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P Pax Oct 2012
You claim to know through hearsay
I can write and say a line.
And that may just be something,
But not poetry like thine.

Your lips were first, I noticed.
Their rosey, sanguine shine,
Their gentle part was stiff'ning,
and raises more than I.

If I could be those saintly words,
Sweet nothings from your lips,
I could be, would be art itself
Conceived in breathless kiss.
Oh, more common metre?  But it's a playful one this time.

This is a rewrite of an older poem of mine.  I rewrote it as a ballad and the tone and wording were significantly changed, I decided to repost it and retitle it.
Megan Sherman Feb 2018
Upon a wizened ancient lyre                                                                                 Harps music of irrepressible allure                                                                            Suffice to set the soul on fire                                                                                  With supreme reflection pure                                                                                Troubador of the city floor                                                                                        Irresistible tune to cherish and adore                                                                          Fluent in melodies of magor and minor                                                                  No magic no fires of heaven could outshine her                                                        Prophets clamor to hear her and wine her                                                                   She like thee a mystery                                                                                                      Riffs and riddles on the gems of history                                                                      myth and magic her mind's geography                                                                       love's philosophy her theosophy                                                                                 her psalms beget by ear wise trophy                                                                     which ne'er decay or wilt or atrophy                                                                        beget thy sweet and sonorous bars                                                                             WHICH DREAMS OF HEAVEN AND SINGS TO THE STARS                                         in harmony with the cosmic serenade                                                                          in which the soul's truest abade                                                                                    balladeer a renegade who told the truth because it paid                                               to not put one's soul up for trade                                                                                      a passion in love's furnace made                                                                                oh to listen in the dappled shade                                                                                   my mind waltzes with the lilt                                                                                         you have replete lilt to the hilt                                                                                    song stirs flowers sunk in silt                                                                                       they sway and sigh and soar and wilt                                                                          sensuous and attuned to the song                                                                                  that doth ring around the earth up and along                                                              raising the sound of the world in the throng                                                                  for half the world away is tianneman square or hong kong
ji Feb 2015
He sings love songs
     without the love
     for the song.

He amuses the crowd,
     the critical throng.

What they don't know
     is that after the show,
     he goes home
     with a wrinkled brow.
rolanda Dec 2013
self inflicted torture
sadistic sensation
masochistic sin
****** up hallucination

as tethered thrall
trembling for admission
succumbed balladeer
in your realms of inquisition

scarlet tainted skin
twisted anticipation
the evil of the heart
my dark imagination
inspired and half plagiarized of poem "what hides inside" by aka pi3c3s 0f myS3Lf
Pearson Bolt Mar 2016
witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront

rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor

i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay

Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks  
nursing secret heresies of insurrection

colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or Read A ******* Book
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room

a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question

why?

the banner
cheerfully pirouettes  
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having
Solitary puppeteers working
their angles , scripting heartfelt
psalms , revealing their dark past
with chilling vocals , accompanied
by simple , twangy , acoustic guitars
Touching the lives of ordinary -
folks struggling to get by
Riding into town with the morning Sun
Moving on by the light of the Moon
An open , honest , country balladeer
The 'Working Mans icon ' called home
on a plain old day in April ..
Copyright April 17 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Star BG Jun 2019
A troubadour I be.
Playing my musical pen
for those who gather.

A balladeer be I.
One who parades cross page
to sing to readers ears.

A troubadour am I.
The minstrel of written word
who performs my hearts music.

A jongleur be I
gathering events from journey  
to birth a poem
I am a self taught musician /poet
playing from life’s experiences.
she bellows in her star
that her relation was cabal
this dance's chandelier
with broken ballade plays
a tiger crouch serenade
but still refrain this balladeer
a plaza night wall and tell of rampart
with that lyric in the air
is darkness in Gloria
that slams him kind
immigrant
Eugene Oct 2015
It was so sweet, so alluring.
Mysteriously attractive, seducing.
I was mesmerized, so hypnotizing.
Your voice truly a heart captivating.

The way you sang my favorite song are worth listening.
The way you gently close your eyes, full of emotions not pretending.
The way you look at me in the eyes, our minds talking.
You are one of a kind, a person worth remembering.

You have a powerful voice, a rare balladeer,
You sing from the heart, I hold so dear.
A heart full of love, a feeling that I cannot bear.
Your voice, oh, I love your voice, it's music to my ears.
Lorie Laconico Sep 2018
With this auburn eyes, I see
A love I solely dear
So golden it gleams with glee
Like songs of a balladeer

With this, I foresee
A purity so sincere
This heart could agree
That your love, I shouldn’t fear

In your hand, holds the key
To my heart, I endear
There’s nothing else that I plea
Just three word I want to hear
utmost nadir of despair found
this atheist craning his neck skyward
hearing resplendent August
choral symphony may sound absurd,
but...mine supreme auditory sense

(compensated with poor vision,
i.e. extreme myopia) genetically injured
acute undoubted gifted courtesy,
viz cochlear ability crystal clear
also heard kindled melodious Lord

and lady joyously plucked harp strings,
which did lyft spirits seared, moored
anchored of me, one who demurred
coyly being graced with
exquisite hypnosis got lured

into cerulean celestial vault,
where I acquiesced and murmured
after a lifetime of hardship inured
every cell in my glob bully
warmed weatherbeaten body

sought salvation, thus poetic urge averred
this skeptic (nee nihilist), no matter
faith no more,...perhaps
soul asylum desperation secured

tenuous linkedin thread of hope
barely connecting yours truly, whose word
not necessarily claiming
to be the gospel truth,

nonetheless sought to nimbly aire
asthma tried and true valued metier,
vis a vis thru write of springiness declare
ring nothing sacrilegious,
nor decried as Harris say (ad) aware
no matter Doubting Thomas's (donned

as trumpeting English muffins)
may suspiciously questioning - dare
faux authenticity atop wobbly
shaky, and noname spear
such antithetical blare
nee as the rhyming ranting

of a harmless maniac
with mediocre ability to scare
heavenly visualization -
secondarily as a zealous
Earthlinked aspiring balladeer,

who immediately chucked
delusive fastasical notions
earning degree as an engineer,
thus setting sights, and
virtually figurative crosshair

to cackle like Chanticlear,
which discordant aural
debacle tortured ear
piercing decibel threshold of unbear
hubble pain for
those unfortunately subjected

and forced to endure such screeching
a result of budget cuts - profoundly severe
that perilous, seditious, and viscous tear
into webbed, whirled, and wide statecraft,
hence melodic reverberation mistaken
as mock apple pie "FAKE" fakir

begging intercession qua spiritual guardian,
wrought mine overactive imagination
conjuring smug cockle doodle fledgling cheer
shoring temple mount reverse fortune,

whereby by fanciful fatefulness, I fell victim,
tomb eye own dim eyes, poppycock did ensnare
riotous, roisterous, and ruinous roostering
essentially roused, grounded,
and distorted nightmare!
Cedric McClester Jul 2019
By: Cedric McClester

Though she didn’t get
The essence wrong
He couldn’t help but to wonder
Why she sang his song
Some of the words
Were artfully rearranged
Or simply misplaced
Like a bunch of small change

Why would anyone want
To sing my song, but me?
Was the question he asked himself
Because he couldn’t see
How come so much interest
From the two or three
Who chose to record it
On vinyl or CD

Not that their versions
Were even half bad
They sang on key
Which made him mad
Because he couldn’t do it
And that’s quite sad
When you’re a balladeer
Who created a sing-song fad

It’s not about his singing
It’s his mastery of words
That developed his reputation
And gave birth to the Byrds
The depth of meaning
Always undergirds
The songs that he’s written
And the pots that he stirred

































Cedric McClester, Copyright ©2019.  All rights reserved.
Holy mole lee
watch out fowl, balladeer
look out... i.e. donkey kong
primate doth share
footloose slothful writing,
essentially swiftly tailored hare

reed styled mountebank
gets made by mice elf,
an imperfect triangulated square,
while "fake" charioteer
looses neigh scent horsesense
glomming "fake" papier

mâché piñata across animal planet
rhyme without reason,
nonetheless who doth dare
dovish and/or hawkish
elk quint lee otter vamoose
double, triple, quadruple... dare

to caw meow ta
as silence rings loud and clear
ja hiss don't miss snake
pig in a poke hogtied
sow owl only tell ya beware
me dogged holy cow

cuckoo bird harebrained
effort won't impair
corpus collosum, where
seat of thinker housed
fortunately ye ant near
my neck of the woods here

