(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 1, 2019)

1. Deck Standing
When you decide to leave ranks, rise above the deck like a gliding seagull.

2. Release the Missives
Send your final letters of adoration on the penultimate day, like a bird on the beach waiting to capitalize on a wave cycle.

3. Captain’s Greeting
Shake hands with the rest of the crew and watch them exit down into the gun deck.

4. Walk the Deck
Walk the perimeter of the establishment, bow to rudder. You will never see this ground again and, although you are still seasick, one day you will forget most of it.

5. Pack the Duffel
Collect your starfish.

6. Unhook the Lifebuoy
Prepare the skiff. The helm is literally every part of it.

7. Housekeeping
One last bit of gossip with the **** crew.

8. Unfold the Map
Chart a course to the port of ferries. By definition they will take you somewhere.

9. Salute the Mast
It is a rugged piece of your soul that you must leave behind.

10. Go
Set sail for the open calm.

that was my pet name, a love's long lost word
of infuriating apathy against grey public passerby materials:
simply that: kakasha - or little ****, or mouse ****,
or rodent shrapnel - i guess me being a Pole
and she being a Russian would have never worked out -
i don't actually know what was expected of me, an English girl?
n'ah, wouldn't have worked with the master slave antics -
a Polish girl? **** me, no! well, it just ended up being
a love for the people... which is a lot and nothing at all
come to think of it... whenever i said Cyrillic
was the new Greek i was right... shame though,
i could have had a marriage correct my deviant bachelor years...
i would't have written anything at all...
and it would all seem like the perfection of life: problem here,
problem there... but that's all i remember
from the days when youth allowed  my body to be buff and me
staging  a dumb way out of having a body of a model,
but hardly the vacancy to accept it... god it takes such a
large chunk of manoeuvring a Zeppelin
to land a paper aeroplane equivalent -
               i just didn't have the vacancy
to keep at the gym routine...
         went back to the bloated lamb belly,
and felt all the better for it....
                 starting drinking professionally -
because soberness was  a bit of wasteland -
nice name, that lover's pet name: kakasha:
or little ****, or mice pebbles, don't you think?
sometimes that's what's needed to
strengthen the memory, when memory
overpowers imagination,
it's not a case of lingering on the past,
utilise phonetic encoding well enough
and the symbols reveal a lacking need to
move forward and take into consideration
triangles and squares...
          images...
      you just forget about the future...
you're not stuck in the past,
        it's just about how everything's encoded
and where you place your primers -
        but of course i'm not nostalgic
as in hoping for a revision or a revival:
i just mean: it actually happened,
i can't reverse it from having happened -
what i can do is treat memory as the most
private event of cinematography -
nothing the forward looking imagination
might breed - what imagination lacks is the
fact that symbols can't change... they remain
intact... all imagination can do
is use the same symbols of encoding that
memory otherwise decodes, unravels and
makes desecration of... imagination is politically
correct by comparison... memory really does
become the perfect cinema, provided there's
a life worthy of cinema, however simple...
i know i bankrupted on imaging things as
they'll never be... but memory?
i already knew they happened - hence
the counter-imaginative response:
memory, alter-cinema -
                     which, in another framework of
sentences is a second rebellion,
counter teeny winy annie mo - of how they
framework educational models,
stuffing our imagination with fall-safe mechanisation
of know techniques: akin to arithmetic -
and how we were taught to remember what
would readily become forgotten come the next year...
                   of what i understand:
i think             i imagine                 i remember
                   precipitates into           being
                     - thus the three prime faculties
  and akin to the rules of prime numbers:
               no positive divisor greater than 1 or the
           stated faculty per se-
      later she slanders me with the nouns schizoid
and autistic: because we didn't have the picnic
  and didn't raise a family... a lonely world indeed.
i feel: and indeed the many loves, and failings of
    the heart's housekeeping standards -
             after that it just becomes a guess-work
   pattern of competition and incompetence -
                    or how language can become anti-journalistic,
  as it often does, it never is a scenario of
             Wednesday, 6th of July 2016 a.d.
                                        and credits akin to a movie:
             like you'll never talk to the background of things
and the people who move them while you pay the tax.
right now i have a 9kg Maine **** cat trying to
escape the house during the night, a cat turned
Pavarotti - meow meow, meow ******* meow,
meow meow... Lombroso should be near... this
is really starting to bug me... he might have a case
about a cat that never shut up and the person that
strangled it...
               so, indeed, three basic faculties of the mind...
i kept them as: imagination, thinking, memorisation...
                which means i went against the
Cartesian model of denial thought and doubt -
because i found them too emotionally entwined,
and therefore less puritan in consideration -
            and also less scholastic by the looks of it -
exams...                     for me the three prime
faculties are imagination, thought and memory...
they're antidotes of what later became the existential
revision of the Cartesian inspection: how
                              namely the notion of denial
as the antidote to good faith (doubt) - i just didn't
like the kindergarten of adults playing childish games.

