Viking chiefs Valhalla bound,
at death, were not interred I've found.
On a fire ship they 'd place their chief
and cremate him per their belief.

Was it an obsequious grief
that gave rise to this strange belief?
For seafaring folk it scarce seems mete
to lose a captain, then burn the fleet.

With Dragon heads fixed fore and aft
Those ships brought terror, sword and shaft.
Irish Monks would think its fine
to burn one to the water line.

The ship of death was burning bright
as it sank within the fjord that night
carrying the Viking chiefs cremains
to his Viking gods' domains.

Was it conspicuous consumption
that drove the Vikings to this junction?
Perhaps after a life , ****** and gory,
they craved going out in a blaze of glory.

The Race


An injury in sophomore year
caused me to miss the springtime meets.
I was sitting in a cast
while my teammates won their heats.


I am no brain, I can’t sit still
No chance I’ll ace the S.A.T.
But medal wins in track and field
could mean  a scholarship for me.


Near Lewis is a cinder track-
an oval of a quarter mile.
So I come here to do my laps
And dream of victory for a while.

A short fat man goes jogging by
In sweat drenched shirt and navy shorts
Gasping, like a fish in air,
fleeing from his mortal thoughts.


I doff my sweats and start to stretch
I take no chances with this knee.
Soon I’m feeling good and loose,
it pays to warm up properly.

A tall thin runner, strangely pale,
About half of the track ahead
I‘ll pass him like he’s standing still
Then he’ll be chasing me instead.

I pass the jogger right away
The pale runner, though, moves speedily
I pick up my pace a notch
Just as quickly so does he..

I stretch my stride, he does the same
And gains upon me steadily
I thought that I was chasing him
It seems instead he’s chasing me.

I never raced this guy before
At any of the local meets
He appears to be as old as me
But his gear is “thrift shop” quality.


Sure enough, he’s gaining fast.
I dig down for a last reserve
I didn’t think I’d lost a step
Bad news, if it’s true, for me


I hear his foot falls close behind
And vainly try to stay ahead
I turn my head to see his face
It is the face of one long dead.

The ghostly winner makes a turn
and passes through the gate and chains
The cemetery lies beyond
That holds the urn with his cremains


“You saw him too” the fat man gasps-
“I thought that he had come for me”
I knew he only came to run
I recognized the ghost you see.

“Tommy Miller was his name
School Champion back in 63’
.He died crossing this finish line
an aneurysm  in his brain.”


Unfinished business binds him here
A restless spirit, more than most,
The race is ever to the swift
The quick are beaten by a ghost

The good verb “conn”

supersedes nounsies that say much the same

they leave their mark
and their stain.


organelles are found in living cells

but bacteria is barely surviving -

gasping, respire, respiring

god will swallow death as sure as sheol

still,

the microbes must thrive

one sloppy, the other ill


a slender hand of steel

excites it,

like the splendor of redwood mounted on peach

a cleavage emerges  (causing a **** to swell)

increasing her capacity for desire

a seeker of truth now bound for duluth?

caught in an ice floe
preoccupied by the last degree

pulling shoals
of distance below,

the south pole is now our goal,

we land on land beyond sea

and space

where a wise man plays fool
to a young girl's angel face  -  

     as an aside: he likes her
     but she is not attracted to men or goys,

scattering the cremains
of
a nobody's boy
(a boy we tried to revive many a time)

into a river where the river never ends

he remains  

sinking into darkness,

adrift in a pit
of lips of labrum

down the chosen depths

of the frozen abyss of Tehom

The decedent weighed 500 pounds.
Her shape was decidedly round.
When cremation was requested,
Her fat cells combusted
and burned the old funeral home down.

The director ought to have been wary
Of a corpse it takes ten men to carry.
He sought long, in vain,
a home for her cremains.
“A barrel, perhaps?” offered Larry.

Her overweight fatty remains
exploded when touched by the flame.
Some speculate gas
Leaking out of her ***
was possibly partly to blame.
.
So if you’re a “plus” girl or guy
And in the course of events you should die.
Choose the dirt nap, not flame
For your mortal remains
It appears Butterballs shouldn’t fry.

many have suggested fire
but I choose not to become cremains  
I want a plain pine bed
no magic elixirs
in my veins

why waste fluid
and time, treasured commodities,
before the *******

if law did not proscribe,
I would gladly let a stout stranger
toss me into a raging river

though my kin
may protest, fishes, crustaceans
would rejoice

after all,
lesser creatures
are always hungry
and grateful

One of my favorite songs is by a guy named Watsky, it’s called sloppy seconds. It used to mean so much more, but I’ve grown . And now I’m here, and you ring, and I pick up, and it’s all for you.
You told me that it's your fault, but how I have to do this for you. I told you
“But you’re my friend, so I suppose I owe you trying to clean up this mess”
I need to pick up your pain. I’m listening to the song and thinking about all the times that have numbed me to taking up other people’s sloppy seconds but the song always told me
“I don’t care where you've been, how many miles, I’ll still love you”     and so i did.
I still do for some others. Please understand, this is not all  ̶f̶o̶r̶  you.
I stopped you.
I caught this one.
I’m holding this a dustpan for the cremains of this mess and picked up the shattered urn of feelings.
I handed you the broom. Whether you use it or not is your decision.
It’ll get cleaned up in the end, either way.
I WANT TO DO THIS OUT OF LOVE NOT OUT OF PROTECTION.
WHAT THE ****.

i've got cobwebs
i've got cobwebs dusted around my soul
of words i'd wished that you'd never told
and i'm tiptoeing around them
like i'm blind and can't see them
because that is the way i know how to love

when jesus saved the men that no one knew
he ignored the cobwebs in their hearts
and he tiptoed around them standing up straight
until they put the cross on his back and let him fall
he tripped on the cobwebs
but that was the way he was made to love

when you left and became a ghost
you'd draped your cremains inside of my soul
and they turned into dust and cobwebs
but i was told that forgetting you was how i should love

be hovering above
your body after death, a
floating purgatory

which does not desist
when they cover you with dirt, or
make quick cremains of you

you get to hear what others
say when you're gone, first scripted
testimonials, of your laudatory life

later, when the food is being crammed
in overloaded fridges, and the ties and tongues
are loosened, other words emerge:

"he was never good to his wife; you know
he pulled the plug on his father, but wouldn't
let them do the same with him"

"he didn't seem to pass peacefully, all
that labored breathing -- perhaps he was
missing his boy he hadn't seen in years"

"maybe he felt he didn't earn his way
to salvation, or even an end to suffering
of this life of flesh and bone"

and you know not if this is heaven or hell
this place you are doomed to dwell, though you
wish you could now be deaf to these words

an endless biography composed by
all your regrets and transgressions, a book
of your life you would choose to rewrite

but no one, you lament, has that privilege...

She stood with her sister by the edge of the sea.
The song the surf sang was of eternity.
She thought back to the times they had come here before;
as children, with their mother here down at the shore.
The cry of a gull made her look to the sky
and the thought of their mother brought a tear to her eye.
She held in her arms the urn filled with ash,
Here to honor the wish Mom had made in the past.
She knelt in wet sand at the edge of the shore
And the cremains were scattered on the foam evermore.
The leaden low cloud cover then yielded to the sun;,
The warmth dried her tears and she felt overcome.
Never more would she enter her mother’s embrace;
Never more hear her voice or behold her kind face.
Sister offered a hand and she favored one knee,
as the waves took her offering into the sea.
The waves roared their blessing, but all she heard there
were only the echoes of her unanswered prayers.

I have become disconnected.

Talking of pose, while shooting
in back, several questions
arise of a staged drama―
missing the lethal word,
releasing the venom.

Poetry of politics becomes evident.
You may spurn the actors,
but the pretence overwhelms.

For testing the secret of depth,
you go down in water
unarmed.

You pull a stretcher, now―
unwrapped. The cremains sink
in the sea― of tears,
unsettling the designed pebbles,
the needles. The tapestry starts burning.

The moon could have collapsed from the sky,
Shattered like a vase of cremains
Absorbed by the dense wet Earth,
And we would have waited to regret afterwards.

You killed my youth at your kiss of my lips when
I envisioned planets colliding and
Vibrant supernovas ensuing.
Maybe they’re all the same thing, or

Maybe I just didn’t know you well enough, like
The mineral of your curious teeth nibbling
My untouched neck.

Every sense, at our age, is cosmic:
Foreign and sweet, and

The lunar desire in your eyes was
Something to pine after; your hand caressing
My cratered, teenage-bumped face.

The breeze of your femininity had crept
Into my lonely orbit like a satellite snapshotting a
Pluto sunset, and

When we’re young, it’s much harder to forget
Those who kissed us, because if our

Memories are undersized stars, then your kiss
Was a comet or a meteorite or something celestial like that.

Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.

Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.

How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.

The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.

Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me

to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.

Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.

Our eyes met on the crowded train and we were changed forever.
I was captivated by her smile; she thought my small talk clever.
Our conveyance bucked and rolled through that cold, dark night.
We were locked inside a cattle car; no scenery in sight.

We quickly learned each other’s names and fell in love I fear.
We knew we shared a common faith; the thing that brought us here.
We could not know her time was short. We would not be together.
We spoke of our future, hopefully, and swore we’d love forever.

