On misty recalled mornings
  'pon a haze of vindication's wake
  you can still hear their whispers
    echoing through distressed treetops,
they were lovingly planted midst
         meadow's wildflower embrace
    gazing into the depths of surmise,
         planning their rendezvous to forever*

when her husband abruptly surprised them
      with a double blunderbuss shotgun blast,
            right between their cheating hearts

   ~ *if you listen intently, their spirits
               linger still amid bluff's bluster

Bad as a ***** *****
Bas as a ***** *****
Flapjack rippin up tracks
Call the conductor
Oh wait that’s me
You need training
Wheel’s on the track
Traction that you stuck under
N never wonder who is coming with the blunderbuss
All up in yo face, one shot n you under us
Ain’t wonderous?
****** up a couple plastics, pause, chill, kickback
Smoke a couple blunts
M to the A G, N to the Ificient
Life’s nice isn’t it?
That is, if ya got a little life light to lighten up those, like,
Way heavy dark instances.
And I don’t give a **** what you’re inference is
Psh, this ***** tryna tell me what the difference is
I thought it was obvious
I am, they are not the ****.
Now we all got a nervous system
But that don’t explain why you’re so nervous mister
I done chained two chains up by his whiskers
Gave away his dummy money needed hunny ****** his sister
It’s the
Little Rapscallion
****** up your fleet, better bring the whole battalion
And I rap stallions, you stickin to the stable
Fables of your ladies n your many medalions
****, I’m goin off in this motha *****
Tossin these ***** fuckas wall to wall
Knockin bricks out with a fist pound
So get out n stand back, take notes, watch it fall
I’m bach with *****, don’t matter what your speed
I can clock em all, No cops involved, knock knock knock knock    
Lock down drop top n ball
I’m all tweaked up n ***** you bound to stall

I remember breezy rusted rain,
Threshing pain,
****** hand resting upon white-hot candle flame

Midnight breeze
All the tears of divorce

I remember the misty eyed blinking
Of tropical winter during spring
And how firefly lights slam-ran roller coaster routes
Simmering on summer ozone

Missing the blunderbuss beat
Of pregnant lighting down low
And how gold, red, and orange drift  
On cold down to the snow

They say,
the Scarecrow stares straight
and never blinks
he thinks, but never speaks,
just listens to the writhing vines of bindweed:
Turn the earth, sweet arteries.

They say,
the Scarecrow was once a man.
He had hands that knew
perfect flavor of skin
And had red, winding veins of his own.
But that was a long time ago.

They say,
the Scarecrow blistered his tongue
on blunderbuss barrels;
Spat bullets.
Waged war against himself,
and lost his speech when the time came
to beg for forgiveness.

They say,
That by August, the Scarecrow's
Blood forgot to boil,
or simply didn't care anymore.
That when he found love fleeting
it was indifference, not hate,
that desiccated his chest
like prairie drought.

Dear Hollow Martyr who fears not
the white heat of sparks
or dry-weather wildfires.
Stand devout in your inertia,
bleeding apathy like canyons bleed echoes.
After all, it's all you've got to offer
except dead stillness, they say,
so callous it keeps the crows away.

A single pane of glass and half-drawn shades separated me from my maker tonight.
I know I should have called sooner but it's late and I knew you’d be asleep.
I was upset because you ate all the bread and I was left with the two end pieces that are really only saved to crumble and throw at the ducks in the pond.
It’s a little past two and I was just in the kitchen making grilled cheese.

I don’t even look up when
The shouts rise and settle in the dark, foolish night.
This has become commonplace for insomniacs like us.
We bear these yawning horrors,
the exploding blunderbuss, to spare your sweet, dreaming slumber.

This can't be different from a movie scene, but I can barely hear the first gunshot
(much less the second) above the sizzle and snarl of the butter in the pan.
Between two cars, I watch the paramedic
pound the barrier between flesh and what lay beneath,
what simply refuses to answer that forceful beckoning of breath.

Lord, please just let his heart beat.

I hope that helicopters are lifting this kid on the gurney
Up into the unforgiving night that sits heavy above us all.
The scoop and swirl and tuck and twirl of the fleeting, unnoticed smoke fills the kitchen.
I’m still clutching these cold slices of cheese in my hand.
I take a few bites but seemingly misplace my appetite for ****** cooking.

I can only think of the “Horses of Achilles” by Cavafy as I let the cheese drizzle and smear over my chin and cheeks,
I think of their tears for young Patroclus.
I think of their mourning of the woebegone of humanity
In spite of their immortality.

