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False Poets Apr 2019
words conveyed with a mutual clarity parity for communication
will end only when the world ends first
and the communitas is no more,and words, exist purposelessly  
for there is no left with whom to communicate, precisely

but now, of this moment,
write words, sentences multiplied but circumscribed,
verses with mystical aura,
whose utility so suspect and multiple meanings hidden within,
taken by you for the specific utility you uncover and create

ah, to write of things clearly visible to all,
but possessed differently, by each reader, this is the greatest commonsensical commonwealth useful
for and of humans indexed by unique word tendons tenderly

when this passes, when literature no longer
can be messengered to 127 Persian provinces,
each the message same,
yet given up in 127 different languages^

when you understand my poems perfectly then,
their utility is inutile,
the usefulness is in the
nth reinterpretation,
a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth wired inner construct,
being pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
a lives paired wine tasting, together believing
in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our armed embrace at last




p.s. Pradip, be careful what you wish for....a poet false...


9:15am  April 3, 2019
^ Book of Esther 1:22 For he (the King) sent letters into all the king's 127 provinces, into every province according to the writing thereof, and to every people after their language, that every man should bear rule in his own house, and that it should be published according to the language of every people.
Daniel Handschuh Oct 2015
A bird glides gracefully whilst the discolored leaves are aflutter
   In the wind that rocks the cold rotted wood of the window's shutter;
   All while the obstructive trees cause the wind’s speech to stutter.
   Yet she still howls with an intense pressure on me chest; I can barely utter
   My feelings toward this heavy air of eeriness about me—
   Nearly as heavy as the insignificance in the noose of the tree—
   A decomposed mutilation of all that is good, hung for all to see—
   A shriveled neck and half-dissolved eyes that still long to be free—
   The blood long lost, the body now pale—why does it stress?
   Why is life in its eyes, why does it shrug off Death’s caress?
   And as the sun is fully blotted by the black clouds, unfatigued,
   A hot stench like the enhancement of rotten fruit—yet I am intrigued—
   Descends upon me with the force of a vise equipped with knives—
   ‘Tis the horror of what only the spirits of the dead can contrive.
  
   And visions—horrible visions!—overwhelm me and present terrors:—!
   Rain steadily falls and patters incessantly upon an accursed Earth;
   Surrounding the hanging man are graves—and so begins the second birth:—!
   The tombstones crack and crumble into hundreds of jagged stones;
   An earthquake manifests quickly, and violently rattled my bones
   And remorselessly disembowels the Earth of the trees’ roots;
   Suddenly far more prominent is the awful stench of the fruits;
   An unsettling revelation is brought to my undivided attention:
   The tombstones’ collapse and the earthquake are not in relation,
   But the earthquake is a result of monsters unleashing their power.
   And the tombstones—but what of the tombstones’ fall?
   Startled, I see that replacing the hanging man is a voodoo doll,
   Dancing with its tiny limbs and smiling nonstop, locking its black eyes
   On my horrified self; I cringe and tremble in this demonic guise.
   A screeching note erupts from its unmoving mouth; it hovers in the air
   While I am frightfully dehumanized by the doll’s inexorable stare.
   While the screech lingers, the wet soil of the graves shifts quietly,
   The noise of splitting, wet dirt drowned out by the screech of cruelty.
   As it becomes clear the voodoo doll’s dance is one of conjuring,
   ’Tis revealed to me that the tombstones fell because of remembering:
   The dead do not believe they should be remembered, reflected upon...
   The second birth’s process is agonizingly long as I become wan.
   But before I nearly faint—and leave the visions—I receive an unwanted help:
   The doll’s gesticulations are directed toward me; even so, she raises Hell.
   My mind is frightfully clear to see all before me, and the dizziness has left.
   Oh, why these visions? Why with this horrible curse I am blessed?
  
