Twenty first century technology
allows, enables, and provides
instantaneous virtual unconsummated love.

Within the course of a texting or sexting session
one lovelorn lad (or grown man)
can fabricate a faux impression
with the young or old fellow claiming lineage
as a reincarnated Hessian
essentially a German trooper hired
by the British to help fight
during the American Revolution
principally drawn
from the German state of Hesse-Cassel.

Heavily reliant on the ability to embellish
I, a married communitarian, flexitarian,
latitudinarian, sexagenarian, and Unitarian
seek an applicable, flirtatious, illicit liaison
with a sugar mommy to relish.

Though basically discriminatory
father/husband impractical joker
caught the incurable texting/sexting fever
rationalizes triggering, voyaging,
and xeriscaping his prickly little garden borer
would not smack of adultery, infidelity, but
witness jocularity, levity, and negotiability
within the parameters of cyberspace.

Simulation of being electronically coupled
won't necessitate justice of the peace nor
wedding officiant or marriage officiant,
sometimes referred to as a celebrant.

Both people able, eager, ready and willing
to sample a pseudo/quasi
noteworthy scaled union
as all "good boys do fine"
for the treble clef lines
or "All Cows Eat Grass"
for the treble clef spaces
and "Fat Cows Eat Grass"
for the bass clef lines
can simply pledge their troth
for the duration of time spent online.

If game to feign *******, discipline
(or *******), sadism, and masochism
(as a type of ****** practice)
then Ubangi me,
and subsequently I do likewise to thee
all in good and healthy fun - ha!

Cavorting with sophisticated banter
would more closely
delineate mine harried style
swiftly tailored word play
not only in one direction
but also contesting each other
with palindromes and maybe
even talking in cryptograms.

Impossible mission to discover
visa vis other people
(predominantly of the female persuasion -
ideally a galavanting
gender conforming heterosexual lass
striving to hone her proficiency
with English language in general
and as a creative grammarian,
cognitive humanitarian,
and circumspective nothingarian
to whip out her wit and wisdom
for no particular rhyme nor reason,
but just merely to quip
for the sheer joy
of employing lingua franca.

If unsuccessful with deploying a figurative spark
courtesy atypical modus operandi videlicet
and fail to strike up a potential quasi match
with a receptive counterpart,
I will continue to entertain myself
summoning forth innovative verses
if for nobody else but yours truly (me),
who experienced joie de vivre
when satisfied with a written endeavor
trying to avoid bombastic, egocentric,
idiosyncratic, et cetera eye sores.

One must do whatever in their power
to cope with cares and concerns
of an uncertain webbed, wide world.

For me, that means reading and writing.

I considered myself sophisticated and wise,
but the addictive power of texting
and subsequently sexting
took me by surprise,
and impossible mission to neutralize
despite experiencing scraping rock bottom
as emotional lows courtesy accusations
from the alewife, nevertheless
communication, envisioning, and flirting
with a veritable unknown females
generates testosterone filled highs
diatribes hurled lambasting me
despite trying to articulate
faux convincing alibis.

As a recent newbie to accessing
Facebook (Meta) Messenger
(similar to any other social media platform)
one offered feature
constitutes Friend request option,
which function when answered
in the affirmative
courtesy the recipient
activates modus operandi
and implied netiquette,
where veritable strangers
lost in cyberspace
immediately finds him/herself linkedin to
plethora of potential physical entanglements
with members of the same
or opposite genders
leaving little or no opportunities
for platonic friendship
the somewhat limited
level of familiarity yours truly seeks,
apropos to a married former agrarian
Norwegian bachelor farmer,
barbarian, communitarian, disestablishmentarian,
equalitarian, grammarian, latitudinarian,
nonvegetarian, sexagenarian, utilitarian,
Unitarian, and non Aryan.
Though just a run of mill (by the pond)
generic guy with negligible qualities to boast
before long, I found myself
without absolute zero self discipline
to cease reciprocating with unknown
from across the webbed wide world,
and excitement coursed
thru every pore of mine
for adventure found me blithely engrossed
as these not
so nimble butter fingers
analogous to that sensation,
when betting on when my ship comes in
(ideally laden with riches)
after traveling the seven seas
for numerous orbitz around the sun
(escaping countless mutinous crisis
linkedin with humorous,
pirate, or vaccination conspiracies aye
unable to avoid an impost
courtesy Trump economics,
which favors the one percent
and impinges those people dirt poor
(like yours truly)
bumping uglies along the nethermost
at risk for becoming indigent
reduced to eat burnt offerings
vis a vis rotten stale toast.

