I

Winter is long in this climate
and spring—a matter of a few days
only,—a flower or two picked
from mud or from among wet leaves
or at best against treacherous
bitterness of wind, and sky shining
teasingly, then closing in black
and sudden, with fierce jaws.

     II

March,
           you reminded me of
the pyramids, our pyramids—
stript of the polished stone
that used to guard them!
                                    March,
you are like Fra Angelico
at Fiesole, painting on plaster!

March,
             you are like a band of
young poets that have not learned
the blessedness of warmth
(or have forgotten it).
At any rate—
I am moved to write poetry
for the warmth there is in it
and for the loneliness—
a poem that shall have you
    in it March.

     III

See!
         Ashur-ban-i-pal,
the archer king, on horse-back,
in blue and yellow enamel!
with drawn bow—facing lions
standing on their hind legs,
fangs bared!  his shafts
bristling in their necks!

Sacred bulls—dragons
in embossed brickwork
marching—in four tiers—
along the sacred way to
Nebuchadnezzar’s throne hall!
They shine in the sun,
they that have been marching—
marching under the dust of
ten thousand dirt years.

Now—
they are coming into bloom again!
See them!
marching still, bared by
the storms from my calender
—winds that blow back the sand!
winds that enfilade dirt!
winds that by strange craft
have whipt up a black army
that by pick and shovel
bare a procession to
                               the god, Marduk!

Natives cursing and digging
for pay unearth dragons with
upright tails and sacred bulls
alternately—
                      in four tiers—
lining the way to an old altar!
Natives digging at old walls—
digging me warmth—digging me sweet loneliness
high enamelled walls.

     IV

My second spring—
passed in a monastery
with plaster walls—in Fiesole
on the hill above ‘Florence.
My second spring—painted
a ******—in a blue aureole
sitting on a three-legged stool,
arms crossed—
she is intently serious,
                                  and still
watching an angel
with colored wings
half kneeling before her—
and smiling—the angel’s eyes
holding the eyes of Mary
as a snake’s hold a bird’s.
On the ground there are flowers,
trees are in leaf.

     V

But! now for the battle!
Now for ******—now for the real thing!
My third springtime is approaching!
Winds!
lean, serious as a ******,
seeking, seeking the flowers of March.

Seeking
flowers nowhere to be found,
they twine among the bare branches
in insatiable eagerness—
they whirl up the snow
seeking under it—
they—the winds—snakelike
roar among yellow reeds
seeking flowers—flowers.

I spring among them
seeking one flower
in which to warm myself!

I deride with all the ridicule
of misery—
my own starved misery.

Counter-cutting winds
    strike against me
refreshing their fury!

Come, good, cold fellows!
    Have we no flowers?
Defy then with even more
desperation than ever—being
    lean and frozen!

But though you are lean and frozen—
think of the blue bulls of Babylon.

Fling yourselves upon
    their empty roses—
              cut savagely!

But—
think of the painted monastery
  at Fiesole.

I was sent to work at the old Repat.
It was forty years since the war,
Those ancient diggers would sit and swear
At the pain of the limbs they wore,
The wounds would open as years went by,
They’d come for another slice,
That war was never over for them,
And morphine was paradise.

I saw one veteran struggle and curse
As he ripped at the buckles and straps,
The new prosthesis had rubbed him raw
As his knee began to relapse.
He tore the leg from his wounded stump
Sat on his bed, and roared,
Then swung the article over his head
And flung it across the ward.

The others had ducked as the leg took off
And bounced off the opposite wall,
‘I’ll have to report you,’ the nurse exclaimed,
‘It’s a good leg, after all!’
‘You wear it then,’ was the man’s response,
‘For it’s driving me insane,
What would you know of Flanders Fields?
You wouldn’t deal with the pain!’

My job was to settle and calm him down
So I asked him about his leg,
‘When and where did you lose it, Dig?’
The veteran tossed his head.
‘You’ve heard of a place called Flanders Fields
Where the bullets came in like hail?
Well, I was there with the Anzac’s, son,
At a place called Passchendaele.’

‘Our Generals were trying to ****** us,
I swear, on my mother’s head,
They kept on sending us over the top
Until half of the men were dead.
The German gunners would enfilade
As we struggled against the mud,
I’ll never forget the battlefield,
It was spattered with bones and blood.

They’d send artillery shells across
At the height of a soldier’s knee,
We’d watch them come as they parted the grass,
They were Grasscutters, you see!
Well, I was running with bayonet fixed
And praying for God’s good grace,
When suddenly I was lying there,
I’d tumbled, flat on my face.’

‘It’s strange that I never felt a thing,
When the Grasscutter got me,
It took a while ‘til I saw my leg
Was gone, from under the knee.
But that was the end of the war for me,
The end of the life I’d known,
I spent some time back in Blighty, then
I came on a ship, back home.’

I never chided those men in there
Though they’d curse and swear, and roar,
For every man was a hero where
They'd trudged in mud through the war.
That Repat. job was a fill-in job
And I left, still young and hale,
But I never forgot the Grasscutter
Or the man from Passchendaele.

David Lewis Paget

I

Winter is long in this climate
and spring—a matter of a few days
only,—a flower or two picked
from mud or from among wet leaves
or at best against treacherous
bitterness of wind, and sky shining
teasingly, then closing in black
and sudden, with fierce jaws.

     II

March,
           you reminded me of
the pyramids, our pyramids—
stript of the polished stone
that used to guard them!
                                    March,
you are like Fra Angelico
at Fiesole, painting on plaster!

March,
             you are like a band of
young poets that have not learned
the blessedness of warmth
(or have forgotten it).
At any rate—
I am moved to write poetry
for the warmth there is in it
and for the loneliness—
a poem that shall have you
    in it March.

     III

See!
         Ashur-ban-i-pal,
the archer king, on horse-back,
in blue and yellow enamel!
with drawn bow—facing lions
standing on their hind legs,
fangs bared!  his shafts
bristling in their necks!

Sacred bulls—dragons
in embossed brickwork
marching—in four tiers—
along the sacred way to
Nebuchadnezzar’s throne hall!
They shine in the sun,
they that have been marching—
marching under the dust of
ten thousand dirt years.

Now—
they are coming into bloom again!
See them!
marching still, bared by
the storms from my calender
—winds that blow back the sand!
winds that enfilade dirt!
winds that by strange craft
have whipt up a black army
that by pick and shovel
bare a procession to
                               the god, Marduk!

Natives cursing and digging
for pay unearth dragons with
upright tails and sacred bulls
alternately—
                      in four tiers—
lining the way to an old altar!
Natives digging at old walls—
digging me warmth—digging me sweet loneliness
high enamelled walls.

     IV

My second spring—
passed in a monastery
with plaster walls—in Fiesole
on the hill above ‘Florence.
My second spring—painted
a ******—in a blue aureole
sitting on a three-legged stool,
arms crossed—
she is intently serious,
                                  and still
watching an angel
with colored wings
half kneeling before her—
and smiling—the angel’s eyes
holding the eyes of Mary
as a snake’s hold a bird’s.
On the ground there are flowers,
trees are in leaf.

     V

But! now for the battle!
Now for ******—now for the real thing!
My third springtime is approaching!
Winds!
lean, serious as a ******,
seeking, seeking the flowers of March.

Seeking
flowers nowhere to be found,
they twine among the bare branches
in insatiable eagerness—
they whirl up the snow
seeking under it—
they—the winds—snakelike
roar among yellow reeds
seeking flowers—flowers.

I spring among them
seeking one flower
in which to warm myself!

I deride with all the ridicule
of misery—
my own starved misery.

Counter-cutting winds
    strike against me
refreshing their fury!

Come, good, cold fellows!
    Have we no flowers?
Defy then with even more
desperation than ever—being
    lean and frozen!

But though you are lean and frozen—
think of the blue bulls of Babylon.

Fling yourselves upon
    their empty roses—
              cut savagely!

But—
think of the painted monastery
  at Fiesole.

The softest touch of a loving friend
To the deepest **** from a charaded blade
Where does blissful sensation make its end;
Converting to the obtrusive pain enfilade?

A subtle ambiance from a serene musician
To the daily news of grief and causality
When do loving whispers of mutual affection;
Fade into a harsh scolding from authority?

An untasted sweetness of rare delicacy
To the sour lingering of bitter temptation
How does the favored indulgences' nuancy;
Shift to a bland routine of daily recreation?

A picturesque sight of undying fantasy accord
To the shocking reception of a suicide note
Why do relations flow from their distant discord;
Into the desperate end that fate already wrote?

The lavishing waft of a motley gardens' aroma;
To the putrid scent sifting in the house of flies
What's the difference between this mundane coma;
And the ignored certainty we all despise?

Aren't pain and bliss really just one in the same?
Like the lowest to highest on any sort of scale
Every single trace of emotion just felt by name;
Portrayed variably through each separate tale

They Did Not give Their Lives:
                          Their Lives Were taken From Them.

The boy soldiers formed up in line:
the Sergeant inspected each in turn.
Colonel Forde (retired)
took the salute; the cadet’s
drilled colour party moved off.

