But you could give him a picture of one and could give you any info you wanted on it,
From scientific name to dietary needs.

Had an extensive liquor collection to make any aficionado green with envy,
And hadn't touched a drop since his first grandchild had been born.

And perhaps most shocking,
He owned and regularly operated a boat for 57 years,
And never learned how to swim.

He was the living contradiction,
And he is a contradiction to this day,
For even if he departed us some time ago,
He is still teaching me things.
In loving memory of "Mac"
Aug 2017 · 82
Paradise Lost
Alex McQuate Aug 2017
What was once a refuge,
Soon became a cage,
Whether self imposed or not wasn't an issue,
And if asked you wouldn't get an answer.

The silent yet imposing North Winds would caress your cheeks here,
As you see the fruit starting to rot,
Marigolds blooming,
Like yellow bells ringing in the impending Autumn air.
Aug 2017 · 84
Unwanted roomate
Alex McQuate Aug 2017
I never wanted him,
And I swore I never wanted him,
But the time he approached me about moving  in was the second I just didn't care.

At first it was awesome,
An exciting time,
Doing something not cookie cutter and certainly not something I'd do if I was in any sort of right mind.

And for a time it was great.

The curtains finally seemed to be drawn away,
But little did I know all I was doing was putting on blinders,
When I thought I was exploring the new and adventurous,
I was rooting through the dark and the dangerous.

The roommate turned out to be a creature,
A monster in sheep's clothing,
And he was in the middle of the flock.

I think I ridded myself of him,
Though he is always knocking on my door,
I made the mistake of letting him back in once,
Something I'll never repeat again.
Aug 2017 · 81
In a cage.
Alex McQuate Aug 2017
I walk on,
For I'm the only one on the street,
All is quiet at 1:35 a.m.,
As I try to clear my head.

Afraid of failure,
Afraid of the walls,
As they slowly close in,
Constricting tighter and tighter,
Running out of options,
Running out of air.

I will try to not kid myself as I begin to pick up pace,
That smooth voice still pouring out at the back of my mind,
My pace picks up yet again.

A trot,
Could barely count as a run,
But the slight relief of the gentle breezes is all I need to spun me further,
Faster and faster,
As the tempo picks up a second time.

It's all I can do to keep it below a sprint,
As my lungs start feeling dry and hot,
My heart ratcheting it's beat up to a whole nother level.

The walls start to fall away as I finally break free,
If only for a little while longer.
Aug 2017 · 250
Nails and Needles
Alex McQuate Aug 2017
A hiss as pressurized fuel escapes as a gas,
Fumes escaping into the atmosphere.

The crackling of steel scraping on flint,
The cacophony of sparks following,
A fountain of brilliant orange light.

The ignition point is a dark blue,
As one of the sparks finally ignite the billowing fumes,
Spreading almost instantly,
Eating up the latchkey mixture of oxygen and fuel,
Produced in such a violent reaction was...

a singular light

Its flickering warmth
Dancing across the winds as they pass nearby.

The heat deflects off cold steel,
And soon a change was being made.

The Frontman took forth the Elixir,
The gift of the very helpful spider,
Providing him a way to save that which had been lost?

The Frontman looked at the Elixir,
Multicolored & unintelligible patterns flashing through the post mortem aqua vitae.

The Frontman drove the cure into his body,
Hoping to fill the long bleeding wound in his heart,
Hoping he could just speak to them again.

Too late to realize that the Elixir was gilded,
That the game had been rigged from the start,
The flashing covering up the milky white venom,
And the cure?

A nail in the coffin.
Act 4 - Ypres
Scene 1- Nails and Needles
Jul 2017 · 106
Old World Warning
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
It's back,
As are you, dear Reader,
A later night,
Smock drifting lazilly across the beams of light,
Cast from the street lights outside through the blinds.

Neil Young is giving the info and the orders,
A call to gather and speak out against the injustices,
But only if they are present and an unaddressed problem.

It is only in witch hunts that witches are really noticeable,
And if there are none, then the hunters will make a monster,
Even if it sacrifices the innocent.
Buffalo Springfield- For what it's Worth
Jul 2017 · 172
Along came a Spider
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
It had followed him for most of his life,
Sitting patiently,
Waiting still,
For the Spider knew it would eventually get it's chance,
A cruel judgment bestowed upon him by the fates.

