I remember that day like it was yesterday.
What happened, you claim, was barely horseplay.
Will you ever comprehend,
That what you did, I didn’t “misunderstand”?

Perhaps you’d like to blame it on your upbringing,
Because your dad taught you to control a woman who doesn’t have the “right” thinking.
Mexican patriarchy is ******, but it is you who chose to comply with it.
So don’t claim you aren’t responsible for the sins you commit.

Today I speak,
For I refuse to be weak.
Today I’ll unfold the truth I never wanted to accept,
When I was just a little under 15 and felt completely wrecked.

I stand today to expose you **** as I’ve been,
A monster in full shape and form, guilty of ****** while you grin.
You’ve kept your eyes shut to my dreadful sensations,
But today you will listen to my crude allegations.

We were in your house in Mexico where you locked me in the basement.
You claimed you wanted privacy, but only offered me enslavement.
Maybe it really was my bad luck,
When I believed you when said you loved me, but didn’t realize you only wanted to ****.

A monster, you pinned me against the wall,
I hit my head and cried, beginning to feel like your personal doll.
Touching my head where I discovered that I bled,
I reached for your hand, but you only grabbed mine to throw me onto bed.

When I was five, mother told me monsters don’t exist,
But today I am a witness to the contrary, as I know angels and devils coexist.
You are a monster for what you did to me,
For you pretended not to hear my plea.

A monster, you tied me onto your bed,
And ripped my clothes until I was left with nothing but a thread.
I begged you to stop and pushed you away,
But you slapped me and pressing your body against mine, told me you were here to stay.

A monster, your tongue against my breast,
And I completely undressed,
I watched your face transform,
Like a caterpillar taking its new form.

You, a monster, a demon, and a coward,
Faced a broken soul who had not yet flowered.
You took your hands and forced my flower to bloom,
Though it did not unfold with pleasure, but with fear of ending in a tomb.

And like a painter facing an empty canvas,
You traced me from head to toe as I lay nearly dead on the mattress.
You carved your name onto my body and robbed me of my innocence.
A monster, you obliterated my purity, leaving bruises as evidence.

A monster, you watered my flowers with the filthiest juice,
Not with God’s purest waters, but your own waters of abuse.
I weeped and screamed and in that moment begged for a God to exist,
I even prayed, but found no angels to untie my wrists.

If you really loved me, then you would look past your lust,
But you never did and chose to break me with each and every ******.
Rocking back and forth I was controlled by you, a monstrous puppeteer,
Your *** danced down my legs as I watched you cold and with fear.

A monster, you carefully tamed me to satisfy your *** drive,
Never did I imagine I would go to Hell and come back alive.
Today I stand a witness of your repulsive proclivity,
Penetrated by a monster who awaited for the trophee he believed was my virginity.

It wasn’t just a simple “quickie”,
The way you threw me around and used me.
I may have stood still and allowed you to profanate me,  
But I always threw up once you finished touching me.

People say our dreams are reflections of our memories fused with fantasies,
But there is no magic in the nightmares I regard as tragedies.
I’ve spent four years feeling entitled to nothing but pain,
And stay awake fearing my memories will haunt me, crashing into me like a train.

I wash my body once, twice, and thrice to flush away the picture of your fingers,
Scrubbing and scrubbing to ensure I numb my skin from your smell that lingers.
Your colossal hands a million times larger than the girl they groped,
Remind her of the million times she was choked.

I only wish you could understand what it feels like to be someone’s puppet,
A doll you can pull, stretch, bend over backwards and play like a trumpet.
It’s difficult to accept I’ll always feel possessed,
That the monster who injected me with his poison jerks off to the thought of being caressed.

You are the reason I’ve sought the sharpest blade,
To slash my skin and mark your cannonade.
But I can’t slice you out of my body,
As slicing my skin with glass won’t provide me with an antibody.

A monster, you conquered my body with a single purpose,
You kept me in the darkness to guarantee your coitus.
I’m sorry my ******* wasn’t as **** as your *******,
I blowed as fast as I could to prevent a flatline on my Electrocardiography.

I’m sorry I had to fake an ******,
But I had to escape you once you threw me into a chasm.
Navigating in the maze where I was constantly abused,
Was difficult having no compass to pretend I was being seduced.

I spent years looking for an exit out of your maze,
Taking too long to realize this wasn’t only a phase.
Some blame me for being too oblivious,
For wearing a blindfold and perceiving you as chivalrous.

And perhaps you blame me for being too naive,
Because I wished for you to change on New Year’s Eve.
I sought a fairytale, forgetting Cinderella did not meet her prince,
But a wolf who impaled her with his claws and abandoned her since.

I was your slave for two long years,
And you, a monster, showed me each and every one of my fears.
But I have lived in spite of my trauma,
And today I stand to scold you for this drama.

I no longer fear the monster inside my head,
For I understand many others will dwell ahead.
But my monster will no longer haunt me in my sleep,
For now I sleep knowing I have my body to keep.

I am strong, proud and bold,
And I have found my place in this world.
No longer will I let you win,
For it is you who reeks of sin.

Does it make me sick to empathize with your situation?
To feel for your pain and share your deeply held frustration?
Is it you who is wicked for being a pervert?
Or me for wanting you to hurt?

How can I wish you the greatest agony,
When I would never want anyone, not even my monster to experience my tragedy?
I am being torn in different directions,
But I’m no longer tied down to successful erections.

Monster, I thank you for your rotten kisses,
For the hundred bruises and tight stitches.
I now know my body is a shrine,
And that I am my own lifeline.

No longer will I feel soiled by your hands.
For I have built new dams.  
I now look at my own reflection,  
And see a figure composed of fascinating lines shielding me from your infection.

I am on my way to finding my peace,
But need to put my thoughts together to find my release.
It may be forgiveness, prevention or punishment,
But no longer will I undermine my own torment.

It may sound funny when I say I wish I was a superhero,
So I would know when a girl is in danger of touch and close to Ground Zero.
I’ve lived my years carrying the guilt of watching women fall one by one,
Of never being able to prevent another unwanted son.

I now understand there is only so much I can do,
For I am an ordinary person with a big heart turned blue.
I only wish my words will inspire, the victims of this fire,
To embrace their burns and wear them as an iron attire.

My growth and strength came as a result of patience,
It took years and tears to show me a way out of complacence.
But in an effort to give you a lift,
I have found myself adrift.

I have tried to be a saviour,
Forgetting to save myself before and bring myself to shore.
Today is the day I become my own light,
And fight to stay bright in the night.

Monster, you may now live in paradise,
Walking around as the devil in disguise.
But I believe in divine retribution,
And live in peace knowing you will get your fatal conclusion.

You are a monster, and I was your prey,
But today, I am no longer in decay.
With these words I purge myself of your touch,
For I’ve released my demons back into Hell and no longer seek a crutch.

Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of The Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay and noise.

Should storms, as may well happen,
Drive you to anchor a week
In some old harbour-city
Of Ionia, then speak
With her witty scholars, men
Who have proved there cannot be
Such a place as Atlantis:
Learn their logic, but notice
How its subtlety betrays
Their enormous simple grief;
Thus they shall teach you the ways
To doubt that you may believe.

If, later, you run aground
Among the headlands of Thrace,
Where with torches all night long
A naked barbaric race
Leaps frenziedly to the sound
Of conch and dissonant gong:
On that stony savage shore
Strip off your clothes and dance, for
Unless you are capable
Of forgetting completely
About Atlantis, you will
Never finish your journey.

Again, should you come to gay
Carthage or Corinth, take part
In their endless gaiety;
And if in some bar a ****,
As she strokes your hair, should say
"This is Atlantis, dearie,"
Listen with attentiveness
To her life-story: unless
You become acquainted now
With each refuge that tries to
Counterfeit Atlantis, how
Will you recognise the true?

Assuming you beach at last
Near Atlantis, and begin
That terrible trek inland
Through squalid woods and frozen
Thundras where all are soon lost;
If, forsaken then, you stand,
Dismissal everywhere,
Stone and now, silence and air,
O remember the great dead
And honour the fate you are,
Travelling and tormented,
Dialectic and bizarre.

Stagger onward rejoicing;
And even then if, perhaps
Having actually got
To the last col, you collapse
With all Atlantis shining
Below you yet you cannot
Descend, you should still be proud
Even to have been allowed
Just to peep at Atlantis
In a poetic vision:
Give thanks and lie down in peace,
Having seen your salvation.

All the little household gods
Have started crying, but say
Good-bye now, and put to sea.
Farewell, my dear, farewell: may
Hermes, master of the roads,
And the four dwarf Kabiri,
Protect and serve you always;
And may the Ancient of Days
Provide for all you must do
His invisible guidance,
Lifting up, dear, upon you
The light of His countenance.

I hadn't meant to spy on them; just one of my evening walks along the beach.  Moonlight gleaming on wet teenage backs.  Horseplay crackling in their young male voices-- “King of the Hill” from a rusty life guard chair.  I like these memories, the ones that just occur-- when everything is there again....

Coming to find myself again in October.  Long trudge to the “Shanty Village” gets me thinking about the wrinkled hand that first took me close to the ageless roar and seething.  Skirted bathing suit, indelible tremble of voice-- the woman bringing me beyond the fear that had watched all day from those cautious castles, after being so rudely trounced!   She helped me make my peace with what I could neither own nor tame— the sea and me.  We walked along the channel then, watching slender fishes in their school-- that even fish would go to school!  We had to laugh.  Scorching the soles of my feet in the parking lot!  Oo-ah-oo-ah! Forgot my flip-flops!
_

October now, piling sand along the roadside....  First kiss at Cooks Brook Beach.  Surf breaking over this jetty, could have been my heart.  I think his name was Stan....

How can people leave their flowers still blooming in window boxes?  In the cottage quiet, I can almost picture... bicycles leaning by dripping shower stalls.  Beach umbrellas, the smell of suntan lotion,  kids roving in barefoot bands....  Fall packs them all away.

While cold advances on the struggling song of crickets, a man, wearing a painter's hat and whistling, does the unthinkable-- hammers plywood over his shanty's windows.  I think that summer people can close their eyes.  We, of October, have vivid memories-- savoring sources that linger in their endings.  Coming late—staying long beyond the leaving-- sleeping warm in winter sands.

When the time comes for wonder and delight,
Open your vacant eyes, from yesterday,
Take a deep breath, do not strain, do not fright.

Seeing is believing, even in light,
Let your mind open to a fresh new day,
Let your eyes shine bright, from this new insight.

Do not cry, or feel like you are dead-weight,
You are strong, they will move out of your way,
Take deep breaths, do not fight, you are alright.

You will be just right, body heals at night,
Do not blame events on some other day,
Let eyes shine bright, and glow in the skylight.

No where to run, no place to hide, insight
Cover eyes and ears, this is not horseplay,
Days darkest hour is not always at night

You, my fighter, are wound up very tight,
Stay calm and relax, do not shy away,
Take a deep breath, do not strain, do not fright,
Let your eyes shine bright, from this new insight.

I’m reading my dictionary with the pages missing
Of all the words that I’d much rather be dismissing
It’s much easier to ignore what’s been written
To stop the queue of a page that’s already printing
Listen
Cause we live where we can rip anything out that we don’t like
Take out words like bomb raids and hunger strike
My dictionary might be a little lifelike
It’s saying what I can and can’t do for a klondike
unlike
Sitting down and facing brown reality
Taking very simple things making hyperbole
To realize you might be a nobody
Cause there’s nothing that life can guarantee
Do you agree
To be afraid of a word in a book is nonsense
Maybe I don’t understand the context
But is there really that much weighing on your conscious
That reading is like consuming tons of toxins
Word

Everyone likes to tell me what I can and can’t say
But I like to disobey and I say it anyway
Any way that I can
To get my point across
Any way that I play
with word play
and words say
how much you can weigh
and can you be gay
or can you horseplay
on the Lord’s day
and hey
I take the highway
As my getaway
But the signs are on display
on where I can turn
and when should I yield
And still the words reflect
on my windshield
but what’s in a word

bird
I hear bird’s the word
But let me reword my password
Cause it’s too simple
To unlock the emotions of other people
When they wear their heart on their sleeve
Strung together with staples
And it is a staple
That I should be graceful
And tasteful
Not be wasteful of my words
Cause that’s all I got
and it seems I forgot
to boycott the
thought talk
and just keep it to myself

Because words are powerful
And I am not
And too often I hide behind them
And finally I’m giving it a second thought

BALLEA PLAY

( for my fellow playmate of those days
my cousin Mary Francis Forde )

The cut corn
bound by twine or súgán.

into sheaves into stooks into stacks
stacks and stacks reeks and reeks of it

hay into haggard

and that was it
"cored" as they said.

And yes that was uncle's and dad's work
but a harvest indeed for us kids.

We took it from there
fodder yes but for us play.

Jumping from the far away top
falling through air

lots and lots of air
into more hay

hours and hours of horseplay
bungee jumping without the rope.

A mountain of hay to leap from
a mountain of hay to land in.

Shouting: "Stooks...shocks & ricks!"
New sounds we were only after learning.

Or places names that one could taste on the tongue:

"Killingly...Killingly...KILLINGLY!"

I still forever falling through the air
of that day....that free fall through the years

landing in today
the 30th day of my 60th year.

You sing a song of wisdom but only whispers do come through,
To the ears of all the people too busy to listen to you.
They may stop and listen but only few can hear the tune,
Its more beautiful than galaxies or the blooms of June.
For it is an idea without a body and it can't be seen with sight,
One can only hear and feel it the feeling that sheds light.
It can change the souls of many and free those who are in disguise,
It spreads harmony amongst people of every color shape and size.
But alas they are too busy working towards their goals with zeal,
If its happiness you seek you'll fail for its not something you gain but feel.
They are too busy for childish horseplay or having unproductive fun,
But they underestimate the power of dancing barefoot in the Sun.

Sometimes I get into this lyfe style. A lyfe style of remorse for feeling bad for myself. A lyfe style of projecting my loneliness on others and trying to title a book titled "The times I've broken my heart". And that's just the start of the story.

 It seems I was walking home one day and the oncoming traffic of the overhead displayed a sign that read "You've caught feelings today" my love was expressed through the form of tears. Or "white lies" I guess you could say because my tears are invisible to others and they're lies disguised till this day like the dust bunnies you sweep under a rug. And I know I messed up by talking to you so much. Because that was my first mistake. Getting attached is the quickest way to getting heartbreak. But to me its something more.

 You see I'm a mold of clay passed around for the whole elementary class to see. Some people jam their fingers in me and others mold me completely differently until no one can even realize I'm playdough so instead I'm just tossed away.

Or an even better one. We'll start with the cliche "I'm a towel put out to dry" but my owner never returned so instead my skin just bleached in the winter and I withered away into a line cloth that eventually floated a stray... Or maybe I was swallowed up by the lies of others who told me I was something more than an eroded piece of ripped line cloth clay.

Whatever the matter I'm an endangered endangerment to myself. I'm not suicidal but my thoughts tell me otherwise. Have you ever looked in a mirror and seen you're two bad sides holding each others hands? Singing lullaby's about how you're lyfes demands are mediocre and no were near ideal. You're a joke to the joker and even worse you're a joke to the ones around you who only see your smile.

 Because they don't even know who you truly are. Maybe if you put away the childish dreams of falling in love and picked up an adult magazine to hide forever any sort of horseplay that comes along with being alone, and being so weak to love.

And maybe that's just it. I'm to weak for love but, I'm to weak to be loved. So maybe my fake strength can offer me an attribute to this loneliness. Or maybe I'll just make a new title and call it "Moving on and moving away"

Its just I easily succumb to the idea of love. And it seems everyone around me doesn't feel the same. So I guess I'll just remain here as dried up shriveled line cloth clay.