Towards the village Cross
the troop marched on,
and as the band struck
up the tune “Blaze Away”
flocks of pigeons rose
from misted fields
exploding into flight
spreading like shrapnel
to enfilade the distant trees.

Crackling gunfire
echoed in the woods
and pheasants beat
from cover plunged
to earth, killed
in fern and bracken
by weekend shooting
party’s fusillade.

On the war memorial wreathes rested
where villager’s names inscribed on stone
are listed Unforgotten. The church bell
chimed an end to silent minute. A bugle
call died away as birds sang out an anthem.

Tony Brady

This is not going to be easy.


Now she knows I'm awake.
I should record this.
Her.
Or just turn the music up.
Something I could tell her
That would blow her mind
Or her faith.
And then the cats would stay.
But how quickly I forget
Nothing ever goes away.

Why bother being good?
When bad is here to play.
How quickly I forget
Nothing ever goes away

When home becomes a hindrance
And roots reveal decay.
Turn the other cheek I speak.
But Blessings enfilade.

Well I'll go and tell
her that she wasn't just.
Because I am the loss
of a loss of all trust.

Screaming so much it
breaks down the time.
Stop trying to help
I am up every
**** time.
Want to make sure that the cats-

You must've erased it already
United is the first time
What she's ever sent me.

But how quickly I forget.
Nothing ever goes away.

Why bother with life?
When if it's here to stay-
How quickly We'll forget.
Nothing ever goes away


For Me, Ma bon vivant piquant!

You marmalade dropper, you.
You cause an enfilade with the briefest of your words, my love.
You cislunar beauty.
Let me watch you. Make me your auspex.
Stravaig through my heart.
Be your flagitious best with me.
Noctivagants, you and I.
Steal a pimpmobile. Let's run away.

This is not going to be easy.

Now she knows I'm awake.
I should record this.
Her.
Or just turn the music up.
Something I could tell her
That would blow her mind
Or her faith.
And then the cats would stay.
But how quickly I forget
Nothing ever goes away.

Why bother good?
When bad is here to play.
How quickly I forget
Nothing ever goes away

When home becomes a hindrance
And roots reveal decay.
Turn the other cheek I speak.
Blessings enfilade.

Well I'll go tell her that she was just.
And I the loss of a loss of trust.

Screaming so much it reads down time.
Stop trying to help because I am the up every Read
**** time.
Want to make sure that the cats-
You must've erased it already
United is the first time
she's ever sent me.
But how quickly I forget.
Nothing ever goes away.

Why bother life?
When if it's here to stay
How quickly We'll forget.
Nothing ever goes away

em... why would i be jealous of rich people?
aren't these the same types
that have private pools, and private cinemas,
and own private pool tables?
why would i be jealous of these
sociopaths?!
                   can't i go to a communal
swimming pool, become annoyed
the people having the need
        to eat during a movie?
who's shutting down the pubs and their
pool table spaces if not, these,
         "flea" infested brats?
oh i don't mind, but they're aided by the internet
mailing system...
   the mail in get these days is as
pointless as: receiving a roll of toilet paper...
i swear to god...
            i might as well get toilet paper mailed
to ensure there's a worth to a mailing address...
but society as such has imploded,
the rich have literally extracted communal
artefact altars into their homes,
and, at the same time,
shut off the pubs and made them into
mini-supermarkets...
   well done... clap clap?
                   seriously, if you have *******
troubles with your gay.f.,
                 go to a brothel, and then come
back to me asking what the freudian
madonna-***** complex is about... mmm'k?
nope... i'm too drunk to be welcoming,
nice, or sincere...
                            nespa?
well, unless that's a shot of tequila and a slice
of lemon, then we're talking...
otherwise? you're just about the same worth
as the indigestion i'm experiencing;
enfilade! mothercucker! eye cojino! he-ena
****! caracucas!
       o.k., i admit, that's ****** english,
fake me xi xi co can...
11 11? no: ksi ksi... mexican, oh ****,
try working with retards,
it seems easier to train a chimp...
         (what about rehab with a russian?
never mind)...
            hyena... right... where was i?
madonna-***** complex, and the brothel?
you know how lovely puerto rican blubber
is in amsterdam?
     me neither, ask me when
it's shining the red light district hue of
"introspection":
         i'll be all over it guv:
in nick-tome, nig-tone, pidgin -
  pigs drank gin(?)... between me and you:
i hate gin... or 5 p.m.,
   esp. with a tonic, and mint chockies...
oops...
        problem comes with patois...
i had a girl who "culturally appropriated"
donning dreads...
   so what's that?
        we can reopen auschwitz?
  just asking, hands in the air...
    mind you, i have an annoying cat
that keeps ******* in my room,
   you want me to gauge his eyes out?
no problem, let me **** on him first.