The Spider's legs were long,
It's beady eyes glistening,
Milky venom dripping from a maw of  nasty little teeth,
Shivering with anticipation,
For soon it would be time to strike,
And then it would finally feast.

To our hero's who were celebrating,
To the spider they were completely unaware,
Hiding amongst the guests,
Some of them the Spider had been feeding on for years,
But now it was time for a new dish.

The Bassist had turned in early,
The Drummer in another room,
The Spider closed in on the lone Frontman,
Who defenceless and alone was introduced to his doom.
Act 3- Ascension
Scene 5- Along came a Spider
Jul 2017 · 93
Run Free
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
There was a time in which I was bed-ridden for months,
Stuck in a limbo between weightless peace and excrutiating agony,
And all he while I saw snow bury the earth in a mighty wave of white,
It's winds lashing at anything exposed like the spray of the sea.

But all the while I lay bed-ridden.

As the snow began to melt,
So did the last dregs of lethargy from my shoulders,
It was time to charge on.

Busted half my stitches in my first try,
But it wouldn't be my last,
Getting stronger was the goal,
Here I stand,
Running when they said I'd need a cane for 3 years more.

Run Free
Jul 2017 · 190
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
Their message was sent,
The people,
They had rallied,
And at the front of this force stood The Three,
They traveled far,
They traveled wide.

By now The Frontman was a full adult,
The face of a man you'd trust,
Well spoken and confident,
Ready for anything that could come.

Their faces we're everywhere,
Their voices and sound being sent on all the wires,
Bound for History were The Three,
The only factor was time.
Act 3- Ascension
Scene 4- Pinnacle
Jul 2017 · 101
The Watson to my Holmes
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
You honestly think you know don't you,
Deep in your heart of hearts,
You wish to know the truth,
When in the end,
And after the fact,
You'll wished the secrets had remained so.

My mouth tastes only of ash and tobacco,
My right thumb sporting a small burn from the lighter,
And my eyes are dry and scratchy,
And all I think about is how you're gone from this world,
Never to greet the sunrise with me again,
To laugh at my ****** jokes,
Or be my only ally when the world itself seems to be out to get me,
A wall to press my back to,
A rope to my drowning man,
The Governor's stay of execution to my riding of Ol' Sparky.

I sit here,
Thinking of you Dear,
Watching the sunrise on the lake.
Jul 2017 · 129
Fighting the Current
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
I feel like I'm climbing a rope that's going up a waterfall,
With a hand tied behind my back,
It's all I can do to simply not drown,
Let alone to not be swatted down from the hammer-like blows of water upon my shoulder, head, and hand.

I feel like my grip is slipping,
I could really use a hand,
I wonder where you're at now in your life,
As I try with all my strength to hold on for mine,
Did you move out west like you wanted?
To learn to surf near Santa Monica?
And learn a new language?

I wished you the best,
And now I wish you'd stayed.
Jul 2017 · 164
Lightning in a Vinyl
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
The call went out,
The people,
They answered,
For it was something they all heard in their heart of hearts,
The outcry of "ENOUGH!!!"
Enough of the tyranny that was the monotony of daily life,
Like puppets on strings,
Or the marching on of drones.

The call went out,
Both far and wide,
And the people,
They answered.

In the blink of an eye the lightning flew across the ocean,
Flying far and wide.
Act 3- Ascention
Scene 3- Lightning in a Vinyl
Jul 2017 · 168
Alex McQuate Jul 2017
The room was lined in foam,
Several microphones littered the booth,
Like corpses abandoned on a field of battle,
Grave markers of bands who came before.

Their hands sweaty,
Emotions tumbling about like clothes in a dryer,
As a small red light came on.

A lone guitar starts out,
Steadily rolling on as more and more instruments join in,
A vanguard to the symphony of rock to follow.

The Frontmans vein's bulging in his neck as he comes into the beginning of the song,
An outcry for those of like mind to join,
A rallying call.

Their sound was influenced by their city,
The Denizens of such a royal city,
Giving it an edge of steel as they tore into the instrumental,
Then suddenly a lull,
Only stopping long enough to catch ones breath, before it plunges back in for another round.
Ebbs and flows,
Until it is back to just the one guitar,
Destined to plod along alone.
Act 3- Ascension
Scene 2- Charge
Jun 2017 · 127
Never Enough
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
Ask a vet, if there were three things they didn't have enough of.
The core of it all would boil down to these:

Never enough time,
Never enough bodies,
Never enough bullets.
Jun 2017 · 140
Building steam
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
The Three had been delivered into the valley of fate,
it was there that they were armed with only their instruments,
seemingly shrunken in comparison to the valley's reaches.