What's happening to our youth, who always choose to talk back?  There are those who constantly horseplay around, giving each other a whack.
What's happening to our youth, who do not take things serious?  All they want to do is stand around, and began to fuss.
What's happening to our youth, who are eager to start a fight?  They fail to listen to adults, knowing what they are doing, definitely are not right.
What's happening to our youth, who are filled with so much anger?  If they decided to take it to the streets, their life could be in real danger.
What's happening to our youth, I believe they need a spiritual outlet?  Take them to the House of God, so their souls can get rest.
By,  Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Where is the hope, where is the love? Thought I found it, but I guess I'm mistaken. The bottom of the bottom, the low of the low, I tried to hide emotion but then this happened that left me shaken. Forsaken, life got stolen from me, I don't why or who, but I'll get it back just like Liam Neeson in the movie Taken. I came to break in, for you have messed with the wrong man, break you down like a machine, never under estimate the under dog master plan. Word play, shaping my reality like it were clay, Classy J is here to stay. Strain foreplay, no accidents here, this is a real fight, no horseplay here, eventually everyone gives way and are defenceless to the birds of prey. Be careful what you throw away, because it may come back with vicious unrelenting pain, beware the ricochet because after it is done with you it will leave more than just a sprain. Maintain that knowledge in your membrane, don't you know karma is a b** it will beat you over the head like a cane. Irony of this preordained circumstance played out like a orchestra, mixed into theory's that can only be processed to see if they make up a successful formula. Dogmatic, you fools are all scatterbrained, so hazy so lazy, shouldn't have messed with crazy, don't you know you can't keep me contained.

̶  After J. L. Storie

Remembering the joys of motherhood –
Putting on pajamas, picking up clothes,
Brushing teeth, bedtime drink of water.

They’re on a sugar high, giggles, night
Time hassles, hamming it up, stories –
Grade school delirium and horseplay.

Two little girls about to fall asleep, but
Full of joy and a day’s activities to tell
Whoever will listen – important stories.

Even boys are part of the drama – love,
Marriage, movies, lords and ladies –
The stuff girls talk about with grandma.

Breakfast time comes soon, and planning
For the day begins – rain prevents going
For a swim – let’s pretend suffices.

Building forts using blankets and pillows,
Playing doctor with grandma’s cat – its
Willingness to play in doubt.

Imagination is soon drained, and real
Play intercedes – grandma’s dresser the
Home of props for growing up.

Jewelry, half-slip, *******, socks stuffed
In bra to simulate ******* – dress-up is
Fun, but like in all games, interest wanes.

The sun comes out, and two young
“Aquabats” squeal with delight –
Grandma is coaxed into water-sliding.

Three female bodies slide quickly into
A few feet of water and dog paddle
To nearby poolside safety.

Grandma is reminded of her days – fifty
Years ago – when she and her own sister
Played at Esther Williams swim routines.

These dances, which enliven, rejuvenate,
And bond – stories of family evolution –
Bring treasured hours of utter joy.


© Lewis Bosworth, 4/2018

The cute little bench in my favorite park is big enough to fit a group of four
The petals on a precious little monocotyledon flower come in groups of three
The minute I crack an elephant peanut I see a pair of peanuts, side by side, two in one
And I come, and forever stay, as one
Alone to deal with the qualms of my life
Alone to roam the earth as I try and figure out the reason I was put onto this cruel world
Alone at a table for two, and I'm too invisible to even be served

Oh how I long for my other half
How I long for a group of friends to sit next to me on my bench of sorrows
How I long for two precious friends to enjoy the beauty of these monocots
How I long for someone, just someone, to share those elephant peanuts with
Or better yet, for them to throw them at me as we engage in horseplay

But no, no matter how many times I open up
Or how many times I try to be nice
Or how many times I try to understand everyone else's problems
No one will be the type of friend I need

I'll forever sit alone on my bench of sorrows as I look up at the sky and bask in a ray of hope
I'll forever walk in the meadow and be hit with the smell of lovely dreams
I'll forever eat those peanuts alone as I eat those little reminders
And I'll keep wondering what it would be like to have a friend

Play with the words,
a game of lips and speech.
Given it's direct,
it could be a movie scene.
But given it's more of an act,
I'll just play into it,
Roll under it carelessly rather than to overact.

I'm just bored with my words
aboard that ship,
Thinking me being extra firm
keeps me crisp.
But maybe I'm too much of an air head
as I lay on my time eating a potato chip.
Though if I jumped out of my ship,
I could go for a little dip.

But I guess when you swim too long,
you're soon to sink.
Swimming too long becomes a drain,
Like when I fall over myself,
when I take life as a trip.
But I do wonder if I'm
heading in the right direction.
But excuse for me changing the very topic,
I just hope to drift from it, always on floatation.