It took me so long to learn that:

Firing takes place
when the recoiling groups
are between .020 to .116
out of battery to prevent
contact between the front
end of the barrel extension
and the trunnion block

Verbatim.

But I did it, and so can you.
Why not?

It took me so long to learn:

The distance between
the face of the bolt
and the base of the cartridge
when fully seated in the chamber

Verbatim.

But I did it, and so can you.
Why not?

Plunging, direct,
enfilade, traversing,
elevating,
elevating and traversing,
swinging traverse, free gun, bipods,
tripods,
useless weight which
spits the ending of living stories
and breathing saints

Akin a tumbleweeds  
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature
nsync with markie mark,

(or other faux nuke heads
on silent auction
ajudicating bidding chopping block)
or getting sparred
sum xtra mo' mints

before morphing into gamut
tuff height (against opposing
super cross currents)
bow willing head over heals

deftly thwarting encroaching
enfilade enhancing
invading army of deplorable
dust devilish debris
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught

opposing approaching phalanx
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh
across the infinitely open
and wide prairie land

(which wasteland fictitiously
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape

of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding
and dodging diabolical demons

mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to ****** this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence

racked with up pinions
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains -
a veritable no man's land

and one impossible to escape
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome
and phantasmagoric forms

figments of imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me
into a loathsome madman

ranting and raving senseless
gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud
syllabification stutterer

from one whoa man
World Wide Web wayfarer
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond
venerates vowels

and possesses means
and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress
who waves magic wand

to produce such supreme sentences
and weaves tantalizing
terrific topographic tundra's
that this admirer of her artful
and colorful poetic endeavors

prompts him to accompany
Gaia as thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information
super byways and highways

along winding labyrinths
of critical thinking
or simply stepping cobble stones
comprising silly
rhymes without reason

all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight
to maintain sure footed
stance of solitude,

whose only entities happen
to constitute trappings
of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and master
pieces of literature,

yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest cherished 100 years of solitude
shattered and heart rent asunder
twin perils of loss provide
an understandable cautionary tale

from author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive
and acute Ape man
touched to the quick
with a bit of angel dust

and aware this agonized
angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with
the confines of cyberspace.

the **** happened  to the band
at the drive-in?
they were
the mozart to
my crumpet...
     i've been dying to
write some fan mail,
but never did,
i'm no
m. d. chapman
in all honesty,
i'm guessing the same
fate as that of
the band rival schools
happened to them;
mind you,
i spotted american
head charge in their prime
with their 9 member "encore",
9 years later, shrunken,
cheeks exposed,
  from lady **** i-onine...
enfilade: mother leopard -
ten thousand coconut?
i'll be the hyena, you'll see.
gags and riches...
             we wait as lepers...
sieve through these lyrics,
as impressive
   as anything licking a riff...
the same barrage of sound as
a hendrix concert...
      didn't start clapping,
and certainly didn't start
to sing-along:
   the fuse when dead upon
reciprocation,
the every other bittersweet "alas".

Not a human creature stirred, nor seen
throughout Highland Manor,
property carpeted in lush green
gently hilly terrain,
(a deathlike stillness descended un keen
quiet and quite cool April 26th,
deux thousand twenty one).

Vicious rumors circulate wrenching
hammering, and drilling psyche
where mailer demons invade,
that immediate hell fire enfilade
natural hair color made
gray follicular shocks amply pervade
instantaneously turning
Janus faced with Machiavellian

mean streak inlaid
(how word some would say)
"stern", any previous
housewarming aura
experiencing welcome spiel,
nor iota of politesse present,
but Trumpeting her entourage,
asper self important capering escapade

taskmaster known to abrade
even the most stalwart macho,
gung-**, brave appear afraid,
thus oft time tis most
advantageous and optimal
prospective mutineers betrayed
Princess Jan Ger
harridan de jure ushering tirade

akin to a petit grand mal one
woman banshee masquerade
hoop puts on be preyed
upon switching pretentious airs
dead ringer give
away (immediately
points gnarled finger
sentenced to clinker visage),

non verbal charade
hence unstoppable mounting
anticipatory anxiety manifests
as disabling, impending,
oppressing fate
cannot be delayed
if insubordinate tenants
try with futility to evade

officials with truncheons flayed
doth rarely give surcease
renters passing grade
she, the consummate
de facto grande heiress
of Gr*e & Que
inherited plum deal,
where lifetime employment,

and generously paid
analogous as born
(that way) portrayed
maintaining poker face
into royalty made,
now as single mother
to biracial heir
purportedly inhabits castle

abode with parents,
thus no child
care costs paid
expectant heavy foot
falls getting louder,
(oh...no that jist
my heart pounding
whence approaching raid

so please inform this jade
did troubadour if privy to let
(me and the missus) aid
i.e. a safe and sound
place to call home
with this hole in the poetry wall,
I would immediately
make thee a fair trade

in lieu of living, where
mercilessness doth parade
expenses property upkeep,
teaching (two
door ring) English,
or even employed
as a mister minute maid.

