#minuscule
With scrunched and bushy furrowed brow
I ponder precise circumstances
when consciousness got born
Tracing back lineage of self,
an arbitrary individual unpredictable as the Dow
Reckoning series of events
sustained life similar to sowing seed of corn
Ruminating fragile nascent organisms
at mercy of fate flourished, and how
Taxing me mind asper each score
composed bards to toot their own horn
Aware just slightest off beat fluke
determined from millennia ago or now
That particular organism,
whether one celled entity
or beings that can mourn,
The loss of kindred members –
food for thought since pledging marital vow
this poet, whose presence
a fluke of circumstances possibly torn
At any point in distant past
rendering me absent unable to utter wow
At what crapshoot of circumstances
wrought Matthew Scott Harris to be
Cognizant of genealogy
wove World Wide Web
following threads back in time
Albeit not more than a couple generations –
whereby emigrants did flee
From supposed eastern European swath
in general finding reason to rhyme
For no reason, just as other creatures
great or small occupy themselves with glee
Or just groveling along at
bare ***** knuckle existence without a dime
Less apt to own luxury how **** sapiens
purportedly evolved from mon-key
Whereby harsh ill fate tempts them
into life of crime
When perhaps riches with kingly figures
loomed large in family tree
Branching back in the day
Glorious personalities
populated genealogy to boot
Twisting tortured destiny somewhere
in one direction along the killer highway
Setting stage for rags,
when august ancestry buried in loot
Yet tis quite frivolous
bemoaning present woes or even pray
To win lottery turning attention
how our ancestral gingko or newt
Dwelt in rich primordial egg drop soup
wantonly in massive bay
Inexorably transformed
(by dint of dice throw) per flora to take root
As well fauna to mutate into species
and genus on land to assay
Giving rise to variety to an assortment
of animals and plants
And this one speck of flotsam
in particular owns a passion for contra dance
Whereby others –
from massive beasts to self taught amazing ants
Scurry hither and yon to and fro perhaps
contemplating genetic grants
To be alive for mere blink of an eye
all due (in my view) to chance.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
(alternately titled random axe of violence)
I calculated an average
of ~10.16.... deaths per year
of mass school shootings since Columbine,
a morbid benchmark where,
iGen / Gen Z 1995 - 2012 bore significant hit,
now students require armed guards to learn - veer
really within purportedly "safe places",
which statistics tracks a unilinear
trend, and justifiably causing
absolute zero reassurance
countering alarmist state of mind dust tear
ability to accept rationale
dismissing greater probability
prevails lightening will strike loved ones,
nonetheless share
ring understandable expressing
rightful salient concerns with school board
quotidian possibility son(s) and/or daughter(s) rare
lee remain mum at every opportunity,
how second amendment does not square
with democratic e pluribus unum firmament,
lieutenant management,
quintessential reverent tenets
pointing trigger finger of accountability
at lax gun purchasing rare
lee does emotional uproar demanding
immediate controls, limitations, restrictions,
et cetera on firearms scare
the bejesus from stalwart National Rifle Association,
whence spokesperson doth prepare
convincing rebuttal (lock, stock at barrel) overbear
ring lee outgun legitimate
parental concerns, now near
daily occurrence hardly cause a flinch glossed
inducing similar reactions as
sports home team defeated, sans mere
slightly raised eyebrows while headline news
when another tragedy gets tacked
unto the 122 students killed since Columbine
took innocent lives 19 plus years ago
which ** hum sacrifice of youth or teachers bare
lee induce ripple despite an increasing number
of spent bullets fallout inflicting
more than 208,000 vulnerable
impressionable psyches sorrows need a lifetime to air!
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
*"My future ex-wife,
are you still alive?"*
The thought hit me as I was out of cigarettes one Monday morning, when I remembered that the previous night I was only able to smoke half of my last one. I had put the shorted cigarette underneath of a spring doorstop, still in plastic and uninstalled, that lay resting on the brick pillars erected on the front porch of the house. For as long as I've lived there, that doorstop had been lying on those painted bricks just waiting for a half of a cigarette to protect from the wind and snow.
The filter, on that common Monday morning, was ice on my lips, and your frostbitten love was inside of my lungs.
As it smoldered and spewed twirling blue swirls,
I sat and recollected upon you.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
~You were the first one to ever peak my curiosity. You had mood swings like day and night, you pulled at the threads in my flesh trying to search for what you could find underneath. We never got close enough that I could call you my girlfriend but I could feel what it was like. You were always talking about this boy, I had my first taste of jealousy because he would never love you like I could. I got tired of the cycle. Waiting for my turn. So I took from you what I could get and left you wishing you had loved what you had.
~You were so beautiful the way you had the ability to spot me in a crowded room. No matter the temperature your skin was always cold. You were always so cold. You spoke of how the stars here could never compare to the ones in Ohio. I didn't hesitate when you asked to be mine or when you asked if you could explore my every curve. You told me if I reached a certain weight you'd leave me so my fingers got to know the back of my throat in a disgustingly familiar way. I cried for three nights after you left, I was pathetically in lust with you. Months later you came to appreciate the way my hips rocked against yours and begged for my return. You are trash.
~You kissed me at the bottom of the stairs briefly. I could tell you didn't kiss often but I said yes anyway. I remember being startled when I woke up at a friends house, my hair a filthy mess and you were sitting there watching me. I could barely have a conversation with you so I always kissed you to cover the involuntary silence. You were the nicest boy I'd ever met but I never loved you.
~We we're practically married the way we fought and ****** for three years. I gave you everything I had in summer on a blanket spread over the lush grass. I wrote novels in your pretty little heart and poured out my every struggle. I loved you from the hairs that stood on the back of my neck to the way I curled my toes..but then you changed. You said you were growing up and learning responsibility. But really you sat blankly in your room counting birds of death and you watched me struggle for breath, for life. I tried to get my love back but you'd buried him deep somewhere. I imagine he's laying beautifully in a bed of flowers and butterflies land on his lips trying to give him breath, although they are to minuscule to succeed. You've become a disgusting person. I do not love you.
~During a time that I sat waiting for death I found myself in August during September. You were the most beautiful boy I'd ever laid eyes on, I never imagined lips like yours touching mine. I've come to realize that you are the flowers, you are the butterflies and the sunshine. You are all of the bright magnificent things that you think you're not and you are mine. I fell for you involuntarily, but I would never turn back if I could. I've never had a best friend and a lover amalgamated. I've never been so certain that love can exist in the darkest of beings. I've never tasted forever in someones kiss. Dear present love do not deceive me.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC