a grandchild
   for her 9th birthday
very happy
    to be away from her older
   as well as her younger sister
  for a while
spent a  long weekend
with her grands

   they picked her up
   schoolbag and bathing suit
   and guitar & everything else

she had already mentioned
   that French Toast for breakfast
would be REALLY nice
and that’s what she got
together with chocolate milk
   1 minute in the microwave,
   according to her wish
patiently reading her book
while the oldies got their act together
   in their slow morning routine

they all went birthday shopping
   & out for lunch
she read her book again while the oldies
    were snoring their nap
& then they all had great fun
    swimming and horsing around in the public pool

watching some TV  
   & improving her ping-pong game
happy & tired
after dinner some goodnight reading
doughnuts and hot chocolate for breakfast
next morning
   and then
    with grandma’s help
printing out a card for Mom on Mother’s day
AND baking real  brownies as a gift….

a happy & proud 9-year old
   was delivered to her parents
& presented her mother with the card
   & the brownies & the new dress
   & the homework all done

somehow
the guitar practice had gotten lost

yet she was the envy of her siblings
for the day

           * *

Pony Tails belong on Ponies,
And yet she still insists,
To have one on her head
Swept back in utility bliss.

From there she can study
And run her errands
Paint paper, not her hair
And hide away split ends

In truth it is beautiful,
Even if it is just function,
For finding ways to live a dream,
Really takes some gumption.

Here lies Alex Rex
Who lost his life from unsafe ***
While attending the Preakness
Roving eyes showed his weakness
Till the filly and he met His ex.
                                - J. Sandy

A NIGHT IN SHINING-ARMOR  
From the 8th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.  
  
It was a little while after our trip to the snow at the Shivermetimber Ski Resort, when my Dad said, 'He had some good news'. His brother Albert, who worked as a tour guide, in the very old castle named, Shining Armor, located in the historical town of, Woncy Upon Thames, had invited the whole family to stay a night, in the Shining Armor castle.  
   
The castle would be closed to the public, so they could upgrade the garden's watering system, and do some minor renovations to the old horse stables. He told Dad, 'It might be the only time we could come and stay there'.  
   
Once Dad told us, the good news, the whole family quickly agreed. It would be chance in a lifetime to stay in a castle, and we were all, ever so keen.  
   
Then Mum and Dad told us, 'They would get straight to work, on some super, secret, special, surprises, for the entire Lemmon family to enjoy, while staying at the very old castle.  
   
Only three days to go, and we still didn't know what they were both up to. Dad was busy driving into town and back home again. Then, dad would go straight back into his unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed. Our Mum, was coming and going from her very own, colourful, Arts 'n Crafts, hobby room, at the back of the house.  
   
It was now Saturday morning, and my Dad, had got up at the crack of dawn, to pack the car with all of our baggage. But, he soon realised, that he needed more room. So, he decided to hook up our very old trailer, for a bit of extra room. But, he had cleverly, covered up everything that was packed inside, so we couldn't see our super, secret, special, surprises.  
   
We then all got into our family car, and headed off for a night in Shining Armor's very old castle. On the drive there, the whole family pretended we were all travelling to the old castle, in our very own, royal, majestic looking, horse drawn carriage. Dad, pretended to be the head carriage driver, Mum, pretended to be the royal caretaker, while my two, identical, twin sisters declared themselves as, 'The Princess's Emma and Jemma of Shimmerleedimmerlee Estate, to us all', with a pompous smirk on their faces. My little brother had to be, 'Lord Lemmy the Little of Woncy Upon Thames' of course. Smoochy was named, the royals pet Corgi and I of course, was his 'Excellency King Stewy the IIIV'. Oh, what fun was had by all, travelling to the old castle, while pretending to be and talking just like, real royals, would do.  
   
Upon entering the castles estate, we even got to drive across the drawbridge and through the large fortified gates. Our Uncle Albert, was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. He then opened all of our pretend horse drawn carriage doors. We all stepped out and burst into laughter and our Dad, jokingly said, to our Uncle Albert, 'You can take the royal baggage to our rooms, and then make our dinner on time, and don't forget the fine wine'. Then, with a grin, Uncle Albert said, 'Will that be all sir'?  
   
The whole family then walked up the front stairs, through the grand entrance, and into the foyer that had a massive staircase, right in the middle.  
   
Wow! I thought, 'What it must have been like, to live as a king'.  
   
We all went upstairs to our very own bedrooms, to take a warm bath. While we were bathing, Mum, crept in and laid our super, secret, special, surprise over our beds. Dad went to the trailer and took off the cover. Then, he hid our other super, secret, special, surprise in the castle's large garden shed.  
   
We were all so happy with our Mum's surprise. Our clever Mum, had handmade us all, colourful and flamboyant, royal attire. We would all wear them to dinner, like a real King and Queen would surely desire.  
   
The dining table was like, twenty-feet long, Mum and Dad couldn't even see me, if I happened to do anything wrong. After the main course and after plenty of talk, our Uncle Albert said, 'I'll be back in a sec'. Mum asked, 'If he needed a hand, but he said, 'No thanks, I'm just going to fetch the desserts, so I won't be too long'.  
   
He was gone for quite a while, when all of a sudden, the doors swung open, and in came a knight in shining armour. My Dad fell off his chair, still holding onto a small royal jug, and ended up with apple sauce all over his face.  
   
While, both my two, older, identical, twin sisters, just started to dream real fast, for they both had the same identical thought, that their husband to be, had come to take them away at last. I thought, 'It's so funny, how the brains of identical twins seem to work'. Then, Smoochy had jumped straight back into my top left-hand side pocket, full of fright.  
   
Then, the knight started to laugh, and said out loud, 'Will that be all sir'? For it was our funny Uncle Albert, playing a practical joke on us all, and saying, 'That he was now equal, now that his brother Archie, had got his just desserts'.  
   
In the morning, Dad went to the large garden shed and brought out his super, secret, special, surprises. For he had made, four homemade, rocking horses for us all to enjoy. A little one for Lemmy: a medium sized one for me; and two identical, but, much larger ones, for my two, much older, identical, twin sisters, Emma and Jemma.  
   
We got dressed again, in our colourful and flamboyant, royal attire, which we had worn to the royal dinner, the night before. After a day full of horsing around and even playing chess, on the outside, gigantic, playing board, it was time to say farewell to Uncle Albert.  
   
We thanked him for the invite, and for having made our trip, such a ball. For the wonderful trip we had, staying a night in Shining Armor's very old castle. All the while, pretending to be royals, and even dancing in the great hall. But we all knew, it couldn't really happen in real life, that's for sure.

I’m your pretty little flower especially after our rain showers
I know your mine
From the kind words you tell me all the time

Which, mean nothing after you’ve had a glass of red wine

Come near and share your joy
Come near and share your passions
Come near here, my house
Horsing around the house
I know you like to be a little wild
So this is the place for you
This is the place for me too
Oh darling, look at what your doing
Oh girl looking backwards and feeling weird afterwards, just know I'll help you
Come near and share your joy
Come near and share your passions
Come here and play some games
It's a shame you've never did this before
Don't be like the others, don't ignore
Explore your thoughts to see the night through like never before
I don't wanna force anything on you
But wear it like an uniform
Transform your performance on the floor
Look forward to seeing you in the fourth fort
Come near and share your joy
Come near and share your passions
Come near here, my fort
Horsing around the fort
I know you like to be a little wild
So this is the place for you
This is the place for me too
We can sort this out in our minds
Compromise

Her Horse didn’t canter in Canterbury
Her braided hair was long and Brown.
She galloped uncovered in Coventry
so that taxes would drop like her gown.

Hot to trot without makeup or Jewelry
Hair undone, long tresses hang down.
A ****** named Tom was observing her
riding through town sans a gown.

A woman of substance and Charity-
Not given to horsing around.-
Her legend comes down from antiquity
That’s how seldom those taxes go down.

Stagecoach trundled, rutting, wheels
Soily grasp, grabbing at the earthy recipe
Cart....horsing around the outdoorsiness
Ferris wheel spun, gathering passengers
To overlook the show ground, smattered
Four legged races, saddled with encumbents
Bobbing in display formation.  Far above
I caught sight of circular ribbons emblazoned
Lapels holding onto prize winners, suffering
The pin ***** jabbing at willing winners
Left foot first, hopscotch to the flap of tarpaulin
Billowing their precious overgrown greatness
Of perfect vegetalia, proud, excessive....of the
Dinner plate variety.  Don't touch their polished
Surface, they deliberately await photographic
Validation; future growers, challenging champion
Chompers, terrorising super-veggie heros
I wonder what becomes of former ground growers
Do they take a back stage bow? Uprooted with
Those of a lesser kind, jostling for saucepan space