A diabolical, inimical, piratical,
and venal worm,
whose cut throat devious shenanigans
found yours truly to squirm;
his addiction to money (mine)
sated until he ****** me dry
analogous to nicoderm,
yet impossible mission
to smoke out the most minute germ
converting life savings of mine
into bitcoin cyber currency.

Horrible reality of being hoodwinked,
preyed upon human vermin
immediately upended high jinxed mien
floundering ten thousand leagues
under the cyber sea
analogous to Titanic submersible.

I always feel myself surprised
to what length con artists (scammers)
expend themselves, when they
(he, she) could be
productive citizens of society.

In plain English,
yours truly got blindsided, extorted
interrogated, needled,
tricked, and frankly zapped
courtesy fobbing off
honest to goodness verity
springing from computer malware
kickstarting me to be virtually robbed
in broad daylight
with the fullest consent of
self anointed aspiring poet,
(steeled against irony

as if liberating money
in both saving
and checking accounts – two of each
emptied out as if expunged funds
belonged to somebody else),
when delivering a sucker punch
that cost me more than
thirteen thousand dollars
inviting such thoughts
to overdose on prescription medication.

Hence, the shonda rhyme
of utter literal pennilessness
decries hatred linkedin
proclaiming scathing wretchedness
upon the talking head
(with a clipped dialect)
ensnaring unsuspecting victims
(lower case in point -
writer of these words),
when Macbook Pro laptop
got rendered non functionally disabled
thank you ghost in the machine,
wherein reigned indubitable chaos.

Hence, loss of nest egg
(found me cracked up)
regarding resultant monetary liquidation
fall of the crowded house ushered
disquisition without hesitation
briefly describing my death
originally due to fetal positioned
congenital psychological affliction
and today's painful aggravation,
when countless Benjamins
gussied up as hobgoblins

joined human league
averse to plaintive benediction
thence, this with mine jetblue
skinny legs like a chicken
his (mein kampf) got dealt mortal
(who gives a hoot) blowfish
rem mains disintegrated
by mailer daemons usurped dereliction,
whereby sanity given eviction
in the subsequent fiction

that makes feeble attempt
to evoke stricken gumption,
where eons ago nihilistic thoughts rode
roughshod to wreak humiliation
upon prepubescent initiation,
whereby the antithesis of jubilation
kept the author (yes, yours truly)
like a trapped mouse
in a cat protected kitchen,
where no cheeses cur heist
could rectify or bring libation.

Noah hide dee ya what mailer daemon
possessed this earthlinked
live nada so hotmail
to splutter so much persiflage
as evidenced above and in the following.

Ye might well categorize
the palaver as pure llama
heaped dung attempting
to sneak into yar consciousness
as some esoteric badinage aspiring
to convey that this doodler
with words adroit
with the english language.

Temptation to bid fare thee well
bah humbug anguish
cuz down the gullet goes lethal drug
e'en without any farewell hug
after smacking lips polished
off deadly drink from mug.

Within reverie long fostered hankered freedom
at last attained to exit silently
terrestrial real estate oblate spheroid
during hulu heralded century 21,
which would deliver
(ants sir) rectifying eternal senescent deliverance.

Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness
and goodwill toward men/women
served as a mere pretense
extant the global arcade.

Nothing boot charade, enfilade
(albeit with limp poetic/
prosaic pugnacious), facade,
gilded hilariously inside *******.

Ever since he kickstarted lifelessly,
his noggin oddly plunged quietly
resting as a deceased shutterfly
tonight under vaporous wisps
as somber mood prevailed
amidst the cloistered silence imposed from
the shunted cremated preference
re: symbolic (logical)
figurative burial of Matthew Harris
subsequently reincarnated as soft dust.

Potter's field here I come,
one harried styled swiftly tailored
faceless book earthworm member
joined the rank n file
of his slimy brethren n cistern
when a mortal male
(crushed courtesy cruel
cockamamie crime) ceased
to live June twenty first
two thousand twenty three.