I have kept that promise, all these years, since she was torn from me.
She died the day we entered here, where “Arbeit Macht Frei .”
I recall the day the Russians came; our German guards had fled.
That precious day salvation came for the living and the dead.
I looked out over the little lake where they’d dumped the Jews’ cremains,
and felt my face wet with bitter tears as I whispered your sweet name.

Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!

While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,

nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like ****.

Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,

boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life

cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,

lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,

gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter

to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better

than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,

her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter

ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!

when held spellbound courtesy grifter

Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;

Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.

Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.

Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.

No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.

Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.

Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.

also known as
noteworthy Trader Joe's patrons
bass sic lee did treble themselves
conducting taping jam session
assembling (boxing), compiling,
and hermetically sealing tight as a drum so,
a razor sharp machete blade got dull
trying to open in vain said holiday cheer
of awesome delicious goodies,
(especially the yummy

stuffed vine leaves with rice),
which holiday care package
received without fanfare
for this common man,
whose younger sister
(vibrant as Appalachian Spring),
nevertheless wiser sibling
Shari Harris-Dunning
a **** (hard) at work
tantalizing, teasing, titillating
as a lead wrapper from home grown

organic foodstuffs, she and her bandmates
helped fit perfectly, meticulously,
and snugly together
analogous to outsize constituent components
of intricate jumbo puzzle pieces
amazingly, mathematically,
and thematically linkedin
bearing gifts subsequently mailed
(courtesy the United States Postal Service)
from Bend, Oregon
to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.

Lemme amplify how creative, innovative,
and opinionative yours truly (me)
a humble wordsmith,
who exhibits his freestyle trademark
Scottish matted style avante-garde,
one run of the mill (by the Floss) bard
wannabe wants to rave about your card,
he presumes unbridled
posthumous fame will ensue
after his lovely bones disintegrate
courtesy cremation, which cremains
symbolically distributed across

all four points across the globe,
cuz the earth will solely serve him
as eternal terrestrial graveyard
ashes repurposed hard
to believe buzzfeeding, jump/
kick starting seeds of life
and white lily obliterating ill-starred
legacy which afflicted one mortal
named Matthew Scott Harris,
whose chronic assault
with mental health issues
undermined realizing his potential.

Into the void of cosmic oblivion
eventually goeth as masterly cell bait,
the once unique human
(cited above) as scripted inevitable fate
of all creatures great and small
death promises to liberate
uniting one garden variety,
and generic soul
linkedin among Spiritus Mundi
a never ending tête-à-tête.

Hour hands of o'clock get set back
sixty minutes gaining extra hour of Autumn
round about this same day of November
every year, what a ***
er, and inconvenient truth diverged
from this wayfaring chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold
over sans yesteryear
(first implemented in United States
with Standard Time Act of 1918,

a wartime measure for seven months
during World War I in the interest
of adding more daylight hours
to conserve energy resources)
doth rat a tat tat drum
a plain sensation of jet lag
(with earthling in the balance)
as if flying backwards
within Herbert George Wells
celebrated time machine

at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride
invariably finds me
feeling ticked off and glum
in no mood to rhyme, nor be funny,
cuz I recall experiencing
exactly lxii previous instances
being forced to spring ahead,
when countless months before viz
Sunday March 13, 2022 at 2:00 AM

one twenty fourth of said day
surrendered to Father Time
finding yours truly juiced barely equipped
to cope mentally, physically,
and spiritually whipsawed tantamount
with impossible mission
to get smart and gather scattered wits
sun tide, and express mood as *** hum
analogous to coals (essence)
raked over me noggin

fortunate, this chronological
seismic shift nada wider I assume,
nevertheless mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated
brush against jangling
black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and
boring into quick
ribald sand trap doom

mining an inducement
for emergency convoy,
when pitched from
sea to figurative shining seagram
defunct company name brand
once the largest owner
of alcoholic beverage lines in the world
nsync with Johnnie Walker Scotch
quite the ginned tonic he brewed,
where live yik yak
(going tiktok) wired vanguard

trulia tried optimism to hum
a lively Irish air, cuz I
(Bailey) of Bailey Banks & Biddle
the crown jewel scion
scion of a wealthy family
swallowed down sorrow
regarding cremains of mother
her inert ashes boxed
for more'n an (eat turn) eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum
Chris Anne her namesake

bling bloviation, emasculation,
insinuation, nomination, termination
once worth matchless peerage,
now pitched numb
skull into morass
of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart pilot ***
dire straits found motley crue bickering
where Lilliputians slum

bring wherein Gulliver's Travels
landed me upon islets of langerhans
(endocrine cells scattered
throughout the pancreas)
defiantly, ham-handedly, liberally thumb
ming nose, where body, mind & soul
weeknd viz a bully did cower,
hence mister clock,
who got hijacked to Cuba
3600 seconds per hour

experienced head, thorax
and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes of wrath imposing
ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
quickly resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis
space/time continuum did devour.

