On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoin’d by Neptune’s might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offer’d as a dower his burning throne,
Where she could sit for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments were of lawn,
The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and border’d with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,
From whence her veil reach’d to the ground beneath;
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,
Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives;
Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
When ’twas the odour which her breath forth cast;
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone,
Which lighten’d by her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silver’d, used she,
And branch’d with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perch’d, of hollow pearl and gold,
Such as the world would wonder to behold:
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,
Which as she went, would chirrup through the bills.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d,
And looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true; so like was one the other,
As he imagin’d Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her ***** flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms threw,
And laid his childish head upon her breast,
And with still panting rock’d there took his rest.
So lovely-fair was Hero, Venus’ nun,
As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from her than she left,
And of such wondrous beauty her bereft:
Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer’d wrack,
Since Hero’s time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young
(Whose tragedy divine MusÆus sung),
Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none
For whom succeeding times make greater moan.
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,
Would have allur’d the vent’rous youth of Greece
To hazard more than for the golden fleece.
Fair Cynthia wish’d his arms might be her sphere;
Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.
His body was as straight as Circe’s wand;
Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand.
Even as delicious meat is to the taste,
So was his neck in touching, and surpast
The white of Pelops’ shoulder: I could tell ye,
How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly;
And whose immortal fingers did imprint
That heavenly path with many a curious dint
That runs along his back; but my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men,
Much less of powerful gods: let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander’s eyes;
Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leapt into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow, and, despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,
Enamour’d of his beauty had he been.
His presence made the rudest peasant melt,
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;
The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov’d with nought,
Was mov’d with him, and for his favour sought.
Some swore he was a maid in man’s attire,
For in his looks were all that men desire,—
A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally;
And such as knew he was a man, would say,
“Leander, thou art made for amorous play;
Why art thou not in love, and lov’d of all?
Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall.”

The men of wealthy Sestos every year,
For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,
Rose-cheek’d Adonis, kept a solemn feast.
Thither resorted many a wandering guest
To meet their loves; such as had none at all
Came lovers home from this great festival;
For every street, like to a firmament,
Glister’d with breathing stars, who, where they went,
Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem’d
Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seem’d
As if another Pha{”e}ton had got
The guidance of the sun’s rich chariot.
But far above the loveliest, Hero shin’d,
And stole away th’ enchanted gazer’s mind;
For like sea-nymphs’ inveigling harmony,
So was her beauty to the standers-by;
Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery star
(When yawning dragons draw her thirling car
From Latmus’ mount up to the gloomy sky,
Where, crown’d with blazing light and majesty,
She proudly sits) more over-rules the flood
Than she the hearts of those that near her stood.
Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,
Wretched Ixion’s shaggy-footed race,
Incens’d with savage heat, gallop amain
From steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain,
So ran the people forth to gaze upon her,
And all that view’d her were enamour’d on her.
And as in fury of a dreadful fight,
Their fellows being slain or put to flight,
Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead-strooken,
So at her presence all surpris’d and tooken,
Await the sentence of her scornful eyes;
He whom she favours lives; the other dies.
There might you see one sigh, another rage,
And some, their violent passions to assuage,
Compile sharp satires; but, alas, too late,
For faithful love will never turn to hate.
And many, seeing great princes were denied,
Pin’d as they went, and thinking on her, died.
On this feast-day—O cursed day and hour!—
Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower
To Venus’ temple, where unhappily,
As after chanc’d, they did each other spy.

So fair a church as this had Venus none:
The walls were of discolour’d jasper-stone,
Wherein was Proteus carved; and over-head
A lively vine of green sea-agate spread,
Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung,
And with the other wine from grapes out-wrung.
Of crystal shining fair the pavement was;
The town of Sestos call’d it Venus’ glass:
There might you see the gods in sundry shapes,
Committing heady riots, ******, rapes:
For know, that underneath this radiant flower
Was Danae’s statue in a brazen tower,
Jove slyly stealing from his sister’s bed,
To dally with Idalian Ganimed,
And for his love Europa bellowing loud,
And tumbling with the rainbow in a cloud;
Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron net,
Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;
Love kindling fire, to burn such towns as Troy,
Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy
That now is turn’d into a cypress tree,
Under whose shade the wood-gods love to be.
And in the midst a silver altar stood:
There Hero, sacrificing turtles’ blood,
Vail’d to the ground, veiling her eyelids close;
And modestly they opened as she rose.
Thence flew Love’s arrow with the golden head;
And thus Leander was enamoured.
Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed,
Till with the fire that from his count’nance blazed
Relenting Hero’s gentle heart was strook:
Such force and virtue hath an amorous look.

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is over-rul’d by fate.
When two are stript, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows, let it suffice,
What we behold is censur’d by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?

He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed.
Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said,
“Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him;”
And, as she spake those words, came somewhat near him.
He started up, she blushed as one ashamed,
Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed.
He touched her hand; in touching it she trembled.
Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled.
These lovers parleyed by the touch of hands;
True love is mute, and oft amazed stands.
Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,
The air with sparks of living fire was spangled,
And night, deep drenched in misty Acheron,
Heaved up her head, and half the world upon
Breathed darkness forth (dark night is Cupid’s day).
And now begins Leander to display
Love’s holy fire, with words, with sighs, and tears,
Which like sweet music entered Hero’s ears,
And yet at every word she turned aside,
And always cut him off as he replied.
At last, like to a bold sharp sophister,
With cheerful hope thus he accosted her.

“Fair creature, let me speak without offence.
I would my rude words had the influence
To lead thy thoughts as thy fair looks do mine,
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.
Be not unkind and fair; misshapen stuff
Are of behaviour boisterous and rough.
O shun me not, but hear me ere you go.
God knows I cannot force love as you do.
My words shall be as spotless as my youth,
Full of simplicity and naked truth.
This sacrifice, (whose sweet perfume descending
From Venus’ altar, to your footsteps bending)
Doth testify that you exceed her far,
To whom you offer, and whose nun you are.
Why should you worship her? Her you surpass
As much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass.
A diamond set in lead his worth retains;
A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains,
Receives no blemish, but ofttimes more grace;
Which makes me hope, although I am but base:
Base in respect of thee, divine and pure,
Dutiful service may thy love procure.
And I in duty will excel all other,
As thou in beauty dost exceed Love’s mother.
Nor heaven, nor thou, were made to gaze upon,
As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one.
A stately builded ship, well rigged and tall,
The ocean maketh more majestical.
Why vowest thou then to live in Sestos here
Who on Love’s seas more glorious wouldst appear?
Like untuned golden strings all women are,
Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar.
Vessels of brass, oft handled, brightly shine.
What difference betwixt the richest mine
And basest mould, but use? For both, not used,
Are of like worth. Then treasure is abused
When misers keep it; being put to loan,
In time it will return us two for one.
Rich robes themselves and others do adorn;
Neither themselves nor others, if not worn.
Who builds a palace and rams up the gate
Shall see it ruinous and desolate.
Ah, simple Hero, learn thyself to cherish.
Lone women like to empty houses perish.
Less sins the poor rich man that starves himself
In heaping up a mass of drossy pelf,
Than such as you. His golden earth remains
Which, after his decease, some other gains.
But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone,
When you fleet hence, can be bequeathed to none.
Or, if it could, down from th’enameled sky
All heaven would come to claim this legacy,
And with intestine broils the world destroy,
And quite confound nature’s sweet harmony.
Well therefore by the gods decreed it is
We human creatures should enjoy that bliss.
One is no number; maids are nothing then
Without the sweet society of men.
Wilt thou live single still? One shalt thou be,
Though never singling ***** couple thee.
Wild savages, that drink of running springs,
Think water far excels all earthly things,
But they that daily taste neat wine despise it.
Virginity, albeit some highly prize it,
Compared with marriage, had you tried them both,
Differs as much as wine and water doth.
Base bullion for the stamp’s sake we allow;
Even so for men’s impression do we you,
By which alone, our reverend fathers say,
Women receive perfection every way.
This idol which you term virginity
Is neither essence subject to the eye
No, nor to any one exterior sense,
Nor hath it any place of residence,
Nor is’t of earth or mould celestial,
Or capable of any form at all.
Of that which hath no being do not boast;
Things that are not at all are never lost.
Men foolishly do call it virtuous;
What virtue is it that is born with us?
Much less can honour be ascribed thereto;
Honour is purchased by the deeds we do.
Believe me, Hero, honour is not won
Until some honourable deed be done.
Seek you for chastity, immortal fame,
And know that some have wronged Diana’s name?
Whose name is it, if she be false or not
So she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot?
But you are fair, (ay me) so wondrous fair,
So young, so gentle, and so debonair,
As Greece will think if thus you live alone
Some one or other keeps you as his own.
Then, Hero, hate me not nor from me fly
To follow swiftly blasting infamy.
Perhaps thy sacred priesthood makes thee loath.
Tell me, to whom mad’st thou that heedless oath?”