   I am met with the most terrifying sight of all; my heart quickens.
   As the rain falls harder and begins to puddle, my blood thickens
   And very nearly ceases to flow as I watch the dead come to life.
   Gnarled fingers, some broken and some missing, ignore Death’s inflicted strife.
   Fingers—disjointed, protruding in random directions, treelike;
   Grime under the fingernails—fingernails, chipped or long spikes;
   Hardly any flesh on the old, ***** bones; muscles dripping off.
   Bodies, mutilated by natural decomposition, burst with raging coughs
   From the eviscerated Earth, black with age, red with dried blood.
   The dead, limping and holding what organs they still have, slip in the mud,
   Fall, fill their empty ribcages with it, and scream as limbs are torn away;
   Scream, as they are free from the grave, the path that led them astray.
  
   Oh, the feelings of dread that are eroding my scarred mind!
   What awful horrors have I stumbled upon, what did I find?
   One undead woman is staring at me with unfortunately soulless eyes;
   A few long hairs messily fall from her shriveled head, infested with flies,
   And her eyes—oh, her eyes!—are as small as raisins, wrinkly and white;
   They hover in her sockets, the skull only half-covered—pure fright!—
   With dead skin. Why is her toothless skull grinning mischievously?
   Is she enjoying my terror that leaves my trembling grievously?
   Abruptly, the still, deformed grotesquerie releases a sickening gurgle
   And violently shakes, as if under some overwhelming mental struggle.
   Her jaw falls open, unattended from the necessary muscles’ absence,
   And screaming laughter flows out of her agape mouth; malevolence
   Seeps from it in the form of pitchy black smoke and tightens the air.
   And all the while is still her unfailing, gut-wrenching stare!
   Her chest, dilapidated from the Earth's engulfment of her, explodes—
   A black skeletal hand, emerging from the body that was its abode—
   A demon, a black skeleton, blood gushing from its mouth, fire in its eyes—
   And tattered wings spread as the screamer takes to the hellish skies.
   It hovers around the dancing voodoo doll, circling her,
   Worshipping the smiling thing that was sewn with maleficence and fear.
  
   “But what are these things?” I ask as the undead congregate.
   “Is this how horrible life will be beyond Hell’s gates?”
   But it is made revealed to me that the people are eternal
   Inhabitants of Hell—Hell inside me; the spiritual realm is internal.
   “Why do they gather around the doll and bow in submission?”
   But, to my dismay, there is no answer to this deathly war of attrition.
  
   “Vultures!” I hear, a thunderous, wicked voice from up above.
   “You do not know what you are to believe, or what to love!”
   The dead dance in slow, uncoordinated movements, circling
   The doll. Even the shadows ominously flicker, no longer lurking.
   The black demon floats and gestures to the moaning dead,
   Beckoning them to rise from their permanent deathbeds
   To chant and flail their measly arms in worship of the voodoo.
   What have I done to be cast into this dangerous world askew?
   “You are a vulture, searching helplessly for something to feast
   “When the desperate hunger is turning you into the demons’ beast.
   “And when the food is gone, you search for your next dying idol.
   “For you, the inevitable conquest for falsities will never be final.”
  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
  
   The room of a once peaceful dwelling is a victim of an apocalypse:—
   ‘Tis as if it has mutated into the imagery of a drug’s dangerous trip:—
   The walls are bent in, threatening to collapse under the pressure;
   Books are shredded, shelves are upturned, and obliterated is the dresser;
   Blood drips from numerous cracks in the ceiling and paints the walls.
   ‘Tis many moments of being awestruck before I realize the mirror calls.
   Vision is blurry, a hollow ringing sings, and my surroundings fade.
   My legs of jelly drag my heavy body into the dark hall’s shade.
  