I’m not really sure why I’m telling you all of this.
I guess I just realized that I have never really known Fear.
Never felt It pound at the barrier between flesh and fate.
Despite that beckoning of breath,
I watch the never ending calamity of death and cower behind youth’s half-drawn shades.

Oh God, it's been 20 minutes. Let his heart beat just once!
Just twice?
Just until the morning light?
Because what else is youth for if not to have and to hold,
Right?

I’ll feel foolish when you find that nothing about this message makes any real sense.
Thankfully, it's about that time for the sun to rise,
But there is a cruel fog settling between what has passed and the dawn.
It leaves a thin layer of moisture on the glistening DO NOT ENTER tape that tangles between the trees, on the grass, and on the roofs of the houses that sit heavy above us all.

But above all,
I wanted to tell you that the birds are chirping already.
So I’ll just talk to you later in the morning, maybe?
I guess my point is,
I guess what I really called to say is,

I’m glad you’re still breathing.
And,
I’m glad I am too.
But,
when the inevitable arrives and we must really know Fear,

I hope we pound against the beckoning of beat and breath,
until the paramedic announces our time of death.
I hope the immortal horses shed their tears for fleeting youth and for burnt bread,
I hope they mourn the return from Life to the great Nothing night that awakens to the chirping birds of another sunrise.

I hope it didn’t wake you.

They sell sandwiches and little nightmares with vanity inside.
i glide to a booth and schmooze the next wet group of compromised -
And Charlotte's web
of insular jokes,
snare me from outside my comfort zone...
and i own the green eggs and ham of our sepia tone in the septic lake
of our laughing groan.
We enjoy the view.
I drink to be We and Apart from you.
But the kegs dredge.
They plunder the blunderbuss of our best shot. With Silencer.
We crowd loudly in the Big Easy of our modern strife.
We scrape with dull Lives,
save those with sharp Eyes that see spigots
as unseen Blithe !
We gather in the Hemisphere of our Wanton Anonymity,
as divulged mirrors
in a House
of Cards....

All of my Best Jokes
are Friends
With hearts....
and Then
some...

So I was flying through the woods one day
And hummingbirds flitting and flashing
Iridescence and opalescence
Shimmery glints of golden green and violet blue
I laughed and darted with these sweet ones
Twisting and chasing in a game of faerie-bird-tag
Then a mosquitoe's whining shrill
zips past my head
zip zip two more speed by
I whip my head around and see a crazed mountain man
Blunderbuss in tow and limp carcasses dangling from his belt
Beard and hair more of a mane of insanity
In this manic frenzy, one cant help but to smile
Then dive in to dodge as if in a Matrix world
The madman fires, shooting away at his brilliant tiny targets,
Shooting if only for the sake of practice

tippity tippity tap
tap tap tippity tap
tippity tap tap tap
And
stop.

This is not it.
This is not art,
this is no way for me to start.
This glowing screen
this cold machine
can never catalyze my dreams into
                                       communication
                                                ­   conversation
or fire my
                                                            ­imagination (nor can
The mincing of a pen
across neat lines).  Writing only hurts my hand.

And so,
I stand.

Re-align the ol’ synapses
Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses!
   And  THERE,
Planet Earth, with a grin, says,
“I dare you!  Throw form to the winds!”  And I,

I want to blast my words from the sky
with a big, black blunderbuss,
scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven!

I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit,
Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme

I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea
Hold them, know them, set them free!

I want my similes to flatten me
Like rhinos on the rampage

Tell me your stories, in everything you do
Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre
And dance  your poems as the flames leap higher!

I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet!

I do not want to be neat.

To tether in letters,
To file for forgetters.

Words on a page are birds in a cage,
Poetry unspoken
Life, unwoken.

It’s not despair but dis-pair, you and me instead of unity
Together we are a part, separate we are apart
Side by side we start the spark
Creating art, a walk in the park
But without you, there is no us
Wondrous becomes blunderbuss
So how about you stay with me
We live together for eternity
I help you keep your sanity
And you help me see humanity

Class action
**** the faction, fender bending
Render useless
Car crash contusions
bruised, burnt, alive
Crying from the pain
Pail full of optional rain
Falling unjustly
Criminals mostly understand
Benefits eat up micromanage nymphos
Following photos sold and *******
Getting ****** time and time again
Sawed off block head
Chopping block
Reset
Rest again

Hospital bed
...