I foresaw how miserable fate worse than death
resolved, albeit at loss to kith and kin
of beloved brother, father to deux
darling grown daughters and husband
since July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
now left destitute and widowed.

Immune to antics of scallywags,
the grim reaper undertook requisite business
and swung a his scythe with effortless breath
and started coffin.

He exhaled little billows of cold air
while awaiting the hearst
carrying lifeless body
of none other than me doppelganger.

Prior to imagined demise, I took special pains
to select an ideal piloted kamikaze pilot plot.

A mossy glen with a mill by the pond
of my boyhood swimming hole
served like the ideal welcome mat
for the return of this native son
long gone from his family estate of Glen Elm.

At pinnacle of storied fame
death struck (with welcome arms) unexpectedly
while dodging the madding crowd
off hucksters, punsters,
and xenophobic bummers
jostling to get a glimpse of renown author,
where paparazzi seemed
destined to track me down.

As the advocate of countless essays
on inalienable rights
for all creatures large and small,
no pause from the hounding
local populace offered peace of mind.

Until now!

The prospect of dying
never scared this non-believer.

Cessation of consciousness
essentially served completion of life
in corporeal form
and reconstituted physical being
into grist for other organisms to flourish.

Karma and glorious unique characteristics
comprising each of our respective charisma,
dogma, and persona
(generally comprising an enigma
to the world) absorbed
after contract with cosmic creator lapsed.

Brief occupancy on this terrafirma
as inscribed in genetic code
(merely a blink of an eye
in the universal schema)
gave this now deceased dreamer
notion to maximize enjoyment of each day.

One need not globe trot
(and boast of espying exotic places),
but could experience inner harmony
by imbibing the present.

Simple pleasures that abounded
in the wild or evoked via creative imagination
of august writers supplied
ample sustenance for satisfaction.

Contemplative and introspective mien
prompted Eros to be discerned
in the grand canyon of Mother Nature
in tandem with personal motive
to indulge like-minded thinkers
since the beginning of time.

Any given day frequently found thoughts
turning over every figurative
jagged rolling stone
when the veiled, shrouded, cloaked...
characterization invoking angel of death
might silently spring a surprise visit,
which metaphysical thought
interestingly enough gave sigh of relief.

Why?

Upon termination of enjoying existence
in living color, the eradication
of this pet peeve of mine i.e.
anxiety/ panic attacks
interwoven with inxs
of obsessive compulsive behavior
would dissolve into basic elements
of earth, wind and fire.

No iota amount of matter
marshaled the non-entity dimension
would assume command.

Those former psychological trials
would thence be relinquished
from their parasite role
and recompose cells
of one mortal man (me)
into matter to be recycled
into raw materiel
for other organisms to feast upon.

Basic constituent cells
of **** sapien in question
would become necessary seeds
for some other manifestation
for plant or animal development.

Godaddy maggots sans fancy feast,
a best buy per this former
foo fighting beastie boy,
whose nihilistic outlook
promulgated within his in utero psyche.

Gestation as an embryonic fetus,
the potential live, googly eyed,
earth-linked, wannabe hotmail prodigy
harbored no oshkosh bug gosh
pinterest to remain
in the world wide web of bad company.

Hence, nothing could mollify measly
mumbling linkedin kibitzer,
albeit progressive matchless
who unwittingly opened
the red box of Pandora.

Molecular features
would assume novel combinations
thru said degradation of flesh,
yet improvisation of biology
would wield wasted corpse
that once epitomized an articulate,
civil, enumerate, glib, invertebrate,
kind male into novel marvels
of unpredictable genus and species.

Bonafide catatonic doggedness,
nevertheless this stubborn stoic poet writ
afore and another feeble effort courtesy
exhaustive mental effort
he brewed den - brought about divine visit
analogously to solve mystery pinpointing
within suspense unveiling whodunnit.

Whereat your true
plane vanilla author's creativity
admittedly drastically did decline
bawling and crying
caterwauling putting any feline,
to shame, hence abandoned grandiose design,
cuz he suddenly contracted

(think fabricates)... what else
flesh eating bacteria unfavorable sign
finding me body stone cold supine
(courtesy brainstorm that went awry)
inducing purgatory nauseating
sensation to *****,
nope not at all feeling fine,

hence literary dream subsequently mine
ambition tanking (think
kamikaze nose diving
minus parachute life line),
sought spiritual guidance ministered
severe existential nihilist crisis
(an understatement)... zip,

absolute zero, and nein
never to witness, nor
restored vigor and vitality,
(sob... sob... sob) ha how asinine,
hence garden variety germane pine
wood coffin evidenced
resembling somber funereal yahrzeit

(/ˈyärˌtsīt,ˈyôr-/) recollecting late mother
helped beget kith and kin of mine,
than as now buzzfeeding appetites decline
possibly courtesy bloodily splattered
white laboratory coated
donned Victor Frankenstein
mister monster master's

repurposed cadaver delivers kosher eats
fancy feast grubhub groaning
outsize maître d' makes beeline,
nsync with anonymous canine,
corps speedier than any airline,
unbeknownst to yours truly posthumous
fame will inevitably yield moonshine.

