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annh Mar 10
I am not my words,
Nor am I the letters from which they are formed;
I am a beating drum,
A cacophony, a riot keeping pace with mortal time;
Spinning order thriftily,
So as not to cheapen the divinely proclaimed language of the soul.

‘Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’
- T. S. Eliot
(composed about eight years ago
moments ago this poem underwent
     slight poetic surgical face lift
modifications by this bro)
this spine tingling reaction,

     sans flushed testosterone
     from heads to toe
sketched out sometime
     from ~july or august 2012 or so
and (just now) triggered chain reaction for roe

man tick undulations i.e. wishful desires slow
     lee shifting (in seconds flat)
     from neutral to overdrive
     exceeding speedometer limit maximum

     nearly attaining speed of light quo
shunt seeing an aesthetically pleasing chic chick
in the summer of full feminine bloom
     envisioning plunging hot rod
     into her lubricated derrick

(and yes, young enough
     to beget me via ****** fling
     a splendid supreme offspring
of this gap toothed fifty three year old simian),
     who doth wanna swing
like a boyish chap
     at prime love making time zing,

with thee, whose primary purpose comprised
     tutoring my daughter whose deficiency
     with language skills warrant
     communication exercisesd
born with cognitive developmental delays
     in sundry dis guised,

whose academic weakness qualified her since birth -
     or soon thereafter meta morph a sized
to receive intervention to allow, enable
     and provide her with life skills
     even though patience thoroughly utilized

so she can become self reliant as an adult
thus bringing this papa aegis
of said progeny prances carefree like a colt
and via exposure therapy

     comfort zones, convince this dadaist dolt
magic touch, sans young women,
     (who seem prominent in social service field)
     bear witness as thy Punim doth molt

blindsiding actions of tender loving care
these myopic eyes
     with hypnotic trance observe flair
ring results conjuring up illusions of grandeur
     spurring commendable utterance
     of here

but self consciousness kept gleeful outburst
     under lock and key lest detriment comb near
compromising instructional progress,
     that could easily dis ap pear
     into a sinkhole forsaking requisite basic skills
     reinforcement ever since first year

youngest progeny Shana Aubrey Harris did need
recipient (thine offspring)
     received private lessons to help her lead
a supposed "normal" life,
     thus this biological papa did heed
and amenable, lovable, valuable rudiments
     of classroom ABC's a challenging deed

for thee lass aye helped beget, yet
a quiet riotous soiree
     along information super highway got set
     within my imagination
achingly longing to compose a poem
     for this righteous dignified dame whose net

whose, incalculable interpersonal worth
voiced melodically ineluctably seduced, sans mirth
and athletic physique
     goaded this married father

to attempt some organization awakened image (to be,
     or not to be dwelling) within remote hamlet
     with rustic cabin crackling hearth
dormant libido (bereft within marriage)
     toward some unknown outcome,

     yet how grand to parlay pregnant girth
without intent to convey any further details
     cuz message of unequivocal charm
minus additional intent for physical interaction
   brought joie de vivre deliverance on this Earth.
George Krokos Apr 2016
Whatever has been Divinely said and done is never in vain
because it has a higher purpose which results in our gain.
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.

— The End —