April 24 2010 there was a Boy Scout display in the parking lot North of Mickey Ds and by the Imagination Station. Tony was fascinated by many of the displays. The Sheriff’s Office was well represented with several displays. Tony got to climb up on the rescue boat, the one we see going by our house frequently in the summer to fish someone out of the river. The two Sheriff’s Office Deputies in charge of the boat were really good with the kids. About 15 minutes later Tony bent over the bow of the boat, I was on the good ole solid ground, and said to me, “These guys are really COOL grandpa.” I said, “yup, they are.” and looked over at one of guys. I ask, “Did you hear that?” With a big grin he said, “I sure did.” He had a big grin on his face for a while. Tony debarked and headed to new territory. I have to have speedy shoes on to keep up some days. I wish I could find a pair of those.

Later we were at a different car on display. The people there were young intern or trainee types wearing the Sheriff’’s Office shirt and hardware. Tony had bailed out of the armored car where he had been playing for 20 minutes and was standing next to me watching the young group yucking it up. They were loud and horsing around some… with out the horse. All of a sudden he got a scowl on his face and said in a rather loud voice, “Grandpa, those are NOT real cops. Why are they wearing uniforms? They should not do that.” Well that was hard to explain and I was hoping “they” did not hear what he said. We left rapidly.

I guess he thought they were not acting the way officers should act. At least not like the COOL guys at the boat. I suppose that comes from trying to instill respect in the uniform of peace officers. The lesson is one each of us needs to remember. If we say we are (fill in the blank) then we had better act the part or we can lead an impressionable young mind astray. So lets be COOL.

That’s my story and I am sticking to it.

You light up your cigar
like a smooth jaguar on the hunt.
As if you were savoring
every moment of it to a tee.
Down to business with no
horsing around. A better
***** cannot do a better job
like you are right now,
even on a good day. Yes, sir.
I knew when I saw them lips
that you would light my cigar
on extreme fire. Oh yeah,
and that right there is a good
thing. You give the best *******
in town. The best that I ever
had in a while. Just keep it
the same when you come back
next week to smoke my cigar
again. I am glad you swallow
all that good milk when you smoke.

Robin eggs,
smashed in the ground.
Another gulp,
I let my eggs drown.

Swallows
look more desperate
when they're dying for company.

I found my confidence,
in always laughing too loud
not remembering where I went

I don't want to spend more money.
I don't want to read a good book.
If I have to pick something,
I'll keep deliberating on that question.

Fears block the way I climbed up
-jump
the plunge is far too deep for breathe .

Please don't call
my heart will bear another pure lie
I'd have to tell you I'm doing fine.
Catchy conversations
held in shield of questions.

Old women tell me they're not fine,
never do I turn to my side.
Horsing blinders
I walk to the end of the aisle.

We were the kings and queens
Standing tall and proud with our scraped knees and missing teeth
Wielding illustration board swords and construction paper crowns
As we ruled our backyard kingdoms with justice and innocence

We were the greatest heroes that ever lived
We donned our stark-white towel capes and sprinkled baby powder pixie dust on our backs
Our feet never left the pavement
But we soared higher than the cotton candy clouds

We were astronauts orbiting the cold darkness of space
Protected only by our tin foil and cardboard helmets
We spent hours counting every twinkling star and hitching rides on each passing comet
Marveling at the earth with eyes as bright as the nebulae that pierced through the velvet blackness

We were builders, inventors, creators
We built up and tore down skyscrapers with the touch of a hand
We formed galaxies that dripped from our tongues like honey
The earth itself moved along with our bodies that never seemed to tire

But we were only ever seen as children
They told us to stop horsing around, to stop our nonsense
But this “nonsense” was the only thing
That had ever made sense to us

“Grow up.” Those words stung like a slap to the face
“Grow up.” They left sticky teardrop trails on our cheeks
“Grow up.” Repeating over and over again until they made our ears bleed
“Grow up.” Until we had no choice

So we took off our crowns and left them to rust
Crumpled and abandoned at the bottom of our backpacks
Collecting pencil shavings and pad paper debris
Crushed by the weight of our responsibilities

We removed our capes and robes
Dropped our swords and shields
Leaving them to rot in the very closet
Where we sought courage to fight the monsters that we used to be scared of

We traded our tools and scepters
For textbook rifles and good-grade grenades
And our feeble little bodies could barely take the load
We were drafted in a war that we were too young to fight