Fast forward approximately
twelve hours later recuperated -
aide de camp resolved impasse with
partial writer's block slayed
attempting to continue quasi theme
i.e. avoid typing with fingers delayed,
albeit no matter unconscious

editing automatically peremptorily made
suppressing crude, fiery, ignominious tamed
loathsome offal rot earning F grade
securely unceremoniously waylaid
lurid outburst blandly diluted into staide
yawningly tedious figurative walled barricade,
when lo and behold atavistic beast erupts

fresh sortie attempts peppering enfilade
anew ideally unadulterated, unedited,
unexpurgated material ought be displayed
to allow, enable, and
provide raw emotional blackest shade
to resonate within mind
of unsuspecting reader,

who might take
objection with primitive grade
communication, and blatant
scathing writer somewhat afraid
to air unrefined sentiments
may cost popularity,
uncontested where cadre of

unseen followers thence evade
once popular rising sallying forth star,
whose emergent fame
(even if only limited edition
to cyberspace) will fade,
yet methinks loosing
stream of consciousness obeyed


fealty on one metrical foot
metaphorically uncorking
deep seated primal angst laid
bare like bleached bones
existential crisis oft times
gussied up to avoid tirade,

whereby woke parlayed
gut wrenching splenetic self degrade
ding soul bearing vile eruption
considerably quieted, stoppered, tamped...
courtesy linkedin, symbiotic maid.

with pistachio shells April 3rd, 2021
sitting in the exact same chair
yours truly sat three hundred
and sixty five days ago.

Watermelons, grapefruits, oranges...
lobbed at yours truly ruled out,
hence the missus dreamt up bright idea
to enfilade me courtesy pistachio shells.

Rather than just hurl one at a time,
(she who unwittingly helped inspire
contents of reasonable rhyme)
decided to throw handfuls
leguminous encasement
constituting cellulose and lignin,
creating woody appearance and texture.

Spouse trends toward being poor aim
nevertheless still manages
to wreak havoc
upon mine body electric,
I once upon a time
doubting thomas peacemonger became
anarchist overnight whereat
foo fighters claim
beastie boy wedded to culture club
divorce no longer sought
against devilish, girlish,

Jordache versus Levi Strauss
mulish, queerish fictitious dame
prone toward profanities to exclaim
waxes with wicked disposition
her charisma and persona sparkles
analogous to blinding flame
burning with passion
to play Gerald's game.

Said artificial intelligence I activate
courtesy mine overactive imagination,
she occasionally accidentally does berate
divine creator (me), yet more often than not
we feign shunning law and order
as faux vigilantes to celebrate

life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
allowing, enabling, and providing
opportunities to deviate
against nonestablishmentarian
dogma and ethos, I'm gonna estimate
as generally popular

counter culture paradigm
helping to beget, birth and facilitate
iconic nineteen ninety sixties
liberal transition to toleration
within parochial schema
did unwittingly generate
loosening quintessential

conventional racial and ****** precepts,
where obsolete doctrines staid to hibernate
sustaining repressive stereotypical mores
housing totalitarian, racist, bigoted
White Supremacist poisonous bile
doth fester and incubate.

Machinations of maniacs loose ill will
figuratively unhinged **** sapiens
destroy webbed fabric of civilization
domestic hate crimes on the rise
homegrown terrorism beget
vile killing rampages which proliferate
courtesy easy access to guns

triggering pandemic of violence
fueling undeclared warfare
putting innocent lives
within crosshairs
no time for victims to bid adieu
only option remaining for surviving
to mourn slain friends and family.

Grave situation rocks world
as ten commandments get unfurled,
whereby complacent grim reaper
with his signature scythe
within gnarled bony hands
he gamely twirled
since time immemorial,
and will be victor among many spoils

as tumultuous upheaval roils
courtesy reprobate who
brings death and destruction in their wake
giddy with delight at one or more
human lives he/she did take
causing, fomenting, instigating...
grievous sorrow to quake
perhaps someone with my namesake.