“To Venus,” answered she and, as she spake,
Forth from those two tralucent cisterns brake
A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face
Made milk-white paths, whereon the gods might trace
To Jove’s high court.
He thus replied: “The rites
In which love’s beauteous empress most delights
Are banquets, Doric music, midnight revel,
Plays, masks, and all that stern age counteth evil.
Thee as a holy idiot doth she scorn
For thou in vowing chastity hast sworn
To rob her name and honour, and thereby
Committ’st a sin far worse than perjury,
Even sacrilege against her deity,
Through regular and formal purity.
To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands.
Such sacrifice as this Venus demands.”

Thereat she smiled and did deny him so,
As put thereby, yet might he hope for moe.
Which makes him quickly re-enforce his speech,
And her in humble manner thus beseech.
“Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve,
Yet for her sake, whom you have vowed to serve,
Abandon fruitless cold virginity,
The gentle queen of love’s sole enemy.
Then shall you most resemble Venus’ nun,
When Venus’ sweet rites are performed and done.
Flint-breasted Pallas joys in single life,
But Pallas and your mistress are at strife.
Love, Hero, then, and be not tyrannous,
But heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus,
Nor stain thy youthful years with avarice.
Fair fools delight to be accounted nice.
The richest corn dies, if it be not reaped;
Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept.”

These arguments he used, and many more,
Wherewith she yielded, that was won before.
Hero’s looks yielded but her words made war.
Women are won when they begin to jar.
Thus, having swallowed Cupid’s golden hook,
The more she strived, the deeper was she strook.
Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she still
And would be thought to grant against her will.
So having paused a while at last she said,
“Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid?
Ay me, such words as these should I abhor
And yet I like them for the orator.”

With that Leander stooped to have embraced her
But from his spreading arms away she cast her,
And thus bespake him: “Gentle youth, forbear
To touch the sacred garments which I wear.
Upon a rock and underneath a hill
Far from the town (where all is whist and still,
Save that the sea, playing on yellow sand,
Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land,
Whose sound allures the golden Morpheus
In silence of the night to visit us)
My turret stands and there, God knows, I play.
With Venus’ swans and sparrows all the day.
A dwarfish beldam bears me company,
That hops about the chamber where I lie,
And spends the night (that might be better spent)
In vain discourse and apish merriment.
Come thither.” As she spake this, her tongue tripped,
For unawares “come thither” from her slipped.
And suddenly her former colour changed,
And here and there her eyes through anger ranged.
And like a planet, moving several ways,
At one self instant she, poor soul, assays,
Loving, not to love at all, and every part
Strove to resist the motions of her heart.
And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such
As might have made heaven stoop to have a touch,
Did she uphold to Venus, and again
Vowed spotless chastity, but all in vain.
Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings,
Her vows above the empty air he flings,
All deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent,
And shot a shaft that burning from him went,
Wherewith she strooken, looked so dolefully,
As made love sigh to see his tyranny.
And as she wept her tears to pearl he turned,
And wound them on his arm and for her mourned.
Then towards the palace of the destinies
Laden with languishment and grief he flies,
And to those stern nymphs humbly made request
Both might enjoy each other, and be blest.
But with a ghastly dreadful

Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
  Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
  Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.
  Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared
For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set,
As far removed from God and light of Heaven
As from the centre thrice to th’ utmost pole.
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side,
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub. To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—
  “If thou beest he—but O how fallen! how changed
From him who, in the happy realms of light
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine
Myriads, though bright!—if he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined
In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest
From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder; and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change,
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contentions brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits armed,
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power
Who, from the terror of this arm, so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed;
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of Gods,
And this empyreal sybstance, cannot fail;
Since, through experience of this great event,
In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.”
  So spake th’ apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer:—
  “O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers
That led th’ embattled Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endangered Heaven’s perpetual King,
And put to proof his high supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,
Too well I see and rue the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat,
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heavenly Essences
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,
Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o’erpowered such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service as his thralls
By right of war, whate’er his business be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy Deep?
What can it the avail though yet we feel
Strength undiminished, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?”
  Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-Fiend replied:—
“Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure—
To do aught good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight,
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom we resist. If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counsels from their destined aim.
But see! the angry Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,
Shot after us in storm, o’erblown hath laid
The fiery surge that from the precipice
Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder,
Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.
Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn
Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves;
There rest, if any rest can harbour there;
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own loss how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not, what resolution from despair.”
  Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate,
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large,
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th’ ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,
Deeming some island, oft, as ****** tell,
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind,
Moors by his side under the lee, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.
So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay,
Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence
Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enraged might see
How all his malice served but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn
On Man by him seduced, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured.
  Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames
Driven backward ***** their pointing spires, and,rolled
In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land
He lights—if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,
And such appeared in hue as when the force
Of subterranean wind transprots a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible
And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a singed bottom all involved
With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate;
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood
As gods, and by their own recovered strength,
Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
  “Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,”
Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat
That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor—one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th’ associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonished on th’ oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion, or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?”
  So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub
Thus answered:—”Leader of those armies bright
Which, but th’ Omnipotent, none could have foiled!
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers—heard so oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults
Their surest signal—they will soon resume
New courage and revive, though now they lie
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!”
  He scare had ceased when the superior Fiend
Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,
Behind him cast. The broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
His spear—to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand—
He walked with, to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marl, not like those steps
On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called
His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades
High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed
Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrew
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,
While with perfidious hatred they pursued
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld
From the safe shore their floating carcases
And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown,
Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,
Under amazement of their hideous change.
He called so loud that all the hollow deep
Of Hell resounded:—”Princes, Potentates,
Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,
If such astonishment as this can seize
Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place
After the toil of battle to repose
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon
His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern
Th’ advantage, and, descending, tread us down
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”
  They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung
Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch
On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread,
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil plight
In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel;
Yet to their General’s voice they soon obeyed
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day,
Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile;
So numberless were those bad Angels seen
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,
‘Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, as a signal given, th’ uplifted spear
Of their great Sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain:
A multitude like which the populous North
Poured never from her frozen ***** to pass
Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South, and spread
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.
Forthwith, form every squadron and each band,
The heads and leaders thither haste where stood
Their great Commander—godlike Shapes, and Forms
Excelling human; princely Dignities;
And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones,
Though on their names in Heavenly records now
Be no memorial, blotted out and rased
By their rebellion from the Books of Life.
Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve
Got them new names, till, wandering o’er the earth,
Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,
By falsities and lies the greatest part
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake
God their Creator, and th’ invisible
Glory of him that made them to transform
Oft to the image of a brute, adorned
With gay religions full of pomp and gold,
And devils to adore for deities:
Then were they known to men by various names,
And various idols through the heathen world.
  Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,
Roused fr

What's your take on walking?