I am sand - drifting formlessly, settling briefly;
dusting edges traced clean by housekeeping’s judicious forefinger.

I am sand - black with iron and ****** wrath;
shattering glassily against a wine-stained ceiling.

I am sand - my trespasses turned to pearl;
rippled and flurrying, wedged between sandal-clad toes.

I am sand - porous with desire yet disarmed by possibility;
a fortress on the brink of invasion by the sea.

I am sand - recalled to the desert, claggy with melancholy;
a loping caravan of travail, westward bound.

I am sand - measureless and infinitely uncontainable;
sifting from hour to hour...and life to life.

Count the times and ways and places.
Tie knots in a string of pearls
coiled around your finger
and begin to see the bud
of something new.
A bonfire on the Fourth of July
when your hands were strangers.
Hurried trips to the grocery store.
Tie-dyed tshirts and handfuls of popcorn.
Laughing on acid and
twisting my ****** rings in the dark.
Fistfuls of thick dark hair
and cigarette
and cigarette.
Writing a poem at 6am
to forget the warm emptiness
hidden in my duvet cover.
So many stories embellished
and coats set across a leather chair.
Rolling the fringes of the terry coat
that looks far lovelier
draped over your shoulders.
Cracks and fissures
from housekeeping chemicals.
Fists of frustration.
The fading burns from melted sugar.
Small reminders.
Kindness.
Strength and insecurity
and dancing  
and spelling love across my back.
And other things we do with our hands.

It was one of those places which,
We were instructed with stern tones
And the occasional smack to the ****,
That we were not to go,
A place of childhood sing-song
(River man, river man
He’ll sink his teeth right in your can)
And, later, of clandestine beers and smokes,
Or furtive encounters
With steady sweethearts and short-term solutions.
He’d set up something akin to a lean-to
Hard by a reasonably well-sheltered bank,
One wall of rocky dirt, the other comprised of lumber
Which had been abandoned or purloined or somewhere in between,
And if you resided in that narrow niche
Where you were too old to be scared shitless of him,
And too young to dismiss him out of hand,
He was of a mind to accept a bit of company,
Possibly share a bit of somewhat-warm, store-brand soup,
Even a bit of coffee, if you’d developed the taste for it.
He’d been in the merchant marine, or so he claimed,
Driven there by the search for some constancy
He’d never been privy to in a land-locked world,
Figuring the ceaseless expanse of the ocean
And the regularity of shipboard routine the vessel to all that.
He’d been deeply disappointed, of course,
The waters a kaleidoscopic maelstrom of blues, grays, and purples,
Alternately hammock-smooth and Gothic furious,
All in nothing even mildly evocative of the regularity of the seasons,
And so, he intimated, he’d jumped ship in some unglamorous port,
Living on the run (though for how long was an open question,
And the whos and whys of his prospective captors
Not a subject that he nor his listeners were of a mind to broach)
But he’d never quite been able to shake the lure of the water,
And so he’d set up housekeeping by this particular stream,
Convinced the current held some epiphany, some augury
Which occasional suggested but never truly spoke to him
(Can’t trust the water, and can’t trust the land,
And that hain’t left me much ‘n terms of other options,
He was wont to cackle twice or thrice an hour.)
One day, before some of us were of a mind to see him leave,
He was gone, leaving no trace behind,
Perhaps run off by some officious sheriff’s deputy,
Perhaps by his own leave, searching for some river bed
Which spoke more sweetly, more distinctly,
Or perhaps he came to believe there was a third dwelling option
Somewhere on the banks of the jet stream its ownself.