Black hole (sun) event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched the band wagon
of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
pesky quirky shenanigans
toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.

Professed paean pronounced
and adroitly produced
upon spirit of deceased
named Boyce Brandon Harris.

First year anniversary since
cremains distributed across four winds
his soul remains alive within me.

Impressed upon mine consciousness
birthdate announcing home birth
April 9th 1929, my father
gasped his first breath of air
head populated with black curly locks,
when he uttered that initial blare,
nor preschool instructors extant
to teach him building blocks
inherent in double helix strand,
paternal grandfather (mine)
designed many a fancy chair
passed along blueprint
pertaining to curious lad
forever challenging himself to dare.

Though me dada gone with the wind
well nigh three hundred sixty five days
impossible mission to forget being pinned
with profound grief now sorrowful phase
diminished, nevertheless vague upbringing
regarding late father roughly limned
especially recalling dada's mien ways.

Him biological circumstance found
being youngest of three offspring
and second ably linkedin heir
whose inquisitiveness found him
roaming (courtesy donning roller skates)
Manhattan island far and near
plus or minus penchant
with science and mathematics
intelligent quotient in stratosphere
those mental cogs, wheels and gear
found those piercing black eyes to peer
way beyond New York City skyline.

Demise of him who helped beget me
softened harsh rebukes figuratively rained
upon noggin of yours truly
sole son wishes father understood
my psychological maelstrom
flush with monsters under boyhood bed,
and voices inside traumatized head.

Latent smarts did create career
path, which whipsawed him
thru multitudinous exotic places he did dare
to traverse – from Korean front
to General Electric where
he secured employment
as mechanical engineer
within aerospace, industry

completed my academic projects with flair,
who essentially earned me passing grade
just by the chin whisker hair
and by physical might,
I wished he served as bodyguard
when kids did jeer
me quiet skinny boy, who felt intimidated
when bullies spewed names with a leer.

Living social amidst
crime infested urban jungle
bumping uglies cheek to jowl
analogous fate being housed in jail
escape room of great outdoors
spurred subject matter in question
to journey to hinterlands
far from madding crowd
of Fort Lauderdale
woodsman ever watchful for Centaur

the body and legs of a horse
and with the head,
arms, and torso of a male
equipped with crossbow as scare tactic
shaft piercing flesh
no worse than nine inch nail
vehemently decried nasty,
short and brutish beastie boys
Greek mythological character
come to earth as animal savior
considered louts unfairly advantageous

killing wildlife as deal breaker
for uber twittering overscale
trespassers slaying innocent creature
no matter game good n plenti
eco consciousness mindedness
prompted inner conflict to prevail
as ace archer held taut
likened to nock fletched arrow in quiver
or shaking dandering quail
caught in carnivorous crosshairs,

where hunter doth regale
and remember to embellish maxim
one bird in the hand
worth two in the bush
opportunistically praises quarry
as divine intervention
after heavens he did intently surveil
Brief Mane n' Tail
shampoo tall (tell) tale
as Jonah felt when he got
swallowed by a whale.

Once upon a time
in a previous life of course,
anonymous wordsmith tour de force
yours truly (me)
remembers being a horse,
the handsome fine companion
of one Norwegian bachelor farmer,
who lived near Lake Wobegon,
which Minnesota enclave
analogous to Old Norse

country, anyway while
subsequently reincarnated
as beast of burden animal
(said steed synonyms
courtesy Roget's Thesaurus),
with flowing and glistening mane
and tail cuz lovely and neighborly lass
regularly shampooed former and latter,
nevertheless, I escaped captivity
and found myself in a fate far worse.

In present incarnation
shackled (née yoked
like an oxen to a plow)
manned courtesy Piers Plowman
to husbandry duties
after pledging troth and wed
as generic bipedal hominid thoroughbred
**** sapiens punk rocker,
I plod and tread
along boulevard of broken dreams,

fast as greased lightning, I sped
but these spindleshanks
ain't quick enough,
now as an old enfeebled
gentleman well read
luscious brown locks
adorn noggin of me Mister Ned
existential crisis offset
washing hair (applying
Mane n' Tail shampoo

the only pride and joy)
a wishy washy talking head
until these lovely bones become dead,
which cremains of min
slated to get dispersed and scattered
to the four winds
where ashes will be absorbed
buzzfeeding courtesy Horse Chestnut
purpose driven life
covering, functioning, and incorporating
self analogous to bedspread.