If perchance ye dear unknown reader
espy a scruffy Unitarian, sexagenarian
reincarnated Union soldier to boot
donning dark blue wool uniform
consisting of a "sack coat" (jacket),
blue wool trousers, a forage cap
(hat with a leather visor),
and leather brogan shoes
but currently spends
his senior citizen days
as a present day panhandling chap,
who makes sounds courtesy his glute
after living on beans
cue Blazing Saddles,
with a cheeky bit part
yours truly starred
where stage got set at Moyer's dump
ofttimes declared a superfund site
for air he did pollute.

Though forever being a landlubber
a vision analogous to the nether world
deep within the bowels of the Earth
immensely distant from the sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits
comprising a Soul Asylum,
where The Grateful Dead (albeit marked
via weathered tombstones)
hermetically sealed in Davy Jones locker
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.

Echoing from one end
of the universe to the other
putting to shame the initial big bang
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast,
which cosmological exploits
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy
premised conjectures of brilliant minds
that could only gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats
punctuated via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr amidst
uber kindle jump/kick starting,
pinteresting snap chatting
tinder blinks, extinguishes,
snuffs out one lowly
Beatle browed bipedal simian.

While reading the above text,
I could barely keep my eyes opened
and practically dozed off
as the lapping of the ocean
buffeted our sturdy small cruise ship.

Lazing about the "Fo'c'sle..."
sailors situated upon upper deck of their ship
spotted what appeared
to be a humongous, ominous looking,
phenomenal, shape-shifting massive entity
fused between distant land and infinite sky
and moving at lightspeed
toward the prow of their ship.

Within lil more'n a day at most
the coming fury
would impose the wrath of God,
whereby nobody forced
small number of young and old salt
more familiar to the briny deep
then the terra firma underfoot
into the impossible mission
to weather the maelstrom
already passed the point of no return
far too late to never call retreat
tempest will challenge
cutting crew to a ferocious brawl
trumpeting tempestuous donnybrook
chalk slam dunk March madness
closes curtain call
“in like a lion, out like a lamb,”
twill hove tested survivability,
asper flora, thru harsh winter, and
those most searing robust
will have passed thru
brutish, nasty, and short assay
compliments Poseidon
(known as Neptune
in Roman mythology)
upon weathering,
mustering survival skills
and the psyched
by shear blessedness
that lovely lass,
(and countless small children)
awaits sea dogs after pulling thru hellacious
allowing, enabling, and providing
each experienced hand
to “Hoist himself by his own petard,”
with attendant motivating prospect videlicet
regarding unbridled love
the mere thought of leaving behind
a young widow summons
pent up latent energy bursting asunder
envisioned hardened Jack-tar
to cavort, frolic, instigate
wham bam thank you ma'am
soon after making landfall
lollygagging, orchestrating, romancing
while birds and bees pollinate
seeds of life and white lily
jamming, humming, fostering sensational slam
dance, where flora lifts, wafts, and yawps
spring fever that busted out all over
invoking nine months later warble(s), gurgle(s),
burble(s) from new born baby
being rocked back and forth
enroute to visit grandmum
comfortably situated within tram
pleasantly dreaming courtesy
rhythmic clattering over tracks.

min(no) newt effect on me.

As part and parcel of terpsichorean repertoire,
one whirling dervish
***** his wings at the speed of sound.

With twenty three hours
Sunday March 9th, 2025
essentially 2:00:00 to 2:59:59
does not exist
in the night of the switch
(back to the house of Pooh Corner)
not only in Pennsylvania
(but as well as
across the United States)
will begin at 2:00 AM,
(thus dear reader ye moost
stay awake two hours into)
Sunday, March ninth
originally implemented over
one hundred years ago,
in 1918 during World War I
to help conserve fuel and power
and extend the workday
where countless nations
did lyft the bulk of production
after supporting a wartime economy.