I woke up crying

Time to try something new
New age medicine
Stomach out the world
Something out the blue
Moving too much
Shut the **** up
Blunderbuss meets bell
Barely able to hear
Noisy as hell
Death is quite near
Airbag lining
Windbag silence

Far too much

Plastic in my lungs
Wind for the sails
Bailing out the titanic with a pail
Pale, like formaldehyde
Toxin lawsuit

Not a drop to spare

Do you got the time
Nine months to a dime
Rebirth is off the table
Eat the pie (If you're able)
******* mistake
I misspoke
Slowpoke, speed up
Runt
Get stunted from birth
Mirth in the face of change
The fire's still burning
If you'd sacrifice a turn
I'd be more than grateful if you could

Rain on my parade
For a ounce of gold
Cleaning out my brain
And the thoughts untold
Over protective claims
And I'm lying back
Lying bout my name
Just to make it back

Wired shut jaw
I mean that two ways
Split it up right
Money and pain

A knife and a treasure chest
Some great bird of the tropics
Where the man became an island
Well, well, the whale is beached
The ship is stranded on the reef
And the waters only recede
It's a last resort

I don't want to steal
But I'm happy having fun
And dying young
My piracy not confined to digital music
Its more or less defined
By blunderbuss and sea shanties
As being an outlaw
Or at last as being misunderstood

Walking the plank
Jumping into shark infested waters
Swimming with all my strength
So I can die marooned and alone

Just me, my gold, and my guns
And my ***
And my contempt

while life's too busy dying
deaths so alive and well  
in hungry jaws of the frat-house beast  
strums the strings of the tolling bell
and don’t you wear it well boy
in your long-pig leather suit
the cross hair of your blunderbuss
shooting anything that moves

when the have-not's smash their cages
you keep them busy with a foreign war
as "good old boys", hands down their pants
******* the corpse of more
the long knives they've been sharpened
the  guillotine will fall
best notify your next of kin
leave your first born by the door

well life's too busy dying
but deaths a rose in bloom
in the clammy hands of a businessman
being blown in a motel room
and don’t you wear her well boy?
why don’t she treat you right?
you’re her rabid backwash reflux *****
cause your bible belts too tight

Oh, a scoundrel met a pretty maid
And he fell so hard it hurt
And he set about to being near
Her countenance...and skirt...(wink!)

Well, it turned out that this pretty maid
Was betrothed a while back
And so the scoundrel tarried there
And made to plan-out his attack

The scoundrel was overjoyed to find
The rascal was gone at sea
And the lovely maid he so desired
Was a tad inclined to flee

And one happy day he kissed her
And the world melted away
On an island not far south of here
And they both knew from that day

For a while they loved in secret
‘Till she shirked her foul plan
Of playing the role of officer’s wife
To (let’s face it) the wrong man

And the scoundrel tried to straighten up
And he set himself to workin hard
He’d ask the maid to marry him
‘Fore the sun was over yardarm

The maid was a pirate captain’s daughter
So one sunny day, with trembling heart
He walked along beside the Pirate
Attempting to sound smart

And he told the Pirate his intentions
Conveyed politely what he had planned
And with carefully chosen respectful words
Asked for his daughter’s hand

And the Captain said it was fine with him
If his daughter would consent as well
And if the scoundrel would treat her right
Remaining atop the swell

Well, the Pirate was a handy man
With blunderbuss and musketoon
And jabbing with his cutlass
By the light of the silver moon

He captained well his ship
Through breakers plenty tall
And not till he was seventy two
Did our dear pirate captain fall

On that day the ocean rumbled
And a gale was on the water
And the ship on which we sailed
Tossed and tore the pirate’s daughter

We trembled there in silence
For each crew mate held their breath
While the hungry sea kept roaring
And the breakers talked with death

And monstrous creatures from depths below
Around our ship did gather
Knocking hard at the timbers
Working the sea into a lather

The Kraken on the starboard side
Leviathan to port
And the sails were torn and tattered
And the yardarm was cut short

The main mast it had splintered off
And the ship was tipped and tossed
Disastrous destruction from the deep
Meant the ship was nearly lost

And again and again the waves they crashed
O’er the scoundrel and his wife
And he and the Pirate’s daughter
They held on for dear life

And amidst the many perils
And the never ending storms
The scoundrel and the pirates daughter
Learned to raise their arms

The held their arms high in the air
As down each swell they raced
As each fresh peril they endured
And each disaster, bravely faced

Praying they’d have it figured out
How to navigate these icy squalls
Without the pain and angst
Pinning them against the walls

They’ll say, “Here comes another”
But smile with strength and cheer
And though the night will rattle them
The morn’ll be smooth and clear

And when they cling to each other
And to God who sees it all
They’ll be anchored safe in harbor
Protected from the squall

Though the tempests are never-ending
And they can’t quite see the way
When they cling on tight throughout the night
And hold each other through the fright
And pray to emerge into the light
They’ll embrace the bright warm day