Schwenksville cuz after
innocuous, impetuous, illustrious...
brainstorming deluge... glare
til hearts content
with nostrils that flare
lemming just be reel

regarding rocky mission
opossum bull, I swear
dogged bonafide effort
thanks ocelot to bear
with beetle browed toadying

off fish hill who accidently
didst entrap and snare
courtesy hook line and sinker
masterly baited metaphorical
Earthworm dangling cyber air

**** sitter me batty
*** sin nine, I admittedly duck lear,
but don't badger me, Noah
ark confess with prayer
yak see no porpoise here.
Utmost nadir of despair found
this atheist craning his neck skyward
hearing resplendent August orchestra
today June 10th, 2022
choral symphony may sound absurd,
but...mine supreme auditory sense

(compensated with poor vision,
i.e. extreme myopia) impossible mission
driving after dark
genetically injured
acute undoubted gifted courtesy,
viz cochlear ability crystal clear
also heard kindled melodious Lord

and lady joyously plucked harp strings,
which did lyft uber spirits seared, moored
anchored of me, one who demurred
coyly being graced with
exquisite hypnosis got lured

into cerulean celestial vault,
where I acquiesced and murmured
after a lifetime of hardship inured
every cell in my glob bully
warmed weatherbeaten body

sought salvation, thus poetic urge averred
this skeptic (nee nihilist), no matter
faith no more,...perhaps
soul asylum desperation secured

tenuous linkedin thread of hope
barely connecting yours truly, whose word
not necessarily claiming
to be the gospel truth,

nonetheless sought to nimbly aire
asthma tried and true valued metier,
vis a vis thru write of springiness declare
ring nothing sacrilegious,
nor decried as Harris say (ad) aware
no matter Doubting Thomas's (donned

as trumpeting English muffins)
may suspiciously questioning - dare
faux authenticity atop wobbly
shaky, and noname spear
such antithetical blare
nee as the rhyming ranting

of a harmless maniac
with mediocre ability to scare
heavenly visualization -
secondarily as a zealous
Earthlinked aspiring balladeer,

who immediately chucked
delusive fastasical notions
earning degree as an engineer,
thus setting sights, and
virtually figurative crosshair

to cackle like Chanticlear,
which discordant aural
debacle tortured ear pier
sing decibel threshold of unbear
hubble pain for
those unfortunately subjected

and forced to endure such screeching
a result of budget cuts - profoundly severe
that perilous, seditious, and viscous tear
into webbed, whirled, and wide statecraft,
hence melodic reverberation mistaken
as mock apple pie "FAKE" fakir

begging intercession qua spiritual guardian,
wrought mine overactive imagination
conjuring smug cockle doodle fledgling cheer
shoring temple mount reverse fortune,

whereby by fanciful fatefulness, I fell victim,
tomb eye own dim eyes, poppycock did ensnare
riotous, roisterous, and ruinous roostering
essentially roused, grounded,
and distorted nightmare!
Carpe Stellas May 2020
Darkness tried to break her, to fill her world with grief
Her height of faith and depth of love were stronger than this thief

Her wounds were cleansed by the tears she cried
There was more to her than met the eye

In a relentless quest for justice, she would swiftly rise
The pain that was her prison, would meet its demise

Her heart flourished with hope. She made her choice
She gave her hidden feelings a purpose and a voice

She stained the pure white paper with ink until it bled
until every wrong was made right, until every tear was shed

A new day was born as a glimpse of light
A new craving to live. A new will to fight

free from the garments of trepidation she wore
Not bound by chains of despair anymore

Upon her knees with her heart in a humble place
A new destiny greeted her as a tender embrace

never again to be broken upon the floor
She was free to fly, free to soar

From fallen ruins, infinite it seemed
was born a vivid enlightened dream

The sun arose within her, a new light upon her path
She departed from darkness, turned her back to wrath

surrendered to the gentleness, the calm of a fresh start
ascended uncharted skies of kindness upon wings of a softened heart

She climbed above the shadows, God to be her only guide
The clouds far beneath her, the luminous sunlight at her side

no longer wrapped in shame, fighting to survive
full of peace and tranquility, fully awake, fully alive

new goals, new visions, new mountains to climb
her deepest scars erased forever in time