My body serves my soul
and tells me how to go.

My heart, affixed -- aims to show.
These ways I’ve walked in my shoes and stockings.

I've looked to heaven’s stars, to daylit clouds,
when I've stepped out, or dropped my gaze
to track the ground.

Yes, it is true—whoever passed me by
could have taken offense and supposed
I lacked my confidence.

And ofttimes, I strode out straight and true
as if toward a far mist horizon.

Un-manifest future,
even peek-a-boo,
could be comprehended? 

I should doubt it.

And if I wished to address an occasional
in-the-dumps, lost-at-sea feeling,

I'd shut my eyes, and walk backwards --
owl-like, swivel 360 my head.

Backwards blind circumspection seemed worthy my try;
Ask--Who am I?

I would story where I’d been.

In my most spontaneous of nature foot-trafficking,
in roulette walk; my spin of gun chamber click--
ant, spider, beetle, and the occasional sighing snail
had fled my shadow shoe?

As slow drift clouds in a sky game would play
with the sun to hide—creatures had sought me out,
sung their farewells?  (it was an excellent day to die)

Let me tell it, as it had happened today,
and truth says how.

My feet, they had gotten to waltz-walking.
O how my body and soul
danced a-fancy free.

Love was brimming out of me; happiness
whispered her wordless name; and
my tongue tripped nonsensical.

So if, at last, you've kept a-pace with me
in sympathetic striding, then perhaps
you would surmise:

there never could be a flat-footed me,
when I spout off with poem-talking.

Now, what’s your take on walking?

The Buddhists Teach
There is a door
Between the conscious and the unconscious
On the threshold of awareness
Where, from this sleepy place
Mind-door takes in space
A snap-shot of what’s around
The shapes and the sounds
Be it red, blue or brown
Sensory fed and felt and judged
A conceptual conclusion
Based on memory and illusion
Served up ofttimes with a bit of confusion
The sixth sense of inclusion
Transcending time and allusion.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
The unaware
From where?
Memory Lane
What a pain
Insane and mundane
Tainted and sainted
Familiar and unfamiliar
It’s the object and the flavor
It only makes sense
To bring in the other scents

Can you feel it  
Through my poetry?
Because I have no other way  
  
I’m sending you the sweetest berry
In bloom
And tea scented perfume
For some lazy afternoon.

Starting out so poetic
Descended into the prosaic
I’d like to stay in those high-minded places
Between the sheets of my faces
I’m at peace and war with myself
No one else.

I know I shouldn’t get attached
Shrug it off with panache
When I think about impermanence
Makes me cringe and  
create another circumstance
A twirling happenstance
A devil’s dance
A devilish lance

It’s getting better
Like frankincense
Then it fades
Like the past tense

How does one let go
When clinging’s become a way of life?
A hunting knife couldn’t pry
My pathetic fingers lose
Holding on to
A hangman’s noose
I’d scream and rail
Holding on
To the nail
That pierced my travail
As life stomped and pounded
grounded me down
But, I wouldn’t let go.
Oh no, not me
Fool that I am

Was it a question of pride?
A fear of the night
The ego chasing its’ tale
Personal blackmail?
A forgotten memory
A mishmash
Lack of mindfulness
A Pandora's box?
Nonetheless,
I confess
A little bit of everything.

I tell myself
Baby steps
Baby steps
Baby’s need to let go
And fall and get up
Or they won’t learn to walk
Or talk or grow up
It’s baby talk
And baby steps

Knock, knock
Who’s there
No one

Then come on in
Naked and all alone  
Rest on the threshold of time
Rest on the threshold of awareness
But, In all fairness
Don’t expect it to last
Such is the nature of impermanence

Only the bliss shall remain.
You can find it once again.

When you learn to let go.
But,
Don’t listen to my advice
As you can see
I’m still holding on for dear life.

The first was like a dream through summer heat,
  The second like a tedious numbing swoon,
While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat
  Beneath a winter moon.

"But," says my friend, "what was this thing and where?"
  It was a pleasure-place within my soul;
An earthly paradise supremely fair
  That lured me from the goal.

The first part was a tissue of hugged lies;
  The second was its ruin fraught with pain:
Why raise the fair delusion to the skies
  But to be dashed again?

My castle stood of white transparent glass
  Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire,
But when the summer sunset came to pass
  It kindled into fire.

My pleasaunce was an undulating green,
  Stately with trees whose shadows slept below,
With glimpses of smooth garden-beds between,
  Like flame or sky or snow.

Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease,
  With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife;
All singing-birds rejoicing in those trees
  Fulfilled their careless life.

Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there;
  My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit,
Their branches spread a city to the air,
  And mice lodged in their root.

My heath lay farther off, where lizards lived
  In strange metallic mail, just spied and gone;
Like darted lightnings here and there perceived
  But nowhere dwelt upon.

Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plod
  And propagate in peace, an uncouth crew,
Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nod
  And spill the morning dew.

All caterpillars throve beneath my rule,
  With snails and slugs in corners out of sight;
I never marred the curious sudden stool
  That perfects in a night.

Safe in his excavated gallery
  The burrowing mole groped on from year to year;
No harmless hedgehog curled because of me
  His prickly back for fear.

Ofttimes one like an angel walked with me,
  With spirit-discerning eyes like flames of fire,
But deep as the unfathomed endless sea
  Fulfilling my desire:

And sometimes like a snowdrift he was fair,
  And sometimes like a sunset glorious red,
And sometimes he had wings to scale the air
  With aureole round his head.

We sang our songs together by the way,
  Calls and recalls and echoes of delight;
So communed we together all the day,
  And so in dreams by night.

I have no words to tell what way we walked,
  What unforgotten path now closed and sealed;
I have no words to tell all things we talked,
  All things that he revealed:

This only can I tell: that hour by hour
  I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad;
I felt no thorn-***** when I plucked a flower,
  Felt not my friend was sad.

"To-morrow," once I said to him with smiles:
  "To-night," he answered gravely and was dumb,
But pointed out the stones that numbered miles
  And miles and miles to come.

"Not so," I said: "to-morrow shall be sweet;
  To-night is not so sweet as coming days."
Then first I saw that he had turned his feet,
  Had turned from me his face:

Running and flying miles and miles he went,
  But once looked back to beckon with his hand
And cry: "Come home, O love, from banishment:
  Come to the distant land."