How to have a healthy relationship with your razor
A guide, for the ex-cutter:
First, take her cover off
Let her slide out of that shear plastic coating
Then, just look at her for a few seconds
Stare at the shiny pieces of metal that line her core
But also look at the things that aren't so pretty
Like the gooey gel that surrounds her plastic parts
She'll like that you take the time to notice each and every one of her blades
As well as all of her.
Don't touch the sharp parts though
As those used to have a hold on you.
See, your relationship used to be very manipulative and abusive
When you first met
You were vulnerable
And she played off of that like she was a huntress
While you were clearly her prey.
She would lure you in with the luster of her kiss
How it felt when the metal dug into your pasty skin
And almost instantly, you would regret the sensation
The momentary high that you got
From your evil queen
Your sweet escape.
You would throw her away
The garbage became her home
But there were many like her
And like the devil, she kept appearing
In her many manifestations.
Plus, you needed her for housekeeping reasons
To keep you looking your best
And your sister and mother kept her around, too.
They really liked her
And she never harmed them the way she harmed me.
You really couldn't live without her
But learning to live with her
So you two shared mutual love and respect
Is an uphill battle.
Why did I want to be with someone like that?
Therapists blamed in on the fact that some man
Had unjustly touched me at seven
And sleeping with a knife under my pillow
(Her close relative)
Could have led me to having a volatile romance with the razor.
Some believe it was my daddy issues
That he had dropped the ball in so many areas of my life
Had he taught me to love myself
And not that I was just a fat, sick ******
I wouldn't need to turn to her sweet bliss.
But now, regardless of why we initially got together
We are in a good place.
I run her up my leg and she touches it
Making it smooth
And then I run my fingers along her work
Loving how it feels to be soft and feminine
She no longer suppresses that side of me
She no longer causes me to be callous
Because I put her in line and said
"Enough is enough!"
She will not take advantage of me anymore
Because I finally value myself enough to ditch
My attachment to her abusive nature.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)

Hence plead ding for
Mary Poppins wannabe
with snap of her fingers
can affect ship shape
tidiness, which task
needed before May 2022
when yearly inspection
indeed takes place.

Flush with rage the spouse
will become allied
if reference made
how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely
if divorce blurted
making me wish
to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine
pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide
markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely
exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain
can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode
ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail
of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating
qua primordial
soup possibly
duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago)
on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think
gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy)
protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring
Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns
with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown,
Phoenixville, & Royersford
hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing
Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly
linked into order
issued courtesy board of health
for hen pecking
wife to hustle &
make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade)
announcing (yea)

at long last Republican
administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated
to host determined
(weeks ago), thus
necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply
elbow grease in tandem
to render **** & span
where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers,
et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray
the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs
in Schwenksville, Pa.

Upon being told
"get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis
fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat
I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought
as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives
coarse language enough would
make sailor blush
shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered
"shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous
noise as my fair lady

affected one woman
siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air
while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since
total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed
wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered
(when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of
mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning
his mother planet Uranus.

Is today the day I finally wake up
And start accepting that my life
Is not just something that happens
But something that comes from strife?
Will I finally agree that ambition,
If it is not present inside of me,
Sets me on no forward path at all,
And instead leaves me in entropy.

Will I see for myself, that battle
Is always being waged between
Getting where I really need to go
And some fairy tale in a magazine?
Will I quit looking at friendship
As a search for a good joke?
Or I will finally stop letting my skirt
Be a place for people to blow smoke?