The odds stacked against her were overturned
A fresh urgency for freedom burned

Her eyes widely opened, she dreamed the sweetest dream
She reached forth to boundless heights, her life had been redeemed

A beacon on the horizon, understanding captured her sight
inspiring her heart to open, inclining her fingers to freely write

her soul to fully share, her spirit to liberally fly
Her hands to grasp a second chance, giving life another try

Kindling a flame from an inner spark, she ignited a fire to live
sprouting from the ashes with a tireless passion to give

The world left marks on her cocoon. She never asked why
She simply spread her wings and emerged a butterfly

Formerly hidden in darkness, she had a future clear and bright
She paved a road to hungry hearts like a ray of hope and light

no looking back to troubles of her past
too busy caring for the downhearted and loving the downcast

Her future unknown, uncertain where this trail would lead
she measured every thought, every motive, every deed

every word which fell upon her lips, every expression upon her face
sifted through eyes of compassion and benevolence of grace

Her speech delivered truth to anyone longing to feel
unraveling statues of stone with love, unique and real

She met the need of those who hungered for a heartfelt word
Through tenderness and compassion, refined purpose was seen and heard

Gentle words breathed into them new life delicate and sweet
penetrating unreachable hearts, from stone she paved a street

Affection and forgiveness softly fell upon their ears
hidden strengths coaxed with lyrics of a balladeer

They basked in her sunshine to warm their troubled hearts
The world, an empty palette. Her life, a work of art

no need to be common when one was meant to be rare
Fulfilling her purpose became her strength. her life. her air

She breathed in the sunshine, warmth, light and rays
reflected upon lonely souls to brighten their darkest days

Her glow simply an inner light, resounding in echoes of hope
filling a void in empty hearts, lending a hand to help them cope

Her heart beat to the consoling rhythm of a generous melody
serenading prisoners of grief, setting their fragile hearts free

She reached forth with generous hands to a world full of need
an advocate for the weary, she’d speak and intercede

anchored by sincerity to calm their troubled minds
She shared the treasure of a heart, virtuous and kind

She heard the slightest whisper of need escaping a broken soul
She saw the diamond, the person’s worth, beyond a life of coal

Drops of tenderness fell steady as a gentle spring rain
enveloping the world in solace, a refuge from pain

They defeated darkness and radiated with newfound light
With strength renewed, they emerged, eagles taken flight

Former lives passed away with freedom to begin again
The sky’s the limit of a hopeful dream that began as paper and pen
IM Pilot Jane A. Rug
who ascribes to writing poetry
as opportunistic, holistic, and cathartic
warming me body electric
courtesy an outsize
warm brimful coffee mug
I savor and slowly chug.

Toupee piece blew off me bald noggin
with zag and zig
went off for hair raising shindig
donning noggin of villager in Nigg
(historic county of Ross-shire,
historic region of Ross
and Cromarty, northeast
coast of Scotland).

Somehow postiche crossed the big pond
once belonged to magician,
who could create static electricity waving wand
across artificial tresses colored blond,
which wizard in disguise did abscond
with priceless peruke
(archaic word for periwig)
cuz said luxurious locks
once belonged to Dolly Parton.

Though I embellished
and expounded from original
poem still probably not very clear,
nevertheless toil onward if ye dare.

Upon occasion the missus
doth plop squat foursquare
on her plump derriere
brandishes scissors to keep hair
closely cropped to her scalp.

Once upon a time,
not very long ago somewhere
over the rainbow
within the Milky Way Galaxy,
she managed plying
chutzpah, guts and moxie to scare
connive, finagle, inveigle,
et cetera, an unused wig another
tenant at Highland
Manor Apartments here
(Compact, low slung,
and well maintained
dwellings by big booted (size 14)
previous onsite natural marvel
property manager Kevin Bair
him with shiny pate,
the former onsite jack (jilted)
of all trades handyman balladeer
crooning of Jen Tra Fide
units made like new
for those in despair
battling a crisis, and experiencing
little salvation on broken wing and prayer
low cost affordable renting facilities
though not by a near
and/or far cry ritzy as
luxury places named Bel Air,
but energy efficient air
tight, quieter than a cemetary).