Working during the sunlight hours
meant burning less fuel,
and the ability to work
later into the day
and moost likely will impact
min-née-ute effect on me
a run of the mill on the Floss
amazingly gracefully aging
long haired pencil necked geek,
who welcomes increased photons
while sunbathing within his alcove
just outside the bedroom window.

Just moments ago,
I dusk hoovered a dawning realization
which arose within the noggin
of this sol son begat
from when ma late mother most fecund
but twenty years ago May 5th, 2025
hook hot whisked away courtesy grim reaper,
and then, (when following portion of poem written)
nonagenarian widower father of mine,
who sat bolt upright in bed
uttering apostrophic comment
before succombing to catastrophic
congestive heart failure,
when this sole son visited him on his deathbed
boot merely the painful revelation
never to talk to the man
who, how he learned me fist bumping
suddenly recalled for no particular
rhyme nor reason
when dee clocks hour hand moved ahead
remembered by dat
dog gone refrain
spring ahead, and fall back,
this unemployed chap
doth down play eclat
courtesy Father Time
experiencing malignant coup d'etat,
attests that his quotidian schedule
of being a faux lounge lizard minimally affected
while being holed up here
in Highland Manor named flat
barely roomy enough
for thyself, the Missus,
and buzzfeed ding fruit flies
each fuzz beating insect
approximately the size of a gnat
a minor nuisance, though tolerable
within this appealing habitat,

where minor inconvenient truth experienced
while earthling in the balance
between living social versus being homeless
by this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania resident
cuz as a recipient
of social security disability,
(which Trump's wrecking ball may obliterate)
social anxiety – and more accurately
schizoid personality disorder
psychological qualifier
that didst get linkedin with receiving
unearned income int to pay rent,
which fixed (unearned) income budgeted
and predominantly allocated to costs
of living money basic necessities spent,
hence no need to arise
bright tailed and bushy eyed,
a freedom akin
to festive folks camped out in a tent,
which exemption immunizes
this doodle ling middle aged
muddle brained chap
subjecting unsuspecting readers
to his inane raving and ranting
affiliated with early morning drivers,
who angrily, frenetically,
and splenetically rant and vent
thus, the tendency, piquancy, and lunacy
to twitter for the Yardbirds,
and keep company
with night owls, who went

a hooting for all the world wide web
to hear, whence straw dawgs Bach,
the exact number of hours, yer oblivious
to the tight rigorous mortised schedule
manned by Mister Clock,
essentially foisting on bread winners,
an abstract artificial construct spurring
madcap commuters to scurry in the rat race,
lest tardiness could cost
more than ham iz zone whole paycheck
(to ap pier with permanent dock
hue ment aye shun),
an unwonted blot add hock
king worry about getting canned - laughter
i.e. on permanent furlough,
perhaps forced into a life of crime,
yet if caught...
courtesy strapping ****
drags me, a wimpy wordsmith
wasting away in a jail cell,
a veritable wasteland
surprised to hear the knock
of the princess warden
as she turns tumblers within the lock,
mein future fate in her fingers
if let free and clear,
to hire myself as a robot,
with artificial intelligence
greater than any mortal man or woman;
one redeeming factor,
would offer opportunity to mock
management, and more pertinently
mandate to rock
and roll to the incessant muted,
yet devastatingly loud tick tock.

“The patience of Job” applied as an idiom that means to have great patience or endurance in the face of suffering. It's used to describe someone who perseveres through many problems or hardships.

(or be an uncommon Joe)...
to bide their - meaning her/his time
(while listening to muzak) before talking
with Verizon Fios representative,
who usually profusely thanks
the long time customer for diligently holding out
to discuss any pressing issue(s) at hand.

All that fretting and fussing takes a toll
and disallows one from attaining zen
a state of blessed blissfulness when
considerably unlike figurative
swirling chaos cue Tiananmen
Square when 1989 protests
wrought strong arm of the law to quicken
suppression courtesy the Chinese military
decimated, interrogated, oppressed and vetted
obliterated nascent twittering,
and flickering freedom of expression
student-led demonstrations linkedin
with other brethren and sistren
courtesy qua relationship each as netizen,
with the others until government
stepped in asserted authoritarianism
Über alles might means right.

Any resemblance between the above citation
and living persons purely coincidental,
cuz yours truly (me) cannot remain silent,
but must (be as innocuous as a scare) crow
(as if he got forced
to chomp on the figurative bit),
and admit without further delay
said above iterated Biblical apothegm
more challenging than threading
a needle thru the eye of a camel.

As a little boy buzzfeeding his curiosity
sitting hours sprawled on the grass,
and other instances in later years,
when just a skinny lad,
he honed the ability to wait
for however long the waiting took,
the exception being when my mother
predictably late picking me up
after school if I missed getting on the school bus.

The wait well worth finally speaking
with a Verizon Fios
(Fiber Optic Service) representative,
(who terminated television service
with yours truly to lower his monthly bill),
and while on a protracted waiting stance,
I busied myself in the interim,
whiling away the time
playing online Solitaire:
(I won another virtual trophy
without cheating of course),
and answered Facebook friend requests,
while also checking for responses,
and subsequently texting totally tubular
men and women who sent me a message
ofttimes in reaction to a poem I posted,
and although no tangible
(read tactile) interaction occurs,
a more profound mental arousal
begets enticing hypothalamus, thalamus,
amygdala, and frontal lobes
ushering ******* intellectual glorification
analogous with peak crisis as described below
regarding a breakout novel by D.H. Lawrence
in Lady Chatterley's Lover.

Nowadays aforementioned then
ground breaking scandalous publication
tells the story of a wealthy,
upper-class woman,
Lady Constance Chatterley,
who felt trapped in a loveless marriage
with a paralyzed husband
and finds passionate love
with the working-class gamekeeper
on her estate, Oliver Mellors,
highlighting the themes of class differences
and the importance of physical intimacy
and emotional fulfillment in a relationship;
the book is considered controversial
due to explicit depiction of ***
and the social taboo of the affair.

"Lady Chatterley's Lover"
caused a major stir
due to its explicit descriptions of ***,
particularly female ****** pleasure,
combined with the controversial portrayal
of a passionate affair
between an upper-class woman
and a working-class man, which
considered shocking and taboo for the time,
leading to widespread censorship
and bans across many countries
when it first published.

the Earl of Yarmouth (William Seymour)
a descendant of very late
(to the power of Google - ha) Jane Seymour,
Henry VIII's third wife
currently in a legal battle with his parents,
the Marquess and Marchioness of Hertford,
over the family estate, Ragley Hall
located in Alcester,
Warwickshire, England, at B49 5NJ
constitutes a 17th century
Palladian stately home
set in 450 acres of parkland in Warwickshire
sued his parents for "trauma"
after NOT inheriting a 6,000 acre,
$105 million estate for his thirtieth birthday
contrary to the rule of primogeniture.

how cruel, shameless and unspeakable
unnecessary psychological suffering
ensued, imposed, and ordained
upon talking head of said heir
being royal parentage Livin' on a Prayer
(courtesy Jon Bon Jovi)
lamented being shortchanged
courtesy supposed stingy parents,
who did not even bequeath a ****** weir.

if locked out of a sizable estate
yours truly too would fight tooth and nail
(no matter I wear dentures)
against being denied patrimony
(ranking as a worse fate than death),
cue marionette strings to pull tight
and the listener to pantomime
violins to orchestrate
voiding any chance at tête-à-tête
not deeding a modest fortune
to first born male heir,
hence forcing eldest son
to hire himself (with egg on his face)
out as a yokemate.