Will I stop finding excuses for sloth
And do the harder things to succeed?
Will I finally see that there are more
Than two motivations, hunger and greed?
Will I take care of my moral housekeeping
As well as I do my home and my car?
When someone mentions caracter traits
Will I even know what those things are?

Every day of life when I was younger
It was always so easy to kick back
And do nothing much of anything about
Those tenets of true adulthood I lack.
I preferred to lie around on my ****
And let other people do all the work
Then have another can of beer, laugh
And call them all just mindless jerks.

All that was fine for endless decades
Then recently I began to look up and see
That my life is a tale of no headway made.
There were four constant pals, one was me.
With dead-end jobs, and dressed the same,
Just as we did when we were tweens.
Here we were middle-aged do-littles
Smoking dope in old 501 jeans.

So, I’m changing directions as of today.
I’m buying some decent clothes to wear,
Shaving my lip beard off right now
And taking some time to fix my hair.
I want to look on the outside as if I were
Less I was something inside more than dust.
I’ll get a real job, save money and then
I know I’ll do more than sit around and rust.

my friends
all love with a same girl
a dream
entered her mind
shocked
one washing her cloth
one cooking her food
one doing housekeeping
Is loving a beautiful Girl
means
a slave in her mind??

from the sun-dappled emerald green plains
to the mountainous tides of the deep blue,
i will search for a dream settled in the history of our time.

my dream clouds will sit atop the north
like pillows placed on a bed
too materialistic to sleep on and too minimalistic to dream about.

caged?

Vadym Komarov, June 20th, 2019 - ******

hold me down.
i can see the story fluttering in the light,
but they do not let me out.

they keep me caged like a siberian tigress
bound to the melting frosted forests
our planeted body had provided for her.

they keep me caged.

whirlpool

a step in the sandy dunes of the Sahara has me dry.
the only thing i inhale is silence and sand.
the grainy ridges seen in the distance slowly weather,
until they are nothing but quicksand whirlpools.
as i fall into one, i can only think, “let me out of here”.

it holds me down.

Obed Nangbatna, May 25th, 2019 - Crossfire

spotlight

Lyra Mckee, April 18th, 2019 - Crossfire

in which the moon dances with the sun in a waltz.
even dancing with the moon,
the sun sprays its spotlight on the earth.

what is that?

it shoots its rays on a portion of our world.
look, there it is,
dancing amongst the skyscrapers,
galloping among the spray of bodies.
i wonder if i should follow it.

Ahmed Hussein-Suale Divela, January 16th, 2019

i follow the spotlight.

birthed

troy gave me my name.
the civilizations of Ilium,
the villages of Rhodope Mountains,
the flat plained city of Thessaloniki.

i want to run from them.
i can’t, so i run to them.

i find something.

crossfire

point blank guns are zeroed in on me
earthquakes rumble under my feet
as i stumble ahead.

refugees,
immigrants,

Leonardo Gabriel Hernández, March 17th, 2019 - ******

i guess we’re all the same.

Mojamed Ben Khalifa, January 19th, 2019 - Crossfire

monarchs,
Norma Sarabia Garduza, June 11th, 2019 - ******
tyrants,
Francisco Romero Díaz, May 16th, 2019 - ******
presidents,

different shades of governing bodies which diverge from our own political awareness

saints and sinners alike,
it doesn’t matter how much your soul is tainted.
we are all sainted souls that have sinned.

it just depends on whose part you play in the crossfire.