Still I'm thinking way too unstable
while trying to have a little fun.
But pardon my horseplay, my mind
isn't to stable.
But I'll just go figure the destination,
pay for that cargo of my thoughts by a waybill.

(written last year
when out of this world
outlandish accouterments
people did wear
hermetically sealed
of even faintest tear
to avoid contamination
against coronavirus
when wing and prayer
soul saving amazing grace).

Pandemic straps tightly plied girded beltway
unlike any other All fools day
in annals of recorded ("fake") history
western civilization tapestry doth fray
April first two thousand and twenty one
neigh, no time for horseplay

what with coronavirus (COVID-19)
boarded ship of jilted fools
(think **** sapiens)
barred courtesy omnipotent jackstay
furloughed workers analogous
grumpy minions lay
dwarfed by unfortunate global events, née...

germinating, jackknifing, and wreaking havoc
Mother Earth nonchalantly toying
(indiscriminately) regarding humanity
as bestrewing bajillion biohazards berserkly
bequeathing bedlam child's play
just desserts, she doth understandably repay

man/womankind flicked as flotsam and jetsam
vile treatment diabolically heaped,
jubilantly loosed, maniacally pitched
upon her terrestrial firma oy vey
she chokes, gags, laughs raspily yea
rebuffs, refuses, and renounces further abuse.

Nevertheless toothless gumption, albeit feeble
fighting spirit, her survival instincts assail
cumulative environmental destruction
triggered casus belli expelling deadly toxins,
when Gaia doth exhale

since onset of global interregnum
(think virulent spreading poisonous Kudzu
like wildfire biohazard)
since world wide webbed disease
brought grinding halt

consumerist paradigm in lockdown,
nonetheless within brief interim
noticeable clearer air to inhale
amazingly enough postal system...
intact voila... uninterrupted delivery of mail,
the daily highlight experienced

among people emotionally crippled
pasty faced and pale
finds quivering Captain Kangaroo
plus good n plenti proud primates
each dancing and quivering
like a captive quail.

Ordinarily all manner
of tomfoolery doth abound,
celebrated for countless centuries
by different cultures,
though exact origins remain
shrouded in mystery,
nevertheless quasi holiday of sorts
begat courtesy primitive precursor
to Central Intelligence Agency
nsync with Federal
Bureau of Investigations
equivalent to Fred Flintstones

as spymasters forebears,
whose true identity
dubbed secret double agent
linkedin to Bedrock background
check, where court jester donned
as most important person and crowned
accordingly prevaricating
without suffering any retribution,
saying the unpopular king drowned.

The following poem
written/updated since last year
unlike any other
when out of this world
outlandish accouterments
people did wear
hermetically sealed
of even faintest tear
to avoid contamination

against coronavirus
air supply difficult to spare,
when wing and prayer
soul saving amazing grace
analogous to can opener
regarding necessary kitchenware,
which empty canned food tins
helps putting out
little fires everywhere.

Pandemic straps tightly
plied girded beltway
unlike any other All fools day
in annals of recorded ("fake") history
western civilization tapestry doth fray
April first two thousand and twenty three
neigh, no time for horseplay
what with coronavirus (COVID-19)
boarded ship of jilted fools
(think **** sapiens)

barred courtesy omnipotent jackstay
furloughed workers analogous
grumpy minions lay
dwarfed by unfortunate
uncontrollable pandemonium and melee
global events, née...
germinating, jackknifing,
and wreaking havoc
Mother Earth nonchalantly toying
(indiscriminately) regarding humanity

as bestrewing bajillion biohazards berserkly
bequeathing bedlam child's play
just desserts, she doth understandably repay
man/womankind flicked as flotsam and jetsam
vile treatment diabolically heaped,
jubilantly loosed, maniacally pitched
upon her terrestrial firma oy vey
she chokes, gags, laughs raspily yea
rebuffs, refuses, and renounces further abuse.

Nevertheless toothless gumption, albeit feeble
fighting spirit, her survival instincts assail
cumulative environmental destruction
triggered casus belli expelling deadly toxins,
when Gaia doth exhale
since onset of global interregnum
(think virulent spreading poisonous Kudzu
like wildfire biohazard)
since world wide webbed disease
brought grinding halt
consumerist paradigm in lockdown,
nonetheless within brief interim

noticeable clearer air to inhale
amazingly enough postal system...
intact voila... uninterrupted
delivery of (nope – sorry) no mail,
the daily highlight experienced
among people emotionally crippled
pasty faced and pale
finds quivering Captain Kangaroo
plus good n plenti proud primates
each dancing and quivering
like a captive (dan gulling) quail.

until the cowed chickens come home to roost!