That night destroyed me like an avalanche;
  One night turned all my summer back to snow:
Next morning not a bird upon my branch,
  Not a lamb woke below,--

No bird, no lamb, no living breathing thing;
  No squirrel scampered on my breezy lawn,
No mouse lodged by his hoard: all joys took wing
  And fled before that dawn.

Azure and sun were starved from heaven above,
  No dew had fallen, but biting frost lay ****:
O love, I knew that I should meet my love,
  Should find my love no more.

"My love no more," I muttered, stunned with pain:
  I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand,
Till something whispered: "You shall meet again,
  Meet in a distant land."

Then with a cry like famine I arose,
  I lit my candle, searched from room to room,
Searched up and down; a war of winds that froze
  Swept through the blank of gloom.

I searched day after day, night after night;
  Scant change there came to me of night or day:
"No more," I wailed, "no more"; and trimmed my light,
  And gnashed, but did not pray,

Until my heart broke and my spirit broke:
  Upon the frost-bound floor I stumbled, fell,
And moaned: "It is enough: withhold the stroke.
  Farewell, O love, farewell."

Then life swooned from me. And I heard the song
  Of spheres and spirits rejoicing over me:
One cried: "Our sister, she hath suffered long."--
  One answered: "Make her see."--

One cried: "O blessed she who no more pain,
  Who no more disappointment shall receive."--
One answered: "Not so: she must live again;
  Strengthen thou her to live."

So, while I lay entranced, a curtain seemed
  To shrivel with crackling from before my face,
Across mine eyes a waxing radiance beamed
  And showed a certain place.

I saw a vision of a woman, where
  Night and new morning strive for *******;
Incomparably pale, and almost fair,
  And sad beyond expression.

Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem,
  Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender,
Her figure charmed me like a windy stem
  Quivering and drooped and slender.

I stood upon the outer barren ground,
  She stood on inner ground that budded flowers;
While circling in their never-slackening round
  Danced by the mystic hours.

But every flower was lifted on a thorn,
  And every thorn shot upright from its sands
To gall her feet; hoarse laughter pealed in scorn
  With cruel clapping hands.

She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strength
  Was strung up until daybreak of delight:
She measured measureless sorrow toward its length,
  And breadth, and depth, and height.

Then marked I how a chain sustained her form,
  A chain of living links not made nor riven:
It stretched sheer up through lightning, wind, and storm,
  And anchored fast in heaven.

One cried: "How long? yet founded on the Rock
  She shall do battle, suffer, and attain."--
One answered: "Faith quakes in the tempest shock:
  Strengthen her soul again."

I saw a cup sent down and come to her
  Brimful of loathing and of bitterness:
She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir
  The depth, not make it less.

But as she drank I spied a hand distil
  New wine and ****** honey; making it
First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until
  She tasted only sweet.

Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young;
  Drinking she sang: "My soul shall nothing want";
And drank anew: while soft a song was sung,
  A mystical slow chant.

One cried: "The wounds are faithful of a friend:
  The wilderness shall blossom as a rose."--
One answered: "Rend the veil, declare the end,
  Strengthen her ere she goes."

Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll;
  Time and space, change and death, had passed away;
Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole:
  The day had come, that day.

Multitudes--multitudes--stood up in bliss,
  Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair;
With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace,
  And crowned and haloed hair.

They sang a song, a new song in the height,
  Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True:
They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light,
  Lo, all things were made new.

Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and rose
  So high that it was dreadful, flames with flames:
No man could number them, no tongue disclose
  Their secret sacred names.

As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of blood
  Fed all, one breath swept through them myriad voiced,
They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stood
  And worshipped and rejoiced.

Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit,
  Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love;
Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored it
  And knew no end thereof.

Glory touched glory on each blessed head,
  Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more:
These were the new-begotten from the dead
  Whom the great birthday bore.

Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest,
  Double against each other, filled, sufficed:
All loving, loved of all; but loving best
  And best beloved of Christ.

I saw that one who lost her love in pain,
  Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup;
The lost in night, in day was found again;
  The fallen was lifted up.

They stood together in the blessed noon,
  They sang together through the length of days;
Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moon
  New-lit with love and praise.

Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might
  Rebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyed
One time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white,
  Cast down but not destroyed.

Therefore in patience I possess my soul;
  Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face,
To pluck down, to build up again the whole--
  But in a distant place.

These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them;
  This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet;
My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem,
  My heart remembers it.

I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees--
  I, precious more than seven times molten gold--
Until the day when from His storehouses
  God shall bring new and old;

Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief,
  Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness:
Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf,
  I languish and grow less.

Although to-day He prunes my twigs with pain,
  Yet doth His blood nourish and warm my root:
To-morrow I shall put forth buds again,
  And clothe myself with fruit.

Although to-day I walk in tedious ways,
  To-day His staff is turned into a rod,
Yet will I wait for Him the appointed days
  And stay upon my God.

As eager home-bound traveller to the goal,
  Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main,
Or martyr panting for an aureole,
  My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain
That hidden mansion of perpetual peace,
  Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain:
That gate stands open of perennial ease;
  I view the glory till I partly long,
Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these.
  O, passing Angel, speed me with a song,
A melody of heaven to reach my heart
  And rouse me to the race and make me strong;
Till in such music I take up my part,
  Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest,
One, tenfold, hundred-fold, with heavenly art,
  Fulfilling north and south and east and west,
Thousand, ten-thousand-fold, innumerable,
  All blent in one yet each one manifest;
Each one distinguished and beloved as well
  As if no second voice in earth or heaven
Were lifted up the Love of God to tell.
  Ah, Love of God, which Thine Own Self hast given
To me most poor, and made me rich in love,
  Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven.
Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above,
  My treasure and my heart store Thou in Thee,
Brood over me with yearnings of a dove;
  Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me;
Love me as very mother loves her son,
  Her ******* firstborn fondled on her knee:
Yea, more than mother loves her little one;
  For, earthly, even a mother may forget
And feel no pity for its piteous moan;
  But Thou, O Love of God, remember yet,
Through the dry desert, through the waterflood
  (Life, death), until the Great White Throne is set.
If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud
  Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace,
And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood,
  How shall I then stand up before Thy face,
When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid,
  And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place:
When every sin I thought or spoke or did
  Shall meet me at the inexorable bar,
And there be no man standing in the mid
  To plead for me; while star fallen after star
With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock,
  And all time's mighty works and wonders are
Consumed as in a moment; when no rock
  Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide,
But I stand all creation's gazing-stock,
  Exposed and comfortless on every side,
Placed trembling in the final balances
  Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?--
Ah, Love of God, if greater love than this
  Hath no man, that a man die for his friend,
And if such love of love Thine Own Love is,
  Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end;
Redeem me from the irrevocable past;
  Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend;
Yea seek with pierced feet, yea hold me fast
  With pierced hands whose wounds were made by love;
Not what I am, remember what Thou wast
  When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above,
And sin Thy Father's Face, while Thou didst drink
  The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof
For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink
  Beneath the intense intolerable rod,
Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think
  Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God.

I cannot speak for desire's fiery touch, nor can I speak against it for who listens to a hypocrite's tale and feels anything other than tired annoyance.

I will not offer any advice aside from the weary words of the twice, thrice, ofttimes fallen, yet who cares to hear the yarns of those that tried and failed.