We tucked away every trace of our childhood
In the pockets of our ripped jeans and underneath our briefcases
We hid them from prying eyes and jeering tongues
Hoping that the blossoms sprouting from our minds wouldn’t be seen through our hats

We lost touch with our past
Like an childhood friend who moved away
And although you never saw him again
You still remembered his name

Why are we so afraid to let our minds run free?
Do we fear the goldfish bowl of judgement so much
That we do our best to make it seem like we have nothing from our past left to show
And we only end up ripping up our imagination to destroy the evidence of its existence

But child, I hope you find bits and pieces of it
Whether they are wedged in between the pages of your favorite book
Or folded neatly in an old shoe box
Or perhaps sitting in your mother’s attic, gathering dust

Maybe you’ll find it in a series of knocks on your door
And I hope you let it in
And listen carefully while it speaks
Let it tell you stories of when you were royalty, a hero, an astronaut, a builder

And when it hands you a crown
A cape, a helmet, a sword
Please don’t be ashamed to use them
Don’t be afraid to remember

But if you tell it that you don’t need those things anymore
And that you no longer need them to dream, that’s okay too
Because growing up never meant letting go of your imagination
It only meant turning it into your reality

Flowing footsteps from skytrain to street
Trying to stay calm, but I'm so excited to meet
You, here, under the changing glow
Of signs, of places, hoping we slow our
Pace and enter. But we are in search
Of another establishment, on the whim
Of a word, a nudge in the right direction.
The winds blow us into the red glow
Of ambiance, of elegance, the right selection
Portobello perfection, Mezcal gin,
Beautiful soul sitting close with a grin,
We can't help but laugh "this is how you win!"

Foggy to recall the way that we went
Home on the bus, or the money we spent.
None of that matters much when you are lost
In the depth of another being, intriguing
To find kin where you are not used to seeing them.
Laughing up the stairs in the corridor,
Knowing in this moment, this is your life,
It is beautiful, you are not needing more.
Both of us feeling this as we reach the door,
"Welcome to Buzzer 2" let's see what's in store.

Waking up cuddling, always a delight.
So much accomplished already, but you might
Have to run out quickly and buy some beans
For the bullet coffee that will be our means
Of mobilization, into the street,
Rubber soles on our feet, ready to meet
The pavement outside which will guide
Our path from delicious morning smoothie
Over bridges, through the downtown core,
Both realizing we would make a great movie
If film could ever capture the way that we soar.

Hats tilted slightly sideways, we even get work done.
Painting quickly so we may continue our run,
Over the Granville bridge, lilac in the air.
And there is no hiding the way that you stare
At my ***, and the mountains, a beauty so fair.

Rangoli's is next, fine dining, the best chai!
Decadently treated to Portobello twice.
Sweaty in our running gear, we are here
Trying to avoid timestamped bills and clock chimes
But you give me your best guess, lately spot on!
I glance at the sun to figure how much day is gone.
Even though there are so many moments left
To unravel, I embody the feelings - being
Ever present to crystallize the memory of our travels.

We turn towards the sinking sun, and I run
My fingers through windblown lion-locks.
Basking in the energy we emanate, we stun
Onlookers with our badassery and good looks.

Granville island is next on the docket
Searching for elusive sumac, in the spice shop
It is tucked away on a shelf, among rarities.
You light up at the till, and guarantee
The next place we head to is going to be
The crown of the afternoon - The Distillery

In shorts and tanks we stroll in with class,
Walk up to the bar and order a glass
Of the finest and most signature gin,
But just a taste, not enough to make the head spin.
A nectar so pure, so incredibly smooth
We continue our stroll, we continue to lose
Sight of places you were expected to be,
Apparently easy to do when you hang out with me.

Crossing under the bridge, sunset rays shine
Through the city canopy, it is nearly time
For the moon to transition us into the night,
But I pull you aside for a moment, while its still light
And kiss you with passion, with fever, with might.
That gin in the afternoon has increased our delight.

And it's not over yet, we play for a while.
Horsing around at the bus stop, we smile
And pose on the blue wall, gangster-style.
Moments in snapshots, spirit of the child
Creating our reality, embracing our WILD.

Oh, Shadowmare,
I ride on your back,
please charge forward for god's sake.

Hopping over squares like a maniac,
oh please,
you're making me giddy alright.

Only at the outpost,
will you be satisfied,
horsing around playing mind games.