Amjad Hassan Balkir, June 18th, 2019 - Crossfire

tear

we live in ignorant bubbles,
cages of sort.
they are never ending
chasms of expectations and anxieties
our minds have conjured because of our complexities.
they prevent us from catching our stories, attaining our dreams.

i’ve fallen into whirlpools, followed my spotlight, retraced my birth, and plunged into a crossfire trying to escape my bubble.

i’ve followed my dream,
Jamal Kashoggi, October 2, 2018 - Dismembered
now will you follow yours?

housekeeping

i will make my bed,
fluff the pillows that were once
filled with my aspirations.
the pillows, now flat, vacant enough
to let new dreams puff them back up.

i make sure to leave the comforter untucked,
so the next dreamer can slide in easily,
slide into a place that once  sustained my adventures and stories.
i leave it untucked, leave the lights dim, and leave the door ajar.

i do not ever enter again.
A star-lit ballad plays for the dreamers who pursued their dream to the very end.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)
regarding following lines courtesy the missus,
who adventitiously, inadvertently, unknowingly
allowed, enabled and provided inspiration I
attest Frau Harris inspired me as she lies abed.

Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)

at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render **** & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 5+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.

Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady

affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)
regarding following lines courtesy the missus,
who adventitiously, inadvertently, unknowingly
allowed, enabled and provided inspiration I
attest Frau Harris inspired me as she lies abed.

Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)

at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render **** & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 6+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.

The refrigerator declared Superfund unsightly eye
sore what appear as numerous science experiments
gone awry, some former edible morsel encapsulated
with coating of mold adjacent to vessels housing
liquids hinting of genesis courtesy primordial soup.

Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady

affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.

It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town,
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down.
Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road,
a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode.

Built back in the 60s on a small, ***** tract,
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked.
It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms,
And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes.

But far from abandoned, there are plenty of guests,
they drive in from the north and fly out from the west.
From the old to the young, to the meek and the great,
they all find their place on this darkened estate.

It's played host to rock stars, to artists and writers,
corrupt politicians and heavyweight fighters.
They travel for miles to this little piece of hell,
the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

In the small cluttered office just beyond the wood door,
you'll find the manager Wayne, he lost an eye in the war.
He's a bit rough and tumble and he's got skin cold as ice,
but if you show him respect you might get a good price.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
so little of elegance or fancy displayed.
The plumbing is awful and the wall paint is peeling,
and most of the souls that you'll find here are reeling.

Housekeeping doesn't do much, there's only one maid.
She smokes a cigar and wears her hair up in braids.
She won't leave you a mint or turn down the sheet,
But if you mistreat her, you're out on the street.

It's the #1 choice if you don't want to be found,
as long as you don't mind the trash on the ground.
Folks aren't too friendly here so if you come stay
Mind your own business and go about your own way.

Guests come and they go almost quick as flash,
And you can be certain they always pay cash.
In darkness they'll be, transfixed by the spell
of the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)

Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)

at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render **** & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.

Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady

affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.

If what you love
Can't **** you
You haven't found a reason to live

It wasn’t
all the popcorn, hotdogs, candy
eaten in the dark that killed her.
Those things just caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all the boxes piled high
and then tumbling on her that cracked
her head and made her a corpse.
All that junk just caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all those clothes hung up on clotheslines
strung through her small apartment
that garroted her red, white and blue.
All that designer stuff just caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all the pots, pans and dishes in the sink
that needed to be scrubbed squeaky clean
that drowned her in less than a foot of water.
All those cookbook recipes just caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all those mops, sponges, buckets and brooms,
the bleaches, ammonia and other chemical cleaners
that gouged her lady parts and asphyxiated her too.
It’s just all that housekeeping caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all those books in floor to ceiling IKEA cases
that bibliated, Dewey Decimated her away.
It’s just all that knowledge caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all those fine soaps, shampoos and conditioners
that shrunk, desiccated and dissolved her away.
It was all that cleanliness that wasn’t next to
godliness that caught up with her.

It wasn’t
all those un-filed files that shocked
her coworkers, just her decapitated
head rolling on the company floor.
All that work just caught up with her.

On her tombstone it was etched:
LIFE FINALLY CAUGHT UP WITH HER.

MONEY SAVED IS MONEY EARNED
I save from housekeeping and after sometime invest it on share market.
20/6/2019

in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
recorded July sixth nineteen sixty
upon birth of she who doggedly
pursued me to the ends of the earth
and what not take no as an answer.