The internet is a powerful tool
Dictators channel it to rule
While children use it to fool
All in the same pool
Of nightmare fuel
Where we act cruel

The evolution of memes
And online games
Shows us our flame
Is a repetitive shame
When our simple brain
Can only handle the same

Lit cigarette
Met internet
Now cinder lets
Tinder get
Winter set
Until our breath
Smells of death

Light bulbs flickering
In electronic bickering
For tectonic snickering
Causing toxic differing
From an ox-like misery
Of a boxed light mystery
Of who's on the other side
Of our digital divide

CGI
Seedy eyes
Seeding lies
Feeding flies
Crafted cries
Acting wise
Impacting our lives
By distracting our ties
With diss tracking guys
And fists that fly
And potential brides
As long as we abide
And glide
In their ride

Bruising love
Cruising dove
Using the
Electrical electoral
College knowledge
To their advantage
Collecting the edge
They use to hedge
Pushing to the ledge
The values we pledge

Our free-for-all mentality
Receives digital vitality
As our cynical malady
Creates an extension cord
Leading to detention for
Unmentioned ******
Who're met then scorned
Then accept that ****
Is a way to conform
To the attention storm
That leaves us torn
And forlorn

Content formation
Condensation
Maturation
Indicates inflation
From TV stations
Expanding
What fans see
What's landing
Like money vultures
Diluting pop culture
With Ann Coulter
Hatred's soldiers
Are society's molders
So things get colder
Until our only common language
Is anguish

The website junction
Fight might function
As a buck-skinned
Must-win
Ghostly gust wind
Into a dust bin
Of adjustment
To a judgement
By the anonymous
Applauded fuss
Of the concussed
Blunderbuss
Before us
A chorus
Adorns us
With more cuts

The saturation
Medication
Destination
Hasn't met creation
For our sequestration
Has the weak sensation
Of our deep impatience
So we seek stimulations
By repeating simulations
Of reading invocations
Of defeating immolation

The power grid
Power did
Power id
As flowers hid
Towered in
A coward's win
Empowered grin
Of a sour sin
Dour din

We live in a pedantic
Tantric
Environment frantic
Yelling at one another over frivolous nonsense
Then once we speak of things that matter
We do it in our familiar reductive chatter
Making complications flatter
And differences fatter
We must climb a ladder
Above the mindless clatter

The internet is humanity's brain
Why must we fill it with pain?

******* freedom screams endless more
Guilty human requiem mass
Diving palms outreach detached
Flowing flags and glorious anthems
In hunting we trust this tricky beast
Follow their tracks this way and that casting shadows in directional lash
Heart beat whisper struggling wild
Capture picture landscape absorb background screaming fill me with more
Warm blood flicker total loss
Ouija board guess work directional source
Blunderbuss answer riddle syringe
One per cent choke meddling mass
Tiny island no one on board
Rivulets written in blackened tar
Weeping rivers drowning flow
Torpedo excitement rancid pool
Sun-burnt feeling prickling skin sun stroke faint pendulum swing

Wearing dishonor proudly
embracing ignorance and illiteracy lovingly
confirming dishonesty and criminality as vogue
teaching young minds to hate and resent successes and drive
eschewing injustices, racism, foul-play, chicanery and psychopathy
spreading disharmony and divisiveness in praise of sick vapid anarchy

Broken mercenaries of the broken society
disconnected and disengaged in swirls of languid aims
zombies bereft in screen lives and push buttons expenditures
fully cargo-ed empties sipping hot hedonistic escapism fully brewed
doyens of the blame-games and cultural Heads of Pass-the-buck clubs
contemporary modern Barbarians activists molding our brave New world

Waring on a bellyful of bacon, chips and eggs
adequately equipped  with gallons of ales, beers and lagers
kitted out at the pubs at the knees of the Pints Politicians in-experts
barrack-room lawyers at your service freshly from the Tuft Accountants
fully loaded blunderbuss and muskets ready and aimed dear masses
victory is ours for in solidarity we stand against the air and the Black Knight

Apalachee High School,
located in Winder, Georgia
witnessed an active shooter,
whereby the alleged lone gunman
(actually just a teenager of fourteen years)
killed four people and injured nine more
the latter hospitalized with injuries
after a shooting Wednesday
(June 4th, 2024) morning.

His (the lad who pulled the trigger
on the firearm – an AR platform-style gun)
father and mother must be held culpable,
and similar to the slain victims
surviving kith and kin
probably experience immense grief
(at least I would hope).