All I can do is spout sad knowledge disguised as nonsense with the practiced ease in which Dylan spouts poetry and hope that you glean some semblance of the message therein and take not this crooked path of mine.

always been a perpetual dreamer
  castles forever floating in air
foundations constantly shifting below
  earthly tremors shaking the heavens
…a role reversal made to disorder

sometimes i long for a clear blue sky
  without puffy white towers soaring
ofttimes i wish for a darkened slumber
  with no white noise of fanciful fanfare
…a dreamer in reverie of dreamless nights

In the depth of our existence, the ‘real us’ dwells,
which often remains untouched, ofttimes unspelled.

Don’t empower the peeps to impose their thoughts,
Be the brainchild of your conviction and you’d be sought.

Books that ****** ideas and structure our notion,
Make us go astray from our real aspiration.

Don’t let the world dilute your soul;
You are a born sierra, not a trivial knoll!
-Elina Dawoodani

ironically, love has ofttimes robbed me of my sanity & my peace of mind. my being.. destroyed by the time in which i’ve endowed in those i came to love. those whom requisitioned to love me in a way that would make forever seem reasonable..

and i find myself conflicting with people like myself, people that are looking for the same things that i myself are: soul intelligence, brilliance, killig, and a love that loves equally in return.

and when im away from him & his 'love', i feel homesick.. homesick for a place that doesnt even exist.
i sometimes question myself, i ask myself will i ever be able to experience hygge.

& sometimes i want to apologize to him.. for loving him so much, for being so passionate about caring for him in ways that he could never imagine, for trying to hold onto him when he obviously didnt want me in his life. all he wants is to be set free, but i dont think that i will ever be able to completely let go.. & i know he'll probably be happy without me & heaven knows that happy is all i want him to be. but when i love someone this much, a piece of my ego is with them.. if i let you go then you'll have to take a piece of my pneuma & quite frankly, im on my last piece. i am dying for your love & i am willing to face mortality.

Well my recipe is simple
Take the words offtimes read
Ofttimes read but never heard
Sprinkle then with words of love
Bake until light on bottom
Brown above
But the recipe has a bitter taste
For the words of love
Hide a bitter hate
Words are all we have to use
But words are often
Misunderstood, abused

I   do  not ofttimes descry such rhymes as thine,

lest I should divest all remembrance

of the inequity of tragedy and aching anxiety,

and thence my wretchedness wouldn't digress in tearshed.


And if my misfortunes can't cleanse my substance

in my weeping, mourning this bittersweet feeling,

then when at my last gasp of breath I'd be distressed

if devoid of the joy that you employ in your poem.

Thy conscience ofttimes estimates
       Itself by itself midst dark logics
             Of the old slate-grey slate of slates.
             I am no creature of "chaotics"
Desiring to pry into dry changeable ways.

Fade slowly into that quietude,
   That lonely but desired emptiness.
Be fainter than faint in solitude;
And accompany Misery at high interest--
A use of usury that leaves many dues.

Now come haunting thoughts of Oblivion,
Not a one canst I undo at all without your
Granting; and I cannot move with any idiom
Anything if you stall to so wish it or implore--
Because it is not mine, nor is it my decision.

As teens we walked that road so many times,
The sand gets into everything it’s ground so fine,
From cars and trucks that travel by.

When a car or truck comes speeding by, the dust cloud rises way up high.
It settles oh so slowly down on everything, ofttimes even in your blinking eyes.

Orange grove right and orange grove left with barriers of weedy brush.
Walk on the side and you can hear the sound of old dry weeds as they crush.

Ghosts there were upon that stretch of citrus lined sand and clay,
Where even most adults would only walk by the light of day.

Before you hurt yourself with a hearty laugh,
Give me a chance to show it’s not a gaff.

Nighttime brought out the little creepy things,
These harmless things we knew could do no harm.

But larger sounds like footsteps keeping pace in the brush,
The kind of thing to bring conversation to a sudden hush.

‘What’s that noise?’ a new  friend once asked. ‘Just a noisy ghost, I guess it is’.
‘There’s no such thing’ he said to me,’you’re just giving me the biz’.

But when it was time for him to go back to his home,
He stood steadfast and would not go alone.

So we took a light to”show our way”
And started walking back again,
Toward his home at the end of day.

Crunching noise as we pace,
Makes the heart beat like it's in a race!

‘Wait! Let’s stop and check this out’.
Flashlight shines,  no help at all, though we shine it all about.

Never after that again did my friend go,
To my house without a ride, guaranteed both to and fro!

here at Highland Manor Apartments
earlier today Juneteenth 2022,
(a pitch perfect spring day)
with serious intent to read
seat of the pants suspense thriller
The New Comprehensive
A-Z Crossword Dictionary.

Invariably, yours truly
quickly experienced drowsiness,
succumbed to deep sleep
and dreamt being linkedin
with livingsocially off the grid
among ecological, liberal, social minded
people progressive in act, deed, and thought
versus participating in consumerist paradigm.

As a conscious conscientious counterpart
the missus shops with a conscience
and yours truly considers her price savvy
when she purchases groceries
at ALDI, Giant, LIDL, or other supermarket.

Impossible mission to adopt modus operandi,
whereby wife would entertain notion to husband
energy garnering fruits and vegetables
courtesy sweat equity
since we lack basic homesteading skills,
nor consider either of us
adequately financially solvent
to contact compatible intentional community
since requisite criteria
require a healthy monetary stash of money.

Unlikely substantial windfall
will appear out of the blue,
nor grandiose wish to draw winning lottery ticket,
thus sobering truth to burnish marketable skills
finds me seek assistance
courtesy office of
vocational rehabilitation in general
and counselor Donna Marchese in particular,
which most likely entails
securing training to learn
Microsoft Office Applications.

More precisely, some familiarity exists
regarding understanding computer software
since admission of foolhardiness
now averred how countless golden opportunities
slipped thru these ofttimes sweaty fingers.

Though never successfully completed,
received funding back in the day from:
CETA, O(ffice) of V(ocational) R(ehabilitation)
twice before whereby
the former and/or latter program
allocated unspecified dollars
(poor Ray McNeil, the first OVR counselor,
whose tiresome love's labour's lost for naught)
in an effort to acquire gainful employment,
which in all honesty sabotaged
cause of that bugaboo severe social anxiety
more specifically diagnosed
as schizoid personality disorder;
no shame to admit mental health crisis.

Born of freedom, wild birds that rule the air!
Have I but a view of earth just as fair:
Of impassive mountains, of golden sand,
Of vast continents that link man to man,
Of seas their depths human eyes cannot reach,
Of beautiful islands, oh, what a treat!
Of grass stretching like a green carpet wide,
Of worms, snails that across green grass glide.
Can I but feel the playful gentle breeze
That ofttimes I see kissing leaves of trees,
That dancing in suspended gaiety
Do free some of my earthly cares from me!
To see these birds flying is ecstasy -
To think not of my inability!
Birds, fly on! my heart make light, my soul lift!
At least mankind share the joy of your gift!

People aren't as you think
What's black ain't black, what's pink ain't pink,
Beneath the surface it's dark and murky,
What seems simple is odd and quirky

If you see mud, that might be a gem
Hiding beneath the sloth and phlegm,
Silver that shines is ofttimes plate
On nickel 'n zinc and other dead-weight

But dig beneath that dark interior
That hides beneath the glinting exterior
You might discover sommat superior
Unsurpass'd gold that shouts 'Exclesior'.