Anyway, zee spouse I dare
say casts a shadow clear
the size of Rhode Island,
and chanced to acquire
ratty noggin head gear,
she did need toupee joost a dime,
and quickly realized shear
hideousness, sans "FAKE" hirsute
wig required ample
tender loving care,
thus she betook

what closely resembled
skinned hide of a distant forebear,
(or perhaps def leppard)
to Liberty thrift store,
but encountered manic tear
roar (cue Katy Perry), when enroute,
to said rectilinear
structure, out car window flew wig
landing inaccessible risking life or limb
mighty size wife easily deflected career
ring vehicles (imagine

mini measle lee Andre the Giant)
despite drivers abruptly halting to stare
as pint size super woman
gingerly didst ensnare
tire worn and tread full sorry excuse
for those claiming going bald unfair
even if renaming opposite
of being hirsute male/female
pattern receding hairline
all the way back to nape of neck.

Interesting how odd
distribution of atavistic fur
witnesses enough coily kinks
donning nether regions of body
flowing to ground within a year.
Went off for hair raising shindig
donning noggin of villager in Nigg
(historic county of Ross-shire,
historic region of Ross
and Cromarty, northeast
coast of Scotland).

Somehow postiche crossed the big pond
once belonged to magician,
who could create static electricity waving wand
across artificial tresses colored blond,
which wizard in disguise did abscond
with priceless peruke
(archaic word for periwig)
cuz said luxurious locks
once belonged to Dolly Parton.

Though I embellished
and expounded from original
poem still probably not very clear,
nevertheless toil onward if ye dare.

Upon occasion the missus
doth plop squat foursquare
on her plump derriere
brandishes scissors to keep hair
closely cropped to her scalp.

Once upon a time,
not very long ago somewhere
over the rainbow
within the Milky Way Galaxy,
she managed plying
chutzpah, guts and moxie to scare
connive, finagle, inveigle,
et cetera, an unused wig another
tenant at Highland
Manor Apartments here

(Compact, low slung,
and well maintained
dwellings by big booted (size 14)
previous onsite natural marvel
property manager Kevin Bair
him with shiny pate,
the former onsite jack (jilted)
of all trades handyman balladeer
crooning of Jen Tra Fide

units made like new
for those in despair
low cost affordable renting facilities
though not by a near
and/or far cry ritzy as
luxury places named Bel Air,
but energy efficient air
tight, quieter than a cemetary).

Anyway, zee spouse I dare
say casts a shadow clear
the size of Rhode Island,
and chanced to acquire
ratty noggin head gear,
she did need toupee joost a dime,
and quickly realized shear
hideousness, sans "FAKE" hirsute

wig required ample
tender loving care,
thus she betook
what closely resembled
skinned hide of a distant forebear,
(or perhaps def leppard)
to Liberty thrift store,
but encountered manic tear

roar, when enroute,
to said rectilinear
structure, out car window flew wig
landing inaccessible risking life or limb
mighty size wife easily deflected career
ring vehicles (imagine
mini measle lee Andre the Giant)
despite drivers abruptly halting to stare

as pint size super woman
gingerly didst ensnare
tire worn and tread full sorry excuse
for those claiming going bald unfair
even if renaming opposite
of being hirsute male/female
pattern receding hairline
all the way back to nape of neck.

Interesting how odd
distribution of atavistic fur
witnesses enough coily kinks
donning nether regions of body
flowing to ground within a year.
(Any resemblance between the following humorous account and real life circumstance tis purely coincidental).

Went off for hair raising shindig
donning noggin of villager in Nigg
(historic county of Ross-shire,
historic region of Ross
and Cromarty, northeast
coast of Scotland).

Somehow postiche crossed the big pond
once belonged to magician,
who could create static electricity waving wand
across artificial tresses colored blond,
which wizard in disguise did abscond
with priceless peruke
(archaic word for periwig)
cuz said luxurious locks
once belonged to Dolly Parton.

Though I embellished
and expounded from original
poem still probably not very clear,
nevertheless toil onward if ye dare.

Upon occasion the missus
doth plop squat foursquare
on her plump derriere
brandishes scissors to keep hair
closely cropped to her scalp.