Unbeknownst to yours truly
a baby girl got born
sixty three years from aforementioned date;
she automatically triggered
excited buzzfeeding murmurs
heard amidst the madding crowd
patiently awaiting to secure their eats
at none other than Horn & Hardart
offering their house special,
albeit free of charge;

the grandfather of present day
food service industry company Grubhub
acknowledged storied birth
with roster of special guests such as:
Connie Francis, Eddie Cochran
(the latter came all the way over
from the United Kingdom),
and even then president
Dwight David Eisenhower
made guest appearance.

Meanwhile, about sixty plus miles away
a little boy, (who lived
in Levittown, Pennsylvania)
experienced a fleeting warm gentle caress
identical to soft summer breeze
linkedin to sugar and spice
and everything nice;
he smiled and unknowingly blushed
unaware his destined lifemate
secured courtesy good housekeeping

seal of approval,
which may seem
like an otter outrageous claim,
but mark my words approximately
thirty orbitz around the sun later
would witness his heartthrob
(currently snoozing away on the bed)
pledging to accept first one contra dance
after another until... death due him part.

I ofttimes sat alone
on the concrete steps
at Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street, Philadelphia, PA 19119
perusing contents of reading material
unable to focus on the words,
cuz excitement prevailed
to exalt in an evening of pure ecstasy.

The third Thursday each month
at eight o'clock post meridiem
held special significance
at above named facility,
which constituted kibitizing,
fraternizing, but especially flirting
while contra dancing
usually with no ulterior motive.

Our fate got sealed upon occasion,
when I willingly shared Neptune Salad
(a discontinued product sold at Wawa)
with lass who stood
all of four feet and eleven inches
and sported trademark long thick hair,
whose locks (I dreadfully report
long since got lopped off),
then rivalled those of Rapunzel.

As an introverted generic
long haired pencil necked geeky lad
always awkward in the company of people
(even making small talk),
an eventual comfort to converse arose
with longitudinally challenged referenced gal,
whose buzzfeeding dialogue
indeed jump/kick started
us to exchange tidbits about ourselves,
such as address, age, birthday...
and other general information,
hence bringing to my awareness
regarding special occasion
she made debut appearance
within webbed, wide world.

Said lass subsequently
became dance partner for life
after she found herself with child
we became husband and wife.

What is the thing
What bothers me the most?
Relentless streams of visitors
Or the ever-present ghost,
He rattles in the closet
And hides behind the curtain,
At times, I prefer the ghost
Over visitors, that's for certain.

I can talk to the ghost
He doesn't talk back,
He tries to throw ectoplasm
But his aim is out of whack,
Although he manages to frighten
The ones who see him not,
I guess I'm some kind of emissary
The only friend he's got.

Everywhere I've worked
There has always been a ghost,
I think he's a greeter for death
Like your friendly Walmart host,
Essentially, non-threatening
Offering his invisible, twisted smile,
A member of the welcome wagon
With his own peculiar style.

There have been she-ghosts
But they bear a different role,
As experts of duplicity
They come to recognize the soul,
Do an assessment of lifetime value
The good and bad and the duration,
Flip a coin and do the numbers
For the ultimate destination.

All in all, I count my blessings
For the role I chose to play,
There are wonderful people I work with
Each and every day,
And when unending streams of visitors
Fray my nerves like overcooked toast,
I can stick my head in the housekeeping closet
And talk to my friend the ghost.

Even when iron not red hot,
I implement non customary quarks
regarding foreigner rather cold as ice
namely delinquent outsize credit card debt
mandates yours truly,
a cheesy survivor who rem: members
putting freeze on
Citizens Bank World MasterCard accounts,
whose helplessness to fork over

substantial dollar figure
analogous to one of three blind mice,
who ran after the farmer's wife
She cut off tails (OUCH!)
with a carving knife
must pay the price
methinks food in the slammer (ha)
will lack sugar and spice,
nevertheless macht schnell trice.