Yours truly (me),
a married sexagenarian and proud papa,
whose two grown daughters;
a twenty five old, lives in Bend, Oregon
and eldest - almost twenty six months
her kid sister's senior
resides within bucolic Ithaca, New York,
whereby he himself
dwells at Highland Manor Apartments
smack dab within the heart of
Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
nestled here within suburban
southeastern Montgomery County
deeply affected by the tragedy
(as well as most previous occurring
violent, nasty, and brutish ****** crimes.

The Second Amendment of the United States Constitution protects the right of Americans to keep and bear arms. The original text of the Second Amendment is:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed”.

The Second Amendment was ratified on December 15, 1791. Its origins can be traced back to ancient Roman and Florentine times, and to the late 16th century in England when Queen Elizabeth I required all classes of people to take part in a national militia.

I (a slight baby boomer at approximately
seventy inches tall from stem to stern
targeted as "scapegoat" during boyhood),
no longer a ticking time bomb harboring
rage against the machine,
would never buy nor use a weapon
intended to fire rapidly
loosing countless bullets,
nevertheless writer of these words
empathizes, sympathizes and telepathizes
third-person singular simple present
indicative forms of empathize,
sympathize, and telepathize respectively
with the predictable cited suspect,
who frequently trends toward being
a quiet natured, nerdy lad
at the receiving end
of verbal and physical harassment.

Still back in the day mean kids
indiscriminately name called me
attendant with closed fists
mere inches from my face -
both boys and girls made a point
to assail introspective
severely shy Matthew Scott Harris
pleading with cruel, fiendish, imps -
of the pervert please don't hurt me
and repeated the following saying:
sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me
(or so the playground adage
wants us to believe).

Words do hurt and the shame
those words can instill in us
have a way of instigating and
perpetuating inferiority complex
in our minds and our bodies.

Easy access to high powered military grade sophisticated woud find blunderbuss quaint.

     More often than not such brutal and nasty (short lived) nefarious schemes directed at humble lettered people (like those comprising my home town of Lake Woebegone) minding their own p's and q's, when out of the blue a sudden bitta bing bitta bang rings the terrorist catcall followed by red tide and river of blood.

     Thus occurs yet another staccato sinister sonic soundcloud boom across the pearl gray slate of some formerly anonymous place-name. which blitzkrieg of shells shattering (at shutterfly speed) the democratic rubric of society with senseless slaughter, whereat somber silence echoes the wails of agony.

     This epidemic re: murderous love affair with gruesome morbid fixation allowing, enable and providing the terrifying trappings for angry person to maniacally gun down (in slo mo) a milling crowdsource (perhaps pathetic plan premeditated) employing coterie of odious loading incendiary fiery clips.

     Suicide bombardier seeks to slake thirst to take aim with deadly precision, and spray with pump posse city, a congregated engaged group of people), with egregious fulfillment to mow down slew unsuspecting victims, which bring revulsion to this American citizen.

     Death be not proud, nor ought airtime allocated to these heinous cavalier avengers.

     Foe tee eight hour special proffers especial easy access to sophisticated high caliber compact offspring of rapaciously lethal gimcrackery cutlasses.

     Sorrow soulful songs sung by the likes of death cab for cutie in tandem with foo fighting beastie boys pay homilies and homage to grateful dead.

     Fetishistic martyrs wannabe set sights of sister and brothers of their same simian species.

     Once target(s) locked and stocked per skull and cross bones, the ammunition barrels at greased lightning speed dead set upon unaware persons. the final minutes/seconds of various lives instantaneously cut short, when instagram cross hairs seal the fate upon avast group of happy go lucky men and women.

     Instantaneous re: within the blink and/or flickr of and eye, the gallivanting live capital one progressive pinterest-ting human hulu hooping unwittingly accompany the grim reaper as riders to final resting place.

     Ribald exhortations and allegiance gifted from he/she who ushered in bereavement, where grief experiences a field day, whence pandora gorges philabundance like, as incalculable forsaken emptiness doles bleakness upon a grim outlook brought about per spilt blood, sweat and tears tallying the cost.

     Mortal kombat rues unfathomable payless priceline, which induces adrenaline to course thru the melee, where survivors sprint non selfie ish lee to a safer outlook, where moments before the collective asylum seekers indulged in a joyus fancy feast per vanity fair, whence diehard fanatic (attired inconspicuously like some dishabille schlepper of an outlier) pulled the trigger releasing high powered voluminous ammunition loaded murderous mass homicidal instrument.

     Netzero escape for those unfairly killed in ceaseless undeclared warfare, whereby killer (ofttimes a pissant punk) cooly unleashes fearsome fusillade from out the barrel per his/her lethal methodological munitions.