So don't be quick to adjudicate
Oft as not we don't see straight
You and me, we're not as we think
Our slime is gold, and our jewels stink

Analogous to (being mine) security blanket
similar, but not identical
to the trademark one
clutched by Linus Van Pelt,
I take flight into sleep
courtesy holding fictional little yellow bird,
a mutual best friend of Snoopy.

While drifting off into dreamland
holding tight to said stuffed animal,
yours truly listens to the drip...drip...drip
of wet clothes air drying on the rack.

Additionally to supplement aural experience,
I incorporate deep sleep music
frequently binaural beats
found thru youtube.

Though ye (dear reader) might snicker
at me (as if writer of these words
heralds from Mars, or considered
an alien creature from the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
where dark shadows flourish
in tandem with mysteries of the Milky Way)
regarding yours truly
snuggling with an inanimate stuffed animal,
I attest clinging for dear life
to aforementioned stuffed toy.

I frequently experienced profound social anxiety
(mitigated courtesy prescription medications),
and ofttimes feel like taking flight,
as adrenaline courses (née rushes)
and rattles these lovely bones of mine,
particularly when yours truly
finds himself within madding crowd.

One hapless generic garden variety guy
(me, an aging baby boomer
formerly many scores earth orbitz ago,
a long haired pencil necked geek)
plagued with panic attacks since... birth
experienced accursed
lifetime psychological providence,
where profound anxiety prevailed.

Impossible mission to describe
how fast paced life in general
generates utter confusion
analogous to floundering trout
besieges mine mental redoubt
seeping into crevices,
then sealing nooks and crannies of psyche
courtesy impenetrable grout
emotional helter skelter all about
as if mine entire body (eel) electric

forced, kickstarted, subjugated...
to perform (yes folks) hokey pokey
mental gears and cogs
snapping, crackling, popping
inside tumbler like noggin
purportedly linkedin hashtagged
with said mild personality disorder
punctuated with debilitating panic attacks,
hence qualification clinched
for social security disability.

Onset of emotional paralysis
ofttimes in the past
stopped me dead in my figurative track
metaphorically wishing me to skuttle
back into hermetically sealed manhole
invisible among interleaved bract
where safe and sound
within mine secret cubby hole
also known as apartment b44
at Highland Manor in Schwenksville.

While listening to natural soundtrack,
frequently variation upon binaural beats,
as iterated above or
soothing relaxation by
Peder B. Helland,
an enjoyable youtube track
I imagine playing knick knack paddywhack...
as well as really idling away leisure time
occupied with other favorite pastimes
such as: playing solitaire, scrabble,

reading – after qua cracking
binding of newly purchased books,
(usually at Liberty Thrift Store)
crafting poems, occasionally
testing my chess skills
pitted against computer, backgammon,
as well as solve crossword puzzles
meditate (on the gift of a watermelon pickle)
to self hypnotize snapchatting,
kickstarting, buzzfeeding biofeedback.

I have to say the world has changed,
Since I was twelve years old.
For now I've got travel marks, scars,
And the best of stories to be told.

My feet have become the wheels,
That bring me on the ride of my life.
But somehow there's no reverse,
No brake, no end to strife.

I can't go back, I cannot stop,
This vehicle needs a change.
For ofttimes my heart beats fast,
And sometimes it's quite strange.

Even when I sleep at night,
Rest my weary head,
I know I'm in a constant line,
Straight to the land of dead.

So I'll live my life as I see fit,
Never again be told.
For I've read my story once before,
In the stories of old.

Signified birth of our second bundle of joy
whereby linkedin chromosomes betwixt
the missus and I intimately expressed ourselves  
and me would alloy
courtesy meiosis the miracle
of human reproduction would deploy
distribution of genetic material.

Full term newborn occured
Suburban Mercy Hospital birthplace
(2701 Dekalb Pike, Norristown, PA 19401)
nine months after spermatozoon gave chase
to ovulating ova
(cue all around the mulberry bush...
pop goes the weasel),
the former latter did embrace,
where sonogram revealed inchoate face

courtesy yours truly burst into
singing amazing grace
adoring newborn exquisite
as finely wrought lace
a biological daughter frisson
snap, pop, and crackling within myspace
automatically, immediately, and ultimately
ingratiating special place
within mine heart of darkness.

No greater purposefulness
exists than to behold thee alive
bearing witness regarding thee
exiting thru birth canal ye did dip and dive.

Tethered to umbilical cord
analogous to astronaut
linkedin to mother ship
bobbing and weaving
once forced out the womb

thru metaphorical fjord
inconsolable offspring crying,
no matter papa implored
though nonreligious, nevertheless
ofttimes paradoxically invoking lord.

How quickly orbitz around the sun sped away
crawling and climbing in no time
atop highest ledge utmost goal without delay,
which might help explain
mine premature hairs of gray
and your dare devilish more frightening
than being hunted down courtesy janissary
(or so I imagine) above exaggeration, I may

beg poetic license and pray
ye anonymous reader enjoy
reading about our precocious Shay
(Hebrew for beautiful)
progeny, who though developmentally challenged
frequently ordinarily calm, cool and collected dada
uttering stronger epithet than oy vey.

Now, one score plus two years
astride planet earth ye attest
to mine wide eyed opened amazement
buzzfeeding, snapchatting and livingsocial
(shutterflying a pinteresting life)

more so than me at twenty two,
no matter I did detest
living under same roof as parents,
cuz yours truly felt like
most unwanted guest!

Vladimir Putin itching
to loose nuclear bomb
end of the world scenario ofttimes
iterated throughout history
though an atheist (actually Unitarian),
no doubt this, that or another psalm
countless times the Bible
references Armageddon and doomsday
impossible mission to remain
cool, collected and calm.

Whether affiliated with donkey or elephant
Democrat or Republican viz
blue war red respectively
political hot issues don't amount
to a (Sam) hill of beans
when Sword of Damocles count
approaches zero hour
as global tensions mount

signaling increased chance
trigger finger will free
avast nuclear winter
(across world wide web) re:
leasing plethora, pyrocumulus
mushroom clouds tree

mend us planetary explosions
annihilating webbed wide
world, an irrevocable
indeed earthlinked debacle
spelling widespread species
multitudinous extinction
ex post de facto after super
bowling powers (wannabe) vied

to wrest empowerment spanning
entire realm sans third rock
from the father, sun and holy ghost,
who turned substantial pock
kits of flora and fauna
once populating oblate spheroid ad hoc

significant swaths of life forms
pulverized and/or turned to ash
transformed into radioactive wasteland
after war mongers brash
lee usurped hegemony
(ruling inhabitants
of Gaia with an iron fist
with a smidgen of flavoring
courtesy of Missus Dash

superfluous taste enhancer,
when sibling burnt offering views
between Venus and Mars incendiary
tolled mourning news
smithereens sole remnant
poisoned every square inch
from weapon of mass destruction

that did cruise
engendering thick noxious fog
disabling fox but not cockroach
while smoldering seas and continents
skull and crossbones didst poach
amidst the gasified, liquified, pureed
where holographic ghoulish super bowl coach

rendering lifelessness home for menagerie
where virtue trounced vice as organisms
(particularly one primate) didst try
(predominant 21st century simians)
tool heave with amity, comity, and empathy
animals and plants an experiment
that went awry

presaging a nuclear winter with nary a winner
implicating mankind as the absolute sinner
instantaneously after Doomsday Clock
signaled point of no return
where grim reaper the sole grinner.