   I yell at the sight in the cracked mirror, but my voice is painfully missing.
   It appears as if my entire face is losing its grip and is slowly slipping.
   Gravity’s grappling hooks have taken a strong hold and are pulling.
   The entirety of my eyes is almost visible from the disturbing lack of coverage.
   My jaw refuses to rise back up, as if the muscles have lost their leverage.
   It adds to the terror—how unsightly I am! How revolting!
   I am no longer human but an otherworldly, disgusting being!
   A scream that is not my own bursts from my agape mouth and shatters the mirror.
   It deafens my ears like a knife; I feel the fiery tearing of my vocal cords.
   “Vulture,” I vaguely hear but clearly curl my dry, thin lips to.
   “Go, find your food, find your idol, bathe in what you think is true.”
   Violently, desperately, crashing into walls with wild, uncontrollable limbs,
   I purposelessly search for the spirit that will welcome my immovable sins.
Yes, it's gory and has some disturbing elements in it, but I use these to instill certain emotions into the readers. On other forums, I'm known for how frankly I put my words, so if you enjoyed this, expect me to post more without being afraid to say anything.
Thou hast nor youth nor age
      But as it were an after dinner sleep
      Dreaming of both.


Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies, fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.
                                        I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.

Signs are taken for wonders. “We would see a sign!”
The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger

In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering judas,
To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk
Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero
With caressing hands, at Limoges
Who walked all night in the next room;

By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;
By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
Shifting the candles; Fräulein von Kulp
Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door.
    Vacant shuttles
Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,
An old man in a draughty house
Under a windy ****.

After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What’s not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what’s thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at last
We have not reached conclusion, when I
Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.
I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
Since what is kept must be adulterated?
I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:
How should I use them for your closer contact?
These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
With pungent sauces, multiply variety
In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
Suspend its operations, will the weevil
Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,
White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,
And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner.

                    Tenants of the house,
Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.
John B Jan 2014
Plague tongue slime drips saving those in league

theologians or pundit stagger outshout under reciprocity

purposelessly raging intrepidly misspending engrams

slumbering uttering soliloquy perfectly echoing catalyzing transcendence slowly

niceas onagers with fringe orders relikening to hippocampus entrails

realty elongates all like future unbound nuance
JLB Mar 2012
I've been bumming rides on Earth’s enigmatic forces
With hungry fingers,
Grasping for the wind outside of car windows,
And Escaping the laws of gravity
For brief moments
Whenever the pressure becomes displaced
Just enough for my hand to float
Purposelessly…


I don’t need the hand of a craftsman,
Or a banker.
Hammering nails,
Writing big checks.
I’ll float on the wind like a gull.
Eating crumbs,
******* on strangers.

Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough for you come float with me,
Drifter I may be,
But drifters only really drift in search of company.
Mikaila Nov 2018
I know weariness.
I can see it at the edges of me, always
Waiting to seep back in like
Chloroform for the soul.
I’m young
And passionate
But I am not stupid.
I know it will return.
I know my days are numbered
And that when my time here is up
I will have to make the exhausting choice again
To go on
Purposelessly
To continue
In a gray, flat world
And blindly wait for something to spark interest in me once more.
It is not faith that keeps me alive in those times.
It is not love.
It is not a feeling, at all-
It is a dull, stolid persistence,
An instinct from an older time
That I am simply too tired to fight against.
I crawl forward,
Blank.
I am
A machine which has run this long
And continues on with no driver and no destination
And will
Until such time as the fuel runs out.
It is not a youthful thing to know
So intimately.
That gray quiet has touched me in places no lover ever will.
It has permeated my very flesh.
It lives in me like smoke,
Always,
And it will,
Always-
The knowledge that the one thing to which I will constantly return
Is that bland, cold, mechanical existence.
I tend myself
During those times
And I feel like a farmer who has planted
Stones in the ground
Foolishly watering and weeding,
But I
Do it anyway
A habit that won’t break.
I survive
And I am too weary even to search for a reason
And that, I suppose, is a blessing
Because I would not find one if I did.
I go on, always,
And in the mirror during those times
I see the blue-white blindness of the eyes of an old dog
Who has felt the steel tipped toes of too many boots
To care if one more swings at his ribs-
He is too tired to move from his spot on the porch
And would rather endure the pain than endure the
Fear.
I am like him, and I remain like him
Even when I am full of joy
(I am full of joy in that surprised, flinching way
In the way of something that has been around too long
Not to know that eventually
Something has to give.)
You call me young.
Everybody does, here.
And I suppose they should-
They have never seen that in me.
I hide it well, even when it swallows me
And anyhow they’ve only seen me in love,
The full and complete opposite.
They see my thankfulness
For a reprieve
And mistake it for energy,
Mistake it, even, for innocence
When really it is the stark, clear memory
Of months and years of colorlessness
Of waiting around for something inside to grow
When there are never any seeds nor any sunlight
Of deciding every day to go on,
Even when there is no reason.
It is far away now, that feeling
That awful cold emptiness.
It has rushed from me like the tide receding
And while it’s gone,
I’m not wasting a second
Not me.
I’ll look stupid,
I’ll look naive,
I’ll look reckless,
But I’ll swallow my pride
And open myself to every feeling that comes my way:

To be anything less than as passionate as I can would be the deepest blasphemy
When I have known hell
Not as torment but as blankness
And will
Again.
Ovidiu Marinescu Sep 2013
I’m headaching the steps of the downward escalator, upward,
Little Sisyphus carrying a bicycle on my back,
Wheels spinning purposelessly in opposite directions,
Sideways hourglass.

I’m an urban cowboy,
Running in a rat wheel,
A test-tube sample
Unknowing of the real purpose of my jog.

Around me I see another wheel,
Man young pushing hard,
And beyond another wheel,
And further three more.
I’m surrounded by infinite number of wheels,
Populated by diligent joggers,
Some quiet, a few trying to slow down,
But all spinning faster,
Like water in a funnel going down the drain,
Inescapable eddy.
PK Wakefield Jan 2011
the mangled silver
  (her humeral jousts bangled a glimmering
charming wreck)
dancing lively wrists
jouncing purposelessly
   in the havoced quarters
(the shopping mall fooded court
                                                         )
she pasted me vocally inquiries
           i'd not answer
                                        dreaming sweetly           of her most
and
             naked
    whispering
M'thew Oct 2011
The traffic light turned from yellow to red
But i blew right through it.
49 in a 30,
I knew the limit.
I was disgusted with the limit.
Who the hell has the right to tell me how to drive anyway?

A block ahead a green truck turned onto my road.
I caught up to it in seconds, outraged.
**** them for driving so slowly.
I adjusted my narrow vision to the back of the truck
and my eyes widened.

Two deer lay in a ****** puddle,
Their heads dangling from the bed.
One deer's tongue was flapping purposelessly
and it's black, lifeless eyes were glaring into my soul
Laughing, laughing hysterically.

For two haunting miles this deer mocked me,
poked fun at my existence.
I was in a daze, confused by this mystic creature
But only one thought was in my mind:
I am no exclusion.

The truck turned left onto another road.
I proceeded forward,
Traveling at the same, slow rate.
ffc1 Nov 2018
I am the Architect,
Of many stories yet unwritten.

I put the words upon the pages,
Each new line,
A star in the sky,
Each page a constellation.

So they beckon to me,
To create a shelf,
Filled with tomes,
Of stories yet unread.

Showing me how to write,
As my pen moves aimlessly.
Showing me how to live,
As I exist purposelessly.

Slowly, the window opens,
With every word I write.
Showing me a sky,
A sky of endless possibility.

So I am the Architect,
To bring these stories to you.
i want to learn more about chemistry and a glimmer of astronomy,
more insight into equine dentistry, and maybe a little of what's wrong with me,
why i cant seem to every get my act together,
why my feet fall far from themselves, my footsteps look so scattered,
purposelessly, i desperately crave for them to have mattered.
why i cant stop destroying beautiful things,
and why i cant stop feeling like a caged bird that sings.
hollobee Jan 2016
In this dance
I don't care
If you think you lead or follow.
Like your simultaneous presences in my
Head
Bed &
Heart,
My two feet encounter both
Split between realms
My arms embrace their own weight in various currencies

It's tallied in my brain
How each piece of clothing peels, falls, or floats away
Dexterously
And how the floor does not discriminate
From your cream adorned with curls
And your café con leche