So it was here they marched on,
their Frontman blazing the path,
the bonds between them strengthened,
through their shared success,
reinforced by shared lows,
when the weight was equally heavy upon all their shoulders.

It was there that momentum was gained,
a confident crew that had just hit its stride,
with faces that hadn't entirely lost their boyishness,
their walks and actions, however, told a completely different story,
for these new up-and-comers.

It was time.
They had to create an epic of the histories,
They had to make an album.
Act 3- Ascension
Scene 1- Building steam
Jun 2017 · 107
12:27 A.M.
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
Sorrowful and soulful sounds come from the radio,
The Red Headed Stranger is plucking away on Trigger,
A whole different kind of cowboy.

Singing of times long past,
Of a woman long gone,
A woman he wish had stayed.

I use the last of my beer to walk down the smoke and ash,
Stubbing out my smoke atop a mountain of finished Winstons.

I look back on it now,
On the regrets that I've had so far.

Of trips not taken,
The could-have-beens that went undone,
And the Ones that had been let slip,
So it is here I find myself,
Drinking alone on this warm summer midnight.
Time of the Preacher- Willie Nelson
Jun 2017 · 89
Music Box
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
Despondent and alone,
The little music box plinks on,
Sounding like a heartbroken and cold harp.

You slowly realize,
Little music box,
That your plinking rhythm is actually an anthem.

It's an anthem that many would march to war for,
Little music box,
But remember always,
Little one,
That absolute power will corrupt absolutely.

All for an ideal that plucks from the little music box
Davy Jones's theme- Hans Zimmer
Jun 2017 · 80
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
People think our legacies have to be based on wealth, ideals, and land.
When in fact it's our instincts.
Jun 2017 · 193
Road Trip thoughts
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
What if you found out you've been thinking about someone in the completely wrong light?
That with a simple change of perspective,
A person who you may have known for years,
Is someone you found out you didn't know very well at all.

What about yourself,
Dear reader,
You ever have a realization that you are not the good guy of the story,
But the villain?

At what point would you consider a relationship with a person unsalvageable?

Ever thought about what people say about you when your gone?
Did 14 hours of nonstop driving today,only getting out of the car twice for gas. Been through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. These were all thoughts that fluttered on by as I tried to get some radio signal when I ran out of good CDs.
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
It is only after the ultimate sacrifice by the hero,
That the rewards are to be reaped,
And that just astounds me.

Because it is in these stories that the sacrifices are made just after the hero finally has a chance to become redeemed or to have finally experienced life.

Rage can come on many forms,
I classify rage as an angry form of grief,
Why grief you ask?
Because rage is a sort of emotion that has sharp hooks that dig into your heart,
It changes your behavior,
And it isn't good for you,
And 90% of the time the only way to end it is to let the fire just burn itself out.

But changing gears now,
What would you do if you were to realize you were the bad guy in the play that is your life?

When do the justifications end and justice actually gets served?
Jun 2017 · 160
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
It was after the show,
That the Agent approached,
His eyes glinting and flittering with a wondrous glow.

He showed them that he had but a simple and loose contract,
A Retainership that would benefit both parties,
Of which they would agree to.

It was then that the Agent presented them with a significantly larger contract.

It was then that they realized what they were being handed,
Their way to a better life,
A key to a very difficult puzzle,
A planet taken from their shoulders.

They had been discovered.
Act II- Discovery
Scene 5- Discovery

Thus ends the second act for Elegy of the Frontman! Taking the upcoming week to travel across the states and visit faraway relatives, will update as I can.
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
The anthem ripped out from the Frontman, the Drummer, and the Bassist,
Making a sound larger than should be possible,
Their anthem ripped out through the old amps,
The music revitalizing the old speakers.

The Drummer hammered out powerfully yet precise.
His feet rattling off like machine gun fire,
His bandana tied around his brow.

The Bassist laying down a metronome-like effect to it all,
Notes swaying and dipping to the tune,
Flaring out occasionally to add more gravitas,
Showing he was still his own musician.