Ofttimes there're
when one feels forlorn
    and down and out.
      At other times
skies are luminous
       sun shimmers
through every pore,
        life appears
  absolutely sublime.
          Hang on to
        happy moments
     through hard times.
           The memories
          you cleave to
    bring in its entourage
           serenity of mind.

Dune not be bashful, grumpy, leery
or any other contemporary dwarf man
regarding countless less well known dwarves
(that never got a chance
to play a bit part) such as wham
bam
thank you ma'am
linkedin with emergence
of Internet and poetry slam
opportunities availed by Nast tee Uncle Sam,

which characters (albeit fiction),
nevertheless, helped spawn a quiet yet free
global, radically riotous,
totally tubular snow white transformation
affecting a societal and human specie
but also augmented, credited,
engineered, et cetera contributing
to paradigm seismic shift that garnered tree
mend us plentifully birthed schema,
impacted and transformed how wii

(more particularly many gifted minds)
bridged geographical distance
(encompassing all four corners
of the Earth) to enhance
what came to be called the world wide web,
courtesy Sir Tim Berners-Lee
hewing digital strong armed lance
information super high, "Cyber Revolution,"
etc allowing one to prance

and essentially transcend reality to brook
cyber sea ghosting, fostering, embezzling crook
commanding, commingling, communicating, hook
line and sinker, et cetera courtesy nerdy kook
with an excellent access and outlook
reaching the most distant cranny and nook.

This (bit a bing chitty chitty bang bang)
democratization of information,
manifestation toward
exponentially faster processing capacities
(latest technological trend heralds
Quantum computing – promising
to transform the world into
twenty first century space race)
more powerful than pen or sword
(based on principles of Moore’s Law), reward
witnessing atheists to thank good lord

electronically solidifying
binary unification swiftly tail lord
engendering greater dependence and reliance  
figuratively shrinking the drinking gourd
allowing far flung aliens, family,
friends, et cetera to ford
great distances via sophisticated electronics
courtesy of super smart motherboard
enabling ever more complex
futuristic electronic contrivances,
the generic **** Sapien gibbon could afford.

Analogous to Medieval Age
this quiet ***** riot creation
(ushering on thee global stage
equally as controversial when
la cage aux folles aired)
vis a vis Internet did un cage
actual overcoming physical barriers
ushered Hallmark gauge
marked by Computer/Digital Age odyssey),

especially sharing pixelated page
at light speed, where the ordinary individual
could keep in contact )
albeit with every now and again
a bit torrent rage
and in some instances tapping
smarts of a preschooler considered a sage,
which kindergarten lad/lass
commandeered a handsome wage

whereat the parental figure
did gently cajole, wheedle or beg
their wealthy progeny promising
son/ daughter of a healthy nest egg
framing almighty dollar
as theatrical masterpiece jpeg
storing money in Swiss
bank accounts or hollow leg
perhaps christened Meg
or if an avid weekly reader
of Moby ****'s Queequeg,

who felt incorporeal storied power
of Herman Melville as zen unseen aid
instructing hypothetical rich kid
to drop out of school
before his/her first grade
cuz of all the money he/she made,
which affected modus operandi rendered obsolete
child worker laws  
and no sweat of brow getting paid
people used bitcoin (protocol
which implements a highly available,
public, and decentralized ledger)
additionally making purchases
with scant keystrokes to complete a trade.

As with any major dramatically novel scheme  
light bulb idea scribbled on napkin
or other scrap of paper
via modeling brainstorm viz cutting up cheese
or spraying whipped cream
originating as a flash in the pan
aha eureka moment, or dream
as rough blueprint subsequently
underwent beta testing,
before declaring pc innovation supreme,
whereby outstanding persons
in the tech industry
clamored to join Kidde team.

Whether seventh day add vent
hissed or other religious creed
powerful binary processing
rooted and impacted particularly
after tooth house sand
years after common era (re: anno domini)
earth shaking incarnation indeed
and ramifications in all walks
and talks of life sought expert need.

Coven chanting children murmured Luddites be ******!

Thus spake Zarathustra
(cue the opening scene
from Planet of the Apes)
upon witnessing as if king or queen
(in reality father or mother)
didst get immediately
dethroned thus, increasing mean
average positive netzero
effects on society, especially lean
microchip i.e. integrated circuitry
miniaturization "green"
technology (and eventual
attendant affordable price),
viz said trappings
upon global market
invited absolute zero dust, a must clean
as a whistle work space,
and manufacturers laboratory be microbe free
hermetically sealed vacuumed "clean.”

Countless portable computers
unbeknownst soon invited
florid colorful expletives
upon heads that did wantonly hack
impromptu malfeasance called cyber crime,
especially as majority proportion of population
didst purchase these dime a dozen,
countless electronically sophisticated contrivances
every Tom, **** and Harry

snapped up these smart machines
excitedly keyed away
ofttimes indifferent to gunk
on unwashed hands
plus bits of food particles
eventually caking hardware with grime
subsequently necessitating technician
charging gobs of moolah
sans to unstitch in time.

Gooey glop getting suctioned out
vaunted vips venting vitriolic vocalizations
emphasized obvious
NO FOOD OR DRINK rule to abide
cuz suctioning tower computer
or laptop presented vulnerability
plus unforeseen downfall against fried
food and greasy hands ended up hide
ding hardest to reach locale
on circuit board no matter
how expert technician pried
“end user” yelling out gratitude
to geek squad member helping
before he/she went side
dulling out front door

eagerly awaiting
remotely controlled self driving vehicle
transporting self taught techie guru home
to an obscure gated destination,
an uninterrupted distant, yet pleasant ride
eventually amateurs encouraged
to tinker like an apprenticed tailor

akin as raw troubleshooting recruit
oft playfully feigned to be soldier spy
pretending to repair bowel of computer
when in truth visiting
supposed outer limits of functionality
legality, and radicality shadowing dark side
which lined illegal benefits
of labor saving devices.

The sound of silence
written on the subway walls
though heretics opposing
latest technology and felt sinister chill
(just ask Punxsutawney Phil),
the Internet ranks as greatest dog sent rill
lee where wiz kids ranked
chatting killer apps with grateful dead
information superhighway as heavenly manna
with artificial intelligence street cred
since introduction of white bread
and powdered milk biscuits
baked by Ahmed.

while surfing cyber seas today March 2nd, 2021.

Actually yours truly quite a literate codger
(ah shucks just missed being draft dodger)
no not for baseball team, but Vietnam War
circa November 1, 1955 – April 30, 1975.

Though non establishmentarian logophile,
battle weary shambling thru gauntlet aisle
where nasty, short and brutish bullies hurt
painfully shy socially withdrawn little boy
now scores of years later courtesy reverse
peristalsis generates yellow-green fluid

made by liver stored in gallbladder and
passes through common bile duct into
duodenum where it helps digest fat bile
law, said obnoxious nefarious miscreants
cannot leave a innocent victim (scathed
for life) receive just deserts after mature

individual summons courage and doth dial
representative strong arm of law to exile
forcing motley crew to march single file
into custody, where delinquent juvenile
obligated to under rehabilitation - ofttimes
impossible mission easier thread camel
thru eye of needle by kilometers or mile,

which lock em up philosophy (to redeem
any salvageable thread of humanity etched
within damaged punkish ****) might find
accused ring leader pointing in one direction
poor (young) fella suddenly exhibits scared
quivering (like loosed arrow) harried style.