Watermelons, grapefruits, oranges...
lobbed at yours truly ruled out,
hence the missus dreamt up bright idea
to enfilade me courtesy pistachio shells.

Rather than just hurl one at a time,
(she who unwittingly helped inspire
contents of reasonable rhyme)
decided to throw handfuls
leguminous encasement
constituting cellulose and lignin,
creating woody appearance and texture.

Spouse trends toward being poor aim
nevertheless still manages to wreak havoc
upon mine body electric,
I once upon a time
doubting thomas peacemonger became
anarchist overnight whereat foo fighters claim
beastie boy wedded to culture club
divorce no longer sought
against devilish, girlish,

Jordache versus Levi Strauss
mulish, queerish fictitious dame
prone toward profanities to exclaim
waxes with wicked disposition
her charisma and persona sparkles
analogous to blinding flame
burning with passion
to play Gerald's game.

Said artificial intelligence I activate
courtesy mine overactive imagination,
she occasionally accidentally does berate
divine creator (me), yet more often than not
we feign shunning law and order
as faux vigilantes to celebrate

life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
allowing, enabling, and providing
opportunities to deviate
against nonestablishmentarian
dogma and ethos, I'm gonna estimate
as generally popular

counter culture paradigm
helping to beget, birth and facilitate
iconic nineteen ninety sixties
liberal transition to toleration
within parochial schema
did unwittingly generate
loosening quintessential

conventional racial and ****** precepts,
where obsolete doctrines staid to hibernate
sustaining repressive stereotypical mores
housing totalitarian, racist, bigoted
White Supremacist poisonous bile
doth fester and incubate.

Machinations of maniacs loose ill will
figuratively unhinged **** sapiens
destroy webbed fabric of civilization
domestic hate crimes on the rise
homegrown terrorism beget
vile killing rampages which proliferate
courtesy easy access to guns

triggering pandemic of violence
fueling undeclared warfare
putting innocent lives
within crosshairs
no time for victims to bid adieu
only option remaining for surviving
to mourn slain friends and family.

Grave situation rocks world
as ten commandments get unfurled,
whereby complacent grim reaper
with his signature scythe
within gnarled bony hands
he gamely twirled
since time immemorial,
and will be victor among many spoils

as tumultuous upheaval roils
courtesy reprobate who
brings death and destruction in their wake
giddy with delight at one or more
human lives he/she did take
causing, fomenting, instigating...
grievous sorrow to quake
perhaps killing someone with my namesake.

Self immolation as sacrificial bleating lamb
promises eternal martyrdom
awaiting voluntary die hard protester,
where countless vestal virgins provide blissfulness
(think ******* mansion on steroids)
synonymous with delightful
grand view garden of Eden
transmuting mortal flesh
(clothed in lovely bones)
into burnt offering
mummifying and searing
once robust sacred heart
courtesy hungry, and angry forked flames.

Escape said hell on Earth I must,
which hopefully convincingly
explains the above nightmarish scenario
awaking me from an otherwise pleasant siesta.

Livingsocial here at Highland Manor
sparks the matchless following hyperbole,
whereby overactive imagination
fosters grim statistics of suicide in general,
and setting her/himself afire in particular,
yes no matter the truism, we
(yours truly and the missus)
can attest to a roof
(recently reshingled) over our head.

If only the (laugh-in) fickle finger of fate
would bless with doggone sudden wealth,
or bestow beneficent altruistic philanthropist
to bolster my very anemic
checking and savings accounts
which still smarts nearly eleven months
after weathering a blitzkrieg assault
iterated umpteen times
within previous poems,

and even posted a gofundme page,
whose soothing telephone voice
calm, cool and collected (sotto voce) belied
blood thirsty Machiavellian
scheming compute hacker and fraudster,
who called himself Harvey Specter;
One scheming scammer,
who made out like a bandit
 after he fleeced one naive sexagenarian.

No matter psychological services
found the author of these words vilifying
above named malevolent online marauder
who initially (convincingly) weaseled his way
thru the milieu of cyberspace
zapping this Apple Macbook Pro laptop,
claiming to be holier than thou
by disabling access to the Internet,
I fell prey to his charade,
binary enfilade, and façade
entranced and mesmerized,
subsequently feeling wretched
after carrying out the bidding
by unforgettable referenced clip artist,
which incident of being bilked
reported to the local police,
whose promptitude responding
offered small consolation.

Little forgiveness yielded toward
a punning wordsmith,
still seething, fuming, livid with rage
and mad as a hatter at himself
for following hook, line and sinker,
an older fella ordinarily tentative and cautious
when commingling with persons unknown.