aforementioned tidy fortune
linkedin with tragi-comic high drama
will inevitably be exhausted
courtesy bickering as countless
court - battles him
of the republic in which it stands...
(plagiarizing pledge of allegiance
for personal mutinous gain)
ensue - forcing prodigal son against father,
and holy ghost supposed
descendent of Jane Seymour,
whose spirit can host the pity party
perhaps even reviving
the court of King Crimson
subtle allusion to King Henry VIII.
yours truly a fluent bloke,
which two words forged
together to create affluent
suddenly becomes only a tabloid fodder
for and about proletarian pennsylvanian poet
fancy and fantasy of mine
truth be told being born into wealth
and unabashedly crying the blues
generates no empathy from me,
and maybe sympathy
for the devil he will evoke,
but of course archaic contractual obligations
buried deep in the webbed wide world archives
of English law will invoke
paternal obligations reminding
twenty first century sophisticates
if any questionable breech to stint
(once again stretching
the legal limits of credulity)
concerning the welfare of menfolk
such ridiculous questionable logic,
the supposed traumatized young man
will quicken others infinitesimal chance
of securing riches due to *******
whose imagination,
the Earl of Yarmouth (William Seymour)
unwittingly did stoke
and even the writer of these words woke
to fabricate being linkedin
acquiring money and predilection
of jaw dropping wealth,
which delusions and illusions of grandeur
finds me to swallow my pride,
and feel the burden of invisible yoke.

as his stronghold diminishes.

Signals, triggers, and ushers kickstarting debut
of demure "Flora" who slowly but surely attempts
to reveal her true colors in fits and starts,
nevertheless, she displays skittishness,
when sun kissed "Radiance"
(the closest equivalent would be Aglaea
from Greek mythology,
one of the Charites (Graces)
associated with radiant beauty and festive splendor)
dearly fawns upon her,
though as temperatures tick
(tok like a byte dance) upwards,
a preponderant panoply and splash of color
will soon highlight, predominate, and x ist
showcasing the splendiferous,
odiferous, and luminiferous latent potential
conceded courtesy mother nature "Gaia"
housing the pent up
locked energy once dormant
under the frozen terrestrial surface
emergent after celestial seasonal thaw,
which comes trumpeting
and marching when the hills alive
with the sound of music,
where in months to elapse
topiary will come to life
once nondescript hedge rows
sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding
pruning shears and chainsaw
carved, limned and sculpted
with wrist a cratic wrought voila uber
prestidigitation head turning
botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition
transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping,
whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion
of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous,
incredulous, and anomalous
banana rama manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious
carpet boar animation punk
chew waits groundswell.

Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus
without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking likeness
sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready
to become bone a fide
(green behind ears) thriving vox populist,
per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth
as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist
the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon,
an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination
of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting
the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic
wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing
manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh),
whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands
baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breathes
mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready
to frolic in grass menagerie,
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny,
the Michelangelo of dirtiest canvass,
an earthen tabula rasa of sorts,
where application threshing
re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll
doppelganger green hued key luster
incorporating a webbed, wide world
buzzfeeding with a host of organisms
avast vernal renascence
blooming forth when optimal
environmental conditions met
oblivious to whether Gregorian Calendar
indicates the start date
(about twelve weeks after
the northern hemisphere
subjected to hiemal, hibernal,
winterish, or bruma weather)
ecstatic regarding and regaling
March madness Rite of Spring,
when the sun crosses the celestial equator
in a northerly direction,
marking the prime meridian of right ascension
heralding flickering, snapchatting
and twittering Firebird Suite
witnessed amidst flora busting out all over
in all her morning glory
concurrent resultant boom
courtesy the winds of March
whooshing in newlife budding forth
dispersing seeds of life and white lily,
whereby creationists attribute
videre licet pollinators of Eden
given special dispensation, license,
and tithing with gumption
to propagate at the expense
of annihilation, discrimination,
hybridization, marginalization, sanctification,
(and exert dominion - *******
over all creatures great and small,
all things bright and beautiful, and
all things wise and wonderful,
which mandate to be fruitful and multiply)
taken to heart and bestowed,
allotted especial sanctity
to human life reproduction
dogmatic, idiomatic, osmatic
deeds categorically to beget
in obeisance to supposed sacred text
bamboozling, extolling, and foretelling gamut
of various and sundry
diverse creeds, misfit nationalities,
and tribes of man/womankind,
where taint any chance
civilization and their discontents
also known as **** sapiens will endure
raining ruination upon planet Earth,
where heirs and heiresses
temporarily obscured by
obscenely offensive musky men trumpeting
proclamation *******.