I exhaled deep sigh of relief
after speaking over the telephone,
whereby Arcadia Recovery Bureau
(i.e. collection agency)
based in Reading, Pennsylvania
explained yours truly owed $23.21
which considerably alleviated
immediate dire straits that figuratively
grabbed me by the nuts
hash tagged self scoundrel
a day late dollar short
dollars to donuts bonafide klutz

living ****** mint procreative
seminal squirt biological reproduction,
could never conceive to abort
despite countless occasions,
I blithely admit characteristics
linkedin with being a putz
going off rails as a one man train wreck
mine impossible mission to avoid
NOT running amok imagine
bull in a china shop
whereby the hypothetical proprietor
willing, ready able to tear out my guts.

Pigeon toed, I trip over me own little feet
size nine shoe small size for grown man
leaving utter disaster in his wake
synonymous when havoc strikes
chaos theory alive and well
ensues when I walk about
and dare take even one baby step.

Ever since adept with ability to crawl,
I ofttimes tumbled down the stairs,
but never did shed tears nor bawl
e'en when taking nosedive head first did fall
out the hatch of airplane

splattered, plastered, and matted
think suddenly feeling comfortably numb
joist another brick in wall
nevertheless acquiring stunt man role
paid big bucks

as **** sapien disguised as Sasquatch
(cause unkempt harried styled hair)
more times than I can remember
fell to Earth minus parachute,
which hoop fully explains

the incomprehensible drawl
earnestly and frankly harkening language
once extant within Gaul
which reverberated inside hall
of mountain (lionized) king.

Prior to any madcap misadventure
yours truly envisions his clumsiness
plays out within my third eye blind
hilarious scenario unfolds in slow motion
whereby accidental flick of wrist,
barely brushes up against
flimsy clothes rack

(the original motive begetting poem)
knee **** involuntary reaction,
kicking obstacle clear across Compton
generating comical feedback loop
impossible mission to stop
blockchain of fateful bitcoin events.

Living amidst (amongst) disarray
courtesy the missus, whose domestic habits
never merit housekeeping seal of approval
twenty four/seven pose
a hazard to mine existence.

Marvelous
Magnificent
Built strong
Long Lasting
It’s not a home closet
It could be a walk in
But it is only how you enter
It’s actually an Office Building Skyscraper in New York City
The address is 550 Madison Avenue
Has many corporate tenants
Employees of all kinds
What makes it distinct?
The top and structure forming an arch like a closet
It is distinguished
All you have to do is look directly up
Then you would understand
The Tall Closet
Storage of Printers, Computers, Copiers, Employees and Facilities Operations accessories
People make up the fixtures
No wardrobe being only what is worn to work
Lots of room
Housekeeping brooms
The building is always kept neat
No clutter
The building that can’t be beat
A Tall Closet standing on the street
What could be so neat.

Ink roached infestation didst derive within mice elf

Minor emendations to following
just posted verse
oversight to correct dissatisfaction,
yours truly I do curse
ah... methinks if hands of time
can be made to go in reverse
a more exemplary version
to appease acclaimed unnamed wordsmith
cause he feels alarmed
crafting poem worse
than ChatGPT artificial intelligence
app can write
will find him superfluous.

Thus writer of these words
forever mus lee experiencing
craving to eat cheese,
a milk product
eternally preserved within
annals, chronicles, epistles,
et cetera of human civilization
and it's discontents
analogous viz ode (old)
as time itself and lustressly
buttressed on a Grecian Ode frieze
linkedin to Sosibios Vase inductees.

Carp diem bespeaks moment to seize,
whether above memorialized chaste lovers
or emblematic, iconic and opportunistic
actresses Thelma and Louise
the 90's film of female rage
an adventure road drama
caper they did stage,
but aforementioned seminal wage
courtesy Rameses II
begat robust lineage
synonymous with sturdy anchorage,
whereby said prolific *******
endowed legions of sons and daughter
to carry on heritage.