The Frontman declaring to the crowd of transgressions committed,
Of battles won and lost,
But also the views from the other side,
That the enemy may be man still.
A story of agony and anger,
Sorrow and Savagery,
With jubilance for the act of violence.
The Frontman's solo soaring high before axe kicking down upon the audience's heads.

The Agent was stunned,
His dropped drink forgotten,
As he reached for the payphone on the wall
The experience in front of him spurring him faster.

The Band continued,
Their sound crescendoing,
Coming to an almighty peak,
Only to begin it's decent to the earth,
Crashing down magnificently,
Down upon a dive bar in the run down part of town.
Act II- Discovery
Scene 4- A dive bar in the run down part of town
Jun 2017 · 204
The Agent
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
The Agent stood on the corner,
Smelling faintly of bourbon and stale cigarettes,
Loss and despair.

He was a rising star when he had started,
A keen eye for talent and shrewd in business.
But those times had long past,
For all he had now was the bittersweet yearn of nostalgia and just enough in royalties for a dumpy apartment.

A light rain started,
It's cold droplets stinging lightly on the Agent's reddened nose,
Irking him,
Beyond not just having a drink.

The Agent spots his shelter,
A bar just down the street.

As he walks in,
He shakes loose the rain that hadn't clung yet,
And shuffles over to the bar with hands shoved deep in pockets,
He goes and orders a drink.

It is then that he looks over to see a band getting ready in the corner,
It is then that the Frontman belted out the count in.

And the agent dropped his drink.
Act II- Discovery
Scene 3- The Agent
Jun 2017 · 95
The Lake
Alex McQuate Jun 2017
Stevie Nicks is telling me about her emotions after an argument with an old lover,
Her hearts still probably beating fast,
She's pouring them out like a faucet,
It's lone electric guitar underlining the loneliness of the song
But it is also one about hope

The lakes waves softly lap on the beaches pebbly bank.
The crickets out in force.
All is quiet on the lake front,
A vacation well deserved
Landslide- Fleetwood Mac
May 2017 · 140
Relaxing Summer Day
Alex McQuate May 2017
Puffy white glaciers crawl lazily across the sky,
The buzzing of flies and the smell of freshly cut grass,
The puffs of dandelion seeds floating across the field,
The cool breeze refreshing to heated faces,
Sky a pleasant Infantry Blue.
Wonderboy- Tenacious D
May 2017 · 211
Into the Spider's Den
Alex McQuate May 2017
The spider was patient,
It had all the time in the world,
For it had been around since time immemorial,
So it lied there in the woods,
Waiting for its opportunity.

The child was curious,
As all children are at that age,
As to why the sky was blue,
Why the grass was green,
And why wasn't he allowed to go into the woods alone.

The inevitable inevitability happened.

So the child went out alone one day,
To see what was all the fuss,
And it was then that the spider took the child into it's awaiting arms,
To be yet another tribute to the forest.
May 2017 · 111
Alex McQuate May 2017
The clacking of metal as components are slid into place,
The precision machining of the parts would make a novice go nuts,
But this isn't my first rodeo,
Using the buttstock to hammer out a pin that has a tendency to stick,
Then the feedtray cover is freed.

The components are checked up on,
Scraped free of carbon if any is found,
With a homemade tool that works better than any you could purchase.

CLP is applied lightly,
An old rag used to clean up any excess liquid.

With the same amount of precision and care is used to assemble her,
Piece by piece,
A symphony of moving parts and deft finger movements.

Functions check complete,
This Lady is ready to dance.
May 2017 · 260
Army Coffee
Alex McQuate May 2017
Some say it's thicker than tar,
Others say it tastes like turpentine,
To the first I'd say that rumor is stretched too far,
And to the second I'd say it tastes quite fine.

As long as you do it right.

I'll even give you the recipe:
- A *** of water
- Coffee grounds (1/2 cup-3/4 cups)
-A non-tattered boot sock (it'll take a little while to find a good one)

Step 1: Pour coffee grounds into sock and tie it off.
Step 2: Bring *** of water to a rolling boil
Step 3: Steep sock and leave it in ***.
Step 4: Remove *** from heat source.
Step 5: Wait 5 minutes then serve.

That's it,
That's all there is to it,
The magic behind it all,
Add or subtract time as preferred,
Cheaper then a coffee machine,
Once the right sock is found.

It is an odd thing to learn,
So off the wall and profound.

Are you brave enough to try?
It's very good.
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