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Dec 2017
Though the heyday and stellar popularity didst long since wane, I still enjoy listening to select song titles (to many for listing here along this virtual boulevard of broken dream) of this iconic Punk Rock band unique rapid fire machine gun punctuated trademark style still induces goosebumps IF only because my eldest daughter (Eden Liat) used to be a rabid fan.

     She even voluntarily recruited this papa (and asked me in her coy, diminutive, earnestly irresistible purring kitty cat demeanor if yours truly could taxi herself, and one or more best buddies, (whom she keeps in regular communication to this green day) to the the theatrical performance “American Idiot” being shown on Broadway.

     Unsure at the present status of this three (?) member all male musician troupe (with a moderate sized following at the zenith of their renown i.e. with quite a motley crue of groupies to boot), nonetheless at the height of fame and fortune experienced by said trio, a spurious whim spurred this middle aged chap to jot down his feelings of unbridled affinity toward said talented three person creative young men within a poetic format (left unmodified only if there appeared a typographical error, or an ambiguous awkward outdated word arrangement) will be appended below.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Billie Joe Armstrong,
   Mike Dirnt, and Tre Cool
which trio known (the world wide web over)
   as the band Green Day
   composed lyrics and melodies
   this listener did imbibe

   analogous to downing musical fuel
no matter the lead singer
   supposedly never graduated from high school,
yet raw bits of primal utterance
    approximated talent galore,

   which excessive indulgence
   with amber liquids of the dogs
   or flagrant downing
   consciousness expanding material

   filled the airwaves of soundstage and/or studio
   with snapping, popping, and crackling
   rhythmic synchronicity evoking images
   of warm from a Yule tide burning log.

I (a common, easy going, generic kid)
   spent childhood years
   practicing the piano,
   which tickling the ivory (way before
   realization brought to my attention,

   how elephants illegally poached and slaughtered),
   for shear sporting whim
   pounded the keys with vigor and vim
speculated at how dissimilar mine fate,
   would possibly be if dedication sustained

   to be a self driven task master
   while mollycoddling the baby grand,
perchance me billfold and financial accounts
   would not be extremely paltry and slim

reflected then and now, on one of those “what if...could a,
   should a would a...” hypothetical queries
and wonders if Robert Frost enshrined and rim  
mem bored viz signature ruminating

   about “The Road Not Taken”
might fancy himself joining a seminary
   (rather peculiar though from an atheist)
obeying behavioral edicts
   (with no discipline required
   from “religious fathers”proper and prim,

hence baring the habit as a nun
   in a convent chances negligible to him
i.e. me, yet...all those mewing kitties
will more closely match my anthem

but un-natural suppression sans animal,
   carnal, feral...predilections
   finds thoughts quickly being
   dismissed cuz of such restrained celibacy codas,

and even preferring to be dangling
   (literally), and holding on for dear life
   from a rather straggly limb
even clinging with diminishing strength

   resorting to contriving a rip public kin battle Hymn
knowing likelihood for immediate salvation grim
er ring, and fading outlook Whatsapp eared dim
getting anxious, and minimally cautiously optimistic

   that When September Ends piercing
   me flesh with pellets of cold rain
grip upon the slippery bark will induce
   greater anguish emotional pain

unsure if mine demise will be a cometh,
   as grim reaper doth gain
another mortal, whose life cut short  
will induce a gaping hole within thy family chain.
Written by
matthew scott harris  58/M/schwenksville, penna
(58/M/schwenksville, penna)   
163
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