On the hill,
the enemy in fear, asking,
what's the stallion doing up here.

Soon the enemy king choked,
and died of a heart attack,
We won the war,
after all.

Razors, did you know they show a kind act of love?
Picture me at 18, not taking life or myself seriously enough.
Well not as seriously as some would take razors and love.

See, I discovered one day just horsing around on a carousel ride
of trauma, that we can all chase dreams, but few of us will catch them. I discovered I needed to be careful where I was dreams to.

Careful like I was in love, careful like I was using razors to chisel through the ground until I reach the earth's bones. I also
discovered, rubbing razors and love the wrong was can feel as if you had a brush with death.

See, God got it wrong, love should barricaded by stonewalls instead of hearts and songs. Love is messy, and poetic, and it carries a ratchet razors that I often use.

Understand cuts are messengers too, and they tattletale and dry snitch every change they get, about my anger, my fear, and my secret stash of razors to a world that couldn't possibly understand.
What the hell didn't they get the memo?

That I am looking for someone to feed on and stay full off of.
because I can't love normal, just insane and misunderstood. Someone to understand, this is why I stay quiet barely hear.

I got voice as loud as silence, and in the bedroom I make as much noise as a butterfly. Ironic they call me Navah the Butterfly, because when I speak it's poetic and no safe words.

Just someone else's slit wrist pouring out of me, O Negative premeditated blood drops to what is really wrong with me.
And I confess, I sick and creative. I am something you can't just simply sleep off, so sweet dreams.

and it is going to take more than razor shape words and music that sings to what's between my legs to fix me it's going to take God!
Running from every direction at once just to come and hold me.

And I will tell them, I don't know how to stop using razors or a world around as a mirror a world that is someone else's heaven and someone else's hell. So Sometimes I play the hero and the villain as I try to pick up the pieces of myself 5 at a time to put me back together again.

but Cant so I hurt with razors for now but one day I will hurt with kindness and I will be amazing! And I will teach my how not to use razors

Blind truth ****** knuckles the last smile I though was just is horsing around.

Why dose things seem to end with a fight at the end of the day.


Not enough pain killers of booz  will change the feeling of insanity in. The room .


Why don't we just play nice.


But knowing me the false leading became my fist hearing the deal out of all your bill **** fake lies.

Hey, he's gotta buck up
that hombre's bucking the trend
ain't got no dime just a buck to my name
so buck down hombre, mosey on down to the OK corral
you ain't going buck naked, but dude, don't buck the system

Ain't horsing around old timer
don't look a gift horse in the mouth
saddle up and forget that **** ***** fit
time for some horse trading, gotta play it smart
and that's straight from the horse's mouth, hear me dudes

Oh doggone it, it's a dog's life
but the hombre ain't dog tired just yet
just barking up those **** huskies, time for feeds
before the English Terriers start howling in pain
already as sick as dog, animal farm, animal crackers

Hey, he's gotta buck up
straight on down to the Bucking Bronco
See that black Stallion chilling with a buck fizz
word is, he comes from Buck House with some big bucks
look closely, you'll see he's laughing at us
So buck up your ideas, Red ***, save a buck or two
or its bang for your buck

Hahaha.....hahaha.....haha
hombre stirs the vipers in their nest
pokes the rattlesnakes, wants them to shake their rattles
cobras must hiss and spit, rearing up aggressively on cue
for life in the wild west must not be dull
The lions shakes their full red manes and roars
   'The buck doesn't stop here'

Yours truly plagiarizes himself with zeal
courtesy mental cogs and rusty wheel,
thus no literary crime committed to steel
I broadcast material shown thru rickety
black and white Roman Times newsreel

forthwith shoddy wordplay exempts me
against copyright infringement meaning
only I own privilege to take self to heel,
nevertheless yours truly hoops longshot
to score brownie points a higher power,
I will not cajole, bribe nor appeal...

while sitting on haunches horsing around
contemplating how to clearly expound
idea that the here and now does not exist
cuz no sooner then present moment
experienced than bitta bing bitta bang...
little block of time immediately gone,
hence quite profound...

Whereby present, i.e.
2:24 PM March 4th, 2021
instantaneously becomes past.