Once upon a time,
not very long ago somewhere
over the rainbow
within the Milky Way Galaxy,
she managed plying
chutzpah, guts and moxie to scare
connive, finagle, inveigle,
et cetera, an unused wig another
tenant at Highland
Manor Apartments here

(Compact, low slung,
and well maintained
dwellings by big booted (size 14)
previous onsite natural marvel
then property manager Kevin Bair
him with shiny pate,
the former onsite jack (jilted)
of all trades handyman balladeer
crooning of Jen Tra Fide

units made like new
for those in despair
low cost affordable renting facilities
though not by a near
and/or far cry ritzy as
luxury places named Bel Air,
but energy efficient air
tight, quieter than a cemetary).

Anyway, zee spouse I dare
say casts a shadow clear
the size of Rhode Island,
and chanced to acquire
ratty noggin head gear,
she did need toupee joost a dime,
and quickly realized shear
hideousness, sans "FAKE" hirsute

wig required ample
tender loving care,
thus she betook
what closely resembled
skinned hide of a distant forebear,
(or perhaps def leppard)
to Liberty thrift store,
but encountered manic tear

roar, when enroute,
to said rectilinear
structure, out car window flew wig
landing inaccessible risking life or limb
mighty size wife easily deflected career
ring vehicles (imagine
mini measle lee Andre the Giant)
despite drivers abruptly halting to stare

as pint size super woman
gingerly didst ensnare
tire worn and tread full sorry excuse
for those claiming going bald unfair
even if renaming opposite
of being hirsute male/female
pattern receding hairline
all the way back to nape of neck.

Interesting how odd
distribution of atavistic fur
witnesses enough coily kinks
donning nether regions of body
flowing to ground within a year.
Lone balladeer
        Slowly
       patience
assassinated at 10:50 PM,
on December 8, 1980
forty four years later to date
outside The Dakota Apartment,
(also known as the Dakota Apartments),
located at 1 West 72nd Street
in New York City, U.S.

After Mark David Chapman
unloaded five bullets in the back
with a .38 special revolver,
that son of a gun got his quarryman
and became eligible for parole
in 2000 after serving only 20 years
since said murderer felled legend:
he pulled the trigger of his firearm
at point blank range
brutally killing the most successful
singer/songwriter in history,

(whose collaboration with Paul McCartney)
bestowed double fantasy
and rendered instant karma
echoing his oft repeated refrain
across the universe
for the benefit of Mister Kite
"All we are saying is give peace a chance,"
a lyric from the song
"Give Peace a Chance"
by the late John Lennon and Yoko Ono,
which song when released in 1969

became an anthem
for the anti-war movement,
nevertheless even after
exactly three score years
since the Fab Four,
became famous in 1964
after their appearance
on The Ed Sullivan Show,
which elapsed time
seems like yesterday
to this day tripper (me)
who happened to be
just a beastie boy.

Upon hearing in utter disbelief over the telly
On December 8, 1980,
the breaking news videre licet
regarding the ******
of John Lennon, a member of the Beatles,
outside his New York City apartment building,
I felt numb standing stock still
in the kitchen
(within childhood home of mine)
at 324 Level Road,
and nearly found myself asphyxiating
as if trapped within a yellow submarine
buried within briny deep
courtesy stone(d) temple pilot.

Yours truly stormed out of the house
analogous to a stormtrooper
heading into the thick of battle
experienced being dazed and confused
espying a Led Zeppelin
in the front yard
after getting a closer look
I quickly realized parked guests
came from an alien nation,
which immediately prompted me
to avail myself to be abducted
courtesy unidentified anomalous phenomena

bidding goodbye to father and mother
quietly pleading... dear prudence
escaping the helter skelter amidst humanity
here, there and everywhere
wistfully envisioning a utopia
like dreamers do
able, eager, ready and willing
to embark upon a magical mystery tour
this fool on the hill,
a veritable nowhere man

feeling like nobody's child
psyching myself to be free as a bird
yearning to adopt fearlessness
after froggy went a courtin
jump/kick starting
far out and groovy kismet
to become a paperback writer
renown on par with aforementioned
famous British balladeer
but before taking fateful step

into dark shadows
hiding the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
I dashed off a short note
to family and friends,
and subsequently flagged down letterman
also asking please mister postman
to inform kith and kin
NOT to summon search party,
cuz yours truly hopes to frolic
amidst strawberry fields forever.

— The End —