Nothing but gridlock traffic
(far as thee eye could see)
heading east on Schuylkill Expressway
(oxymoronic name for quickest route
into Greek translation
center city of brotherly love,
albeit Philadelphia),
yet this papa promised eldest daughter
then freshly minted University
of Pennsylvania graduate

hoping to make amends
prior to first born heading
of into blue, ...er rather green,
asper legal tender beyond
without doubt experiencing more
financial security than yours truly,
whose penurious crisis
tantamount to being self ostracized
within luxe MainLine,
where one percent flaunt their wealth

disparage dirt poor
festive folks like this sir
meaning husband, his spouse
plus attendant two biological kin
reinforcing feeling inferior,
among those earning or
inheriting fistfulls of moolah,
said offspring also lodged opprobrium
citing slovenly housekeeping
amidst generations (Zison heirlooms)

housed within residence
at 1148 Greentree Lane
yielding barely ample space
our family of four analogous
to sardines in a tin packed to the gills,
which pennilessness exacerbated
since neither mama
nor papa (me) worked
reasons squarely triangulated
linkedin to mental illness

asper myself –
unsung hero of tom tom club
chronic anxiety, panic attacks
with concomitant courtesy benefits;
adrenaline maddeningly coursing thru veins
palms sweating profusely, racing heart
irritable bowels syndrome, nausea, vertigo...
physiological symptoms
played offal, nasty, malicious

cruel version of
knick knack paddy whack...
with these lovely bones
severely disabled me to function
academia, employment, socialization...
imperiled satisfactory existence
learning, working, commingling
felt like butchered bovine
at slaughterhouse five.

Bonhomie within new riders
on the purple sage foo fighting
beastie boy here
in short air supply,
an evanescent understatement,
now impossible mission to recoup
sabotaged, jackbooted, atrophied....
blissful happy go lucky little boy
blessedly energetic innately

nervousness found
yours truly tensing up,
manifesting cringing pose
no matter parents lenient,
though father soulfully
bellowed stern rebukes
perhaps interpreting paternal rejection
sole son less gifted prowess with smarts
in short, no weigh,

shape, or form, a polymath
cultivated, habituated, ossified
once playful quirky little rascal
set tilled under veritable weathered
sedimentary stagnancy for peat sakes
psyche got bogged down
into impermeable metamorphic
igneous hardrock.

Ultrasound allowed, enabled
and provided obstetrician to zoom,
image courtesy sonogram
showing fledgling fetus,
thus we pledged our troth after spouses' womb
(approximately halfway
between her pregnancy) did balloon
******, wherein conception
delineated birth of eldest daughter,
and many a tomb
morrow later she resides in Oakland, California.

I attempt reasonable rhyme about...
oh happy yesteryear
when newly minted groom (me) wed bride
family in attendance cried
as Justice of Peace officiated as legal guide
extolling pregnancy of she who could not hide
figurative bun in the oven which matured inside
after two gametes fused and multiplied
countless times quickly birthing embryo
baby on the way nullified
application of premarital ***
and attendant use of contraceptives.

Clear out of the blue
thee wife asked me
opinion if wedded bliss between us
ha, how heretical to think otherwise
since romance long since flew
out the figurative window
impossible mission to feign significant other
analogous to brand new
alluring, beguiling, captivating... tchotchke.

All kibitizing aside, a requited love with zeal
I attest invisible spokes support unseen wheel
when turning sparking genuine care and concern
act as buffer against emotional hemorrhage
and received good housekeeping approval seal
more applicable to most recent
elapsed wedding day anniversaries
ex post facto after both daughters flew the coop
finding me reeling with empty nest syndrome,
whenever yours truly reviews mental newsreel,
now absence of offspring, akin
to psychological wound I did heal
no longer mourning natural course
of begetting progeny more readily
accepting their necessary autonomy doth appeal.

Though marriage devoid of physical intimacy wife
get along swimmingly, we exhibit less strife
than days of yore effulgence promulgated
to all readers unbeknownst to human life
form characterized by bloke,
whose words appeared across screen
exemplifying, embodying, and edifying
regarding beloved simian counterpart
bandying playfully sometimes
drubbing and drumming my body
while she (commandeering
certain orifices of her body)
emulates sounds of fife.