Linkedin thru tenuous
webbed world wide
electronic thread defied
no matter flurry of emails/
messages exchanged flattery applied
courtesy transient online

tête à tête downside
cyber venue offers convenient exit
personal aversion, I chide
brevity figurative thorn in side
futile effort Androcles tried
I haint lion, familiarization denied
fledgling cyber acquaintanceships
dead on the vine, yours truly sighed
potential friendship never fortified,
cuz immediate value judgement cast,

instantaneously prejudiced aversion
perhaps hidden agenda implied
maybe intimated illusions of grandeur
netiquette nuances overstepped, I chide
yours truly vouchsafe
absolute zero great expectation
love smitten wounds pride,
the Italian girl in Algiers

inchoate mystique forever unknown
nonetheless fantasize bartered bride
figment of overactive imagination
hence grist for poetry mill
grateful fleeting rapport tried
to take flight before sputtering

doomed to dustbin of history (mine)
filed within memory as template guide
against future unnecessary disappointment
best stick to your guns abide
against infatuation lest
conjured lass doth override
focus on reality no matter who espied

Facebook post, tis foolhardy
to allow, enable, and provide leeway,
hence aimless thoughts elide
dear boy, ya never learned always denied
rapture becoming ensnared
noose sense and sensibility stride
ding blindly, dumbly, foolishly...,
into own perilous entrapment, verstehen?

regarding my resumption
of daily/mostly nightly constitutional

I accompany my dark shadow...
(small number of  hours
before edge of night,
where twilight zone evokes night gallery -
drawing celestial sphere closer to me
from the outer limits),
and resumed walking a circuit
around perimeter of parking lot
imbibing the scent of Mother Nature
beginning today after

a hiatus of countless years -
aiming to foster stamina
before returning to the contra dance -
in Mount Airy after Paul Halpern
reconfigures pertinent characteristics
post cataract surgery
to fit appropriate spectacles)
meanwhile yours truly (me)
exercises his right to bare arms

air supply sustained
by breezy temperate
twenty seventh seal of Bergmanian
September two thousand
and twenty four, and perhaps
if regularly habituate myself
to said stroll physical endeavors
may one day find me to cantor or trot
and stop horsing around.

Yours truly realized modus operandi
to kombat (mortal) lethargy;
last year, he did stride rite
around resident parking lot area
(here at Highland Manor apartments)
then usually at approximately
19:00 hours each day
casually bumbling and ambling
one lap after another
counting one hundred and one,
one hundred and two,
one hundred and three...
coordinated with deep breathing
to distract self from repetitiveness.

Modicum of walking exercise
benefits this sexagenarian
in tandem yours truly began
burning ghee (my slang for calories)
while maintaining sitting position
placing each foot in strap
and pedalling lightweight machine
against adjusted tension.

Aside from strengthening leg muscles
choosing to while away time
by disciplining myself
with former or latter,
both modes of physical fitness
also help keep anguish at bay
(plus sublimating, and redirecting
formerly tied in with hair compulsion)
mental duress triggered
courtesy of property management
constituting: Zoftig, the warden

and maintenance man,
(a recent hire),
the first two whose invisible clutches
asphyxiate me and the missus
hounding us to keep
one bedroom apartment in shipshape order
and particularly and somewhat unpleasant
to wipe away fruit fly feces
(cuz exterminator informed us
said itty bitty teeny weeny insect
breeds within their

yellowish gummy waste matter)
prompting us to Google search
senior low income apartment facilities,
spurring spurious query wondering
whether any anonymous reader
might be able, eager, ready and willing
to hand over keys to main lodging
including carriage house,
we would even settle for a dog house
or (in a manor of writing) Yukon
assign access rights
to access an excellent outlook.

Sense and sensibility concerning
the emotional fallout
brought about by sedentariness
(essentially affecting me to feel
glum, melancholy, and ruminative)
helped goad generic indigent solitary man
(practically self quarantined
his whole mucked up adult life),
hence not inconvenienced
when coronavirus COVID-19
wrought havoc and mayhem.

Just on the cusp of experiencing joie de vivre,
the triumvirate of Crooks and Quade
figuratively swoop down
to announce re: inspection
of apartment unit B44
whenever they deem appropriate.

Thus series of unfortunate events
(linkedin with bull limey
Lemony Snicket bro)
got sidelined nsync with
contracting a minor bout
with deadly Amish Flu
symptoms include feeling horse
and a little buggy found
garden variety reasonable rhymer
faux being bedridden
(just pretending to get sympathy)
once again feigning feeling
a little horse and buggy (ha),
incapacitated to craft
original signature poetry writing,
cuz for your edification
most of these words written
at least a couple years ago.

