nay, have I the resources nor regrets,
to drop tears, since we have never met,
my rutted dial,
into the foul winds have faced.

many hours my fingers have paced,
                                  upon the keys, when
should I be found upon my knees,
my eyes may as well be dim,
chances of meeting you, slim,
oh but for wonders of tech, and oddities,
have I not caught a social media disease,
if I have want to be anywhere but here,
it is with thee there.

whether coasts west or east or overseas,
York the New and Land of Port,
or some isle somewhere with a dialect so rich,
eight by eight so to speak,
or near the heart of the where I live,
or land on some place in Village Central
you all see right through me, my riddles,
my rhymes, my prose sometimes,

is off the cuff with no shirt sleeves,
tis a rant that is not to rave about,
playing child's games,
some say shame shame,
in this adult world that fills me with Awe
and Wonder, tortured by questions to
which may not have any answer.

yet I celebrate,
each waking hour,
each breath in and especially out,
and when rest takes me low,
my dour moods, make it easy to pout,
yet.

Yet,
I will celebrate,
with music, though sounding like
tin cans and strings, with a few pebbles
thrown in,  I will not sing,
I will celebrate,
with movement but not dance,
for the two flat feet, that slap
like flippers make quite a flap,
I will not dance,
I will celebrate,
with no instrument,
my fingers and my ears, bent and deaf,
are tuned to different spheres,
that are both flat, fingers
lifted too many cold bridge parts,
while the ears heard too many
explosions, and rifle reports, bang, bang
So what do I celebrate...?

Each waking day,
and the dark of night,
every day of work,
until I take my leave,
each sight, eyes see,
about which to write,
not old but older,
a hardy fool and more bolder,
willing to waste money, no contest,
just foolish fortitude,
yet let the celebration begin,
there is no code for when
you get old, for I see myself as young,
another year comes close to closing,
another day births my hope,
my apprenticeship,
may time pass slow,
so I may learn quick,
so celebrate with me one day next
week, don't write me off yet, for
I have no stories in print.

Tapping is not touching
when it is a screen,
liking is an emotion,
social media dream,
what state you are in
to sate the needs you
feel, with out tech and
an electric eel to provide
the juice...so let's get to
that reveal... honest is as
honest does, is there
truth in who you say
you was the other night,
or is day and light
and dark and night
a fifty/fifty chance
of who you really are?

metal plastic, matters not,
moving rolling, engine hot,
pushing ahead,
mass of air,
goes by me,
changes my hair,
in a new direction,
takes my hat,
without discretion,
seeing eye blurs,
rush even at, an early hour,
foot plus gas pedal equals power,
and for some, that is all they will
ever have,
but walk I will by the boulevard,
dog on leash scenting hard,
for a place to go out of the blast,
that never ends as they all go fast,
while I must look slow, walking beside the boulevard.