Writing, (albeit hyperbolic and poetic) riffs
mine therapeutic and cathartic panacea to vent
emotional tears and ruptures patched courtesy
passion cobbling words literary figurative stent
linkedin bajillion fractured pieces of my psyche
to blunt and/or sublimate psychologically pent

up psychological travails, plus I attend therapy
iterated thru previous literary postings (Renee
Cardone - a Clinical Social Worker Specialist
Royersford, Pennsylvania), she graduated
with honors in 1982, her existence meant
as dogsend https://springfordcs.doxy.me/sfcsrc.

Other holistic strategies to cope with legacy
of emotional fallout (I don't necessarily blame
any cruel teasing nor genetic proclivity with
schizoid personality disorder) courtesy dame
Kuritsky (mother dearest), who passed away
almost sixteen Earth orbitz ago, her - a flame
figuratively caught eyes of Boyce Brandon
both young flirts played catch me if can game.

Retrospective ascertaining origin of why
and how I found life, liberty and pursuit of
happiness such an onerous struggle - thy
inherited genetic genealogical robust stock
(predominantly Ashkenazi) might qualify
me as certifiably Jewish, though atheism
constitutes schema of existence well nigh.

otherwise wordily titled: pooped out
after pouring bucketfuls of water into
place of ablutions
all the while skipping to my loo
umpteen times courtesy bathtub faucet
turned toward hot temperature
so toilet would finally,
magnificently, and royally flush.

As ofttimes occurred in the past
anonymous reader's time
I once again promise to waste
concerning asinine verbiage
without this bard **** feeling shamefaced
broadcasting his fealty
to posterior predilections must appear
(as rearing to volley rebuttal
against fans of mine) yours truly
ofttimes discusses that byproduct,
which issues out buttucks) narrow-based
if not downright banal, gross, offal... in haste
to craft something more philosophical
how craven ***** talk
whereby theme doth self debase.

I excreted a bowel movement
earlier today June 5th, 2022
substantial enough to sink battleship
(maybe ye experienced tsunami after effects)
laboriously dumping bucketfuls of hot water
insync with applying plunger found me a drip
with perspiration, and would have possibly found
site manager and/or maintenance man to flip
(a rare sight to behold
worth inconvenience of clogged toilet bowl),
which yours truly felt strain in back muscles
as he poured bucketfuls of water from his hip
accidentally splashing water
on bathroom floor

yes your honor
(necessitating **** deck to evacuate)
if thee choose to sit in judgeship
but please be mindful
to restrain giving me any lip
cuz atypical dilemma I figuratively did nip
in the bud, yet foresee similar outcome
sure as this...
once upon a sage, rosemary and parsnip
herbaceous generic fellow sought readership
ideally landing webbed wide world trip
heralded all along as a V.I.P.
where fanfare for this common man
would find his doggerel
induced listeners to yip.

My poetic side COSMOFUNNEL
wordsmith thanks tumblr in his noggin
ofttimes triggering babbling brook
to swell after deluge
becoming stream of consciousness runnel
carving, gouging, and liquidating topography
qua zee mow toe natural formed tunnel.

Digitally remastered and revised
since original version rejected, thus
writer released,  purposely leaked,
and flooded mass media
courtesy the following
self branded watershed vaunted unabridged
sprawling questionable and deplorable
creation loosed upon unassuming readers.

Analogously linkedin with
once upon a time
one doodling dandy Yankee slender man,
whose yang upended, overshadowed,
and eclipsed mine yin,
nevertheless, now yours truly self anointed
as an elder statesman - ha
gifted with unwanted
inxs of abdominal adipose tissue
(attributed to agent provocateur of aging,

which affects my metabolism
and/or courtesy
unwanted side effect reaction
from one or more
of the eight medications
nurse practitioner
at Penn Psychiatric Center
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania location
Elizabeth Clark prescribes),
which gained weight foments tussle

a fight to the death, I can never win
and alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin
yours truly loathes to mensch shin
one alien looking pear shaped
humanoid with redskin
liposuction advised courtesy Doctor Quinn
(a fictional character and magician,
I took poetic license
created above to help eradicate body dysmorphia),
she waved her wand and ****
transformed me into a puffin.

Aye dread getting undressed
and/or getting washed
even without spectacles
thar haint no mo' six pack ab,
which nearly rock ribbed
mid equatorial zone shape shifted
into corpuscular blubbery
ancillary physiognomy
where aye wanna bab
bull posttraumatic stressed out

middle age battle of the bulge
in summer re: a waisted effort
squarely (er rather roundly) testing
the elasticity of extra large sweatpants,
when straining to hide expanding girth
definitely producing undesirable effect,
(especially when floating in briny deep,
I squarely, honestly and closely resemble
the Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea  

strongly urging, necessitating,
and exhorting mister crab
to clamp down with pincers,
viz primitive liposuction,
whence rustling scupper
will efface this fleshed out
human bloviated ruggedly handsome
man of the webbed wide world
a bit heavy around the equator
over self indulgent fleshpot

unable, uneager, unready,
and unwilling to maneuver
his portly ill proportioned body
inducing unprovoked stares,
and tears for fears
eyes tracking billowing supersize shirt
resembling trireme sails being trimmed,
where fleshly freighted sloop
displaces entire watery expanse
stranding, stinging and starving an a ray

of underwater species,
now prolonging requisite inhalation;
I seek desperate sticktoitiveness
guidance courtesy Younan Nowzaradan
with steely mettle
hie trite to iron out flab
thus tis part and parcel of senescence,
yet auxiliary buttressed dermis
effect forming gorged girth
giving "love handles" grab

reigniting reign of terror
viz prepubescent anorexia nervosa,
boot strapped now - wen
remembrance of things past frankly
zapped distorted self-image
evoked holocaust images repugnant;
buttery rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig/
scapegoat role to restore

prime of life build when five foot ten
obviously me no Lemuel Gulliver
alignment could now perchance nab
first place in a slick couture magazine
from the neck down,
cuz face mottled with
nine inch nails clawing skin
wrought unsightly scab
taut torso bearing
fashion model and
senior citizen idol, where
every place I go receiving
venue offers free tab.

To stand stock still until shutterfly
would SnapChat
rippled tummy, could
fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
WhatsApp with
faux pregnant protuberance,
though thankfully
derriere still rather dash
shing, which palmolive pilot sized buttocks

doth newt offset sorry to report
lost battle of the bulge,
where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations,
gnome hatter sinusoidal
parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means
to stave of the depredations
of slump pin proletariat
allowing me a hash

sheesh priceline tag
with hefty weight, acquiescing
this Pillsbury doughboy blivet
to subject himself to the sharp
stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against
raw skin as due process
and supplication for atlas shrug
gin his broad shoulders
at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation
insulation fiberglass around midsection, and

how ma late mum
(an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir -
resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
even ear rash
shun null gambits,
and as last ditch effort
putting this offspring
on par with an albatross -
vamoose get out with the trash
unless everything (pertaining to
indelible stubborn blubber
comes out at the whoosh she wash
Diet of worms.

(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.