An honest to dog confession
regarding hiatus spewing forth
vociferous versatile vocabulary
mine words - worth their weight in gold
(told woofer I do not know), nevertheless
included perusing a gamut of reading material.

The passion to engross intellect
witnessed courtesy immersing
attention, concentration, excitation
gratification, intoxication;
knowledge prized more precious
than fine spun gold.

Likewise crafting (albeit painstakingly)
elusive notions that flit
to and fro hither and yon
(analogous to ping pong ball)
within parameters of
microscopically crenellated
sixty plus shades of gray matter
also constitutes fervent interest.

Once again tis time to pony up and trot out (neigh - without horsing around) an unforgettable day encompassing a series of unfortunate events (so take that Lemony Snicket! - yeah go ahead and picket!).

Wicked bad day poem
originally crafted, designed, engineered...
then alternately titled
for no particular rhyme nor reason:
unwitting courtesy extended
to Doctor Donald (Duck) Dossey  
who coined paraskevidekatriaphobia.

Superstitious severely tested across fineline
doggedly gingerly jinxing luck of mine
August thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine
forever etched in the annals of my personal infamy
as one still sending hair raising shivers down my spine
which following unpleasant details occurred on a street
that branched off kind of like a fork tine
adjacent to one named Woodbine.

Prior to the following awful events
that unfolded aforementioned day
somewhat solemn and gray
I did not consider myself unduly superstitious
nor prone to bouts of triskaidekaphobia/
paraskevidekatriaphobia  no how no way.

Yet that particular Friday
the thirteenth baptized me
in the ****** waters of superstition unequivocally
whence upon waking said particular morning
the search for funereal garb found me
burrowing into a small closet  
while bending on one knee,
and nonchalantly rummaging

for suitable article of clothing to wear
(per the wake/
sitting shiva of William Zison
the octogenarian father in law)
an unbeknownst ill fate
lurked just seconds away
ready to cap cha an innocent prey
as any unseen observer
and/or pet would agree.

Hands rifled and rustled
thru various and sundry
miscellaneous items in one or another box
mostly clothing and other apparel
draped in coat hangers
plus a precariously perched

heavy tin of yarn heavy as rocks
began to teeter from top ledge,
than made a slow inexorable descent
in direct path of thy crown
containing valued mental stocks.

The topmost part of thine skull
felt impact of sharp metallic rim
that left an indentation in soft part of scalp –
more’n an abrasive skim
and bent circular shape

of contrivance filled to the hilt
one law of physics pertaining
to falling object (taught to me)
acquires greater mass
accelerating with velocity and vim.

Upon reflexively yet tentatively
touching raw sore spot
fingertips revealed presence of warm liquid
soon coagulating into a pulpy gordian knot
from sharp lipped impact registering nausea
and vertigo quite a lot
hence sewing crafts managed to stitch
a tattooed laceration forming a ****** clot.

Body writhed with physical torment
as if being only partially alive
whereby waves of blacking
or passing out found me swooning
ready to take a swan dive
nonetheless from Schwenksville
to Penn Valley, I did
(by divine grace) safely drive
whence family members and relatives
once destination reached, the motley crue
began organized car pool arrangements
per heading off to the cemetery,

which caravan formation  
similar to a human bee hive,
yours truly declined to go
communicating persistent distress from mishap
I bowed wowed out, stayed home
and kept company with a dog
(purportedly man’s best friend)
(said pet belonging to a friend
of eldest sister in law),
whose open palmed overtures
of mine did not jive.

An impulse found fingers reaching out
to stroke this unfamiliar animal
supposedly man’s best friend
only to find sharp teeth from canine jaw
clamped down ******* hand
which second ****** injury,
my mother affixed a butterfly bandage
to expedite the injury to mend,
I did immediately tend
while bolts of white hot pain
shot thru lower extremity of palm
radiated upward through forearm
into shoulder did wend.

We had a mission, but
We didn’t know.
It was like the dialogue
Wasn’t there, or
We skipped it.

After leaving the
Second floor as
Stallions
I threw the core
Into disarray as he
Became a lizard.
While I was monkeying
Around I found
The cure
To then hear
A cry for help.

The objective made
Itself known
As I followed the
Neighs to outside the
Armory wall my horse
Friend found himself in.
The elevator doesn’t like horses.

The objective asked
What we were doing.
“Just horsing around!”
He said.
“Gross.”