Sunlight streaming thru window
body electric of mine doth whet
begets hardiness to acclimate
against PECO shut off threat
ideal opportunity to spouse
analogous to her being my emotional pet
snuggling while standing in kitchenette
but accidental twerking
can guarantee yours truly
(me) being recipient of epithet.

I bundle up to stay warm
inside my cold man cave
particularly as average outside temperature
for November twentieth
two thousand and twenty three
hovers between high and low
fifty degrees fahrenheit
nearly brisk enough to see my breath.

I and/or the imaginary paramour
take our separate showers
during warmest hours of the day
less optimal to engage
in neighborly horseplay,
but more ideal for mistress (ha)
to pad around the unit donning her lingerie,
which nonverbally signals
(and greenlights)
more than voluminous words,
hence, I seal lips of mine

despite sudden aroused frisky urge
to burble exhibiting
debauched casanova behavior
accompanied courtesy illustrative
of suave debonair popinjay
rerouting spontaneous seduction today
indicative of throbbing
bulbous anatomical appurtenance,
which protrusion nullifies necessity of x-ray
to identify sudden
source of vasocongestion.

During daylight hours fresh air
arbitrarily, humorously, and noiselessly
streams and wafts
thru screened windows
ushering invisible scents
and audible sounds
of the webbed wide world here,
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
our neck of the woods
since seventeenth year
after second century Anno Domini.

Civilizations since time immemorial
revered fiery celestial ball
establishing their respective mythology
which scheme attempted to explain
divine thermonuclear processes
sustaining the nearest star,
which Sol Invictus did enthrall
housing an astronomical object
comprising a luminous spheroid of plasma
held together by self-gravity
within the heavenly vault
divine creator didst install
which supposed movement in the sky
signified daytime and nightfall
linkedin with planet earth
a veritable, observable, honorable,
and admirable terrestrial tetherball.

Written/updated since last year
unlike any other
when out of this world
outlandish accouterments
people did wear
hermetically sealed
of even faintest tear
to avoid contamination
against coronavirus pandemic
air supply difficult to spare
when wing and prayer
soul saving amazing grace
frankly against scalpers, marauders,
and fraudsters steeling
themselves to profiteer.

Pandemic straps tightly
plied girded beltway
unlike any other All fools day
in annals of recorded ("fake") history
western civilization tapestry doth fray
April first two thousand and twenty four
neigh, no time for horseplay
what with coronavirus (COVID-19)
boarded ship of jilted fools
(think **** sapiens)
barred courtesy omnipotent jackstay
furloughed workers analogous
grumpy minions lay

dwarfed by unfortunate global events, née...
germinating, jackknifing, and wreaking havoc
Mother Earth nonchalantly toying
(indiscriminately) regarding humanity
as bestrewing bajillion biohazards berserkly
bequeathing bedlam child's play
just desserts, she doth understandably repay
man/womankind flicked as flotsam and jetsam
vile treatment diabolically heaped,
jubilantly loosed, maniacally pitched
upon her terrestrial firma oy vey
she chokes, gags, laughs raspily yea
rebuffs, refuses, and renounces further abuse.

Nevertheless toothless gumption, albeit feeble
fighting spirit, her survival instincts assail
cumulative environmental destruction
triggered casus belli expelling deadly toxins,
when Gaia doth exhale
since onset of global interregnum
(think virulent spreading poisonous Kudzu
like wildfire biohazard)
since world wide webbed disease
brought grinding halt
consumerist paradigm in lockdown,

nonetheless within brief interim
noticeable clearer air to inhale
amazingly enough postal system...
intact voila... uninterrupted delivery of mail,
the daily highlight experienced
among people emotionally crippled
pasty faced and pale
finds quivering Captain Kangaroo
courting King Crimsom,
plus good n plenti proud primates
each dancing and quivering
like a captive dang gulling quail.