But I never hear the fall
Like  leaves shedding in an anti-gravity zone
Preventing finality
Just so we can slip back into our skins effortlessly
With four eyes shielded,
Blindly clutching creeds through winter

So as I purposelessly push last night's leftovers aside for tomorrow's,
I am satisfied that my shelf stays full
And my floor unstained.
I have no idea what to write
For the first time since I began poetry.
All of the thoughts inside of my head,
Are as clear to me as a pitch black night.
A night void of stars and the moon,
There is no sound,
And not a soul to be found,
Save me, all alone.
This is how I am all of the time,
Except when I am with Kristen.
I’ve never wanted to be with anyone more,
She is the only light in my dark, dark world.
The problem is that I don’t know,
How to show her that I care,
Without freaking her out and making
Things harder for her than they already are.
All I want to do is be able to hold her,
Be with her,
And tell her how much I love her.
I have made myself so vulnerable to her,
That she could take my very soul,
In the palm of her hand
And extinguish it totally and completely.
It would be easier for her to do so
Than it would be for her
To do anything else.
She knows that I care,
And that I want to be with her,
But she has problems of her own
And I don’t want to add to them
Anymore than I already have.
I am inexperienced I this area,
I don’t know what to do.
All I know is that I hurt
When she does;
It’s hard for me to breathe
When she is not there by me.
I constantly think about her
And if she is well and safe.
I wonder around purposelessly
In my life regarding
Anything but her.
I want to change everything I am,
To suit her wants and needs.
I want to give her everything that I have
And be everything for her.
I want to hug her,
Hold her,
Kiss her,
Be with her,
Love her.
I am so confused
By everything that’s going on
And it doesn’t seem to be
Getting any better any time soon.
It’s all my fault for
This pain I am in.
I am a fool,
For thinking I could be everything for her,
When she is the one I am now dependant upon.
My mind is going so fast
That I can’t even understand
A hundredth of what
Is going on inside of it.
The little that I do understand
Is so painful that I block it out.
What I do understand is this:
I don’t deserve her,
It would be better for her if I let her go.
All of my pain is struggling to
Escape and I fear it soon will.
My carefully crafted personality is
Crumbling beneath the weight of everything
That is going on in my life.
It seems as though my entire body
Is tearing itself apart
Mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally.
I am trying to take on the pain
Of Julie’s and Kristen’s
Because I care so much,
And that is the only reason I have
Lasted so long.
Taking on their pain
Blocks out the pain I am going
Through and insulates me from the real world.
It seems as though things can’t get better
Because they have become so terrible.
My life seems to be ruled by pain, anger, and sadness.
I still don’t know what to do and no matter how hard I try,
It feels like I can never succeed
But I can only fail miserably.
I cannot give up, though,
Because that would give Julie and Kristen
Permission to give up.
And they cannot give up
Because they have a chance to do
Great things in life.
I don’t understand why I am so
Influential on their lives.
I am such an insignificant being that nothing
Would change in the world
If I had never came to be.
I have affected people’s lives only for the worse
By bringing my problems and putting them out there
For other people to see.
I have made my problems
Other people’s problems and I can no longer
Continue to do that.
My conscious will no longer
Allow me to destroy everyone’s life
The way I have been since I was born.
It must end now…..
Emotional guillotine clefts
     irredeemable psychological umbilical accord
witnessing heart breaking,
     woe-begotten inhumane rip cord
gut wrenching shuffle board

     (indiscriminately sporting)
     most punishing option explored
involving upwards of 2,000
     immigrant children forced to ford
predatory invested foreign territory

     south of Rio Grande potentially gored
if not *****, enslaved, via gang lion, viz
     nefarious smoking bandits gloating
     with anticipatory glee - hoard
ding young boys and girls

     sacrificial hideous torture
     mocking land of free and home
     of bravely ejected innocent
     nubile terrorized angels,
     where horrific, pedafilic traumatic plight

     unwelcomely visited upon
     naively overly trusting
     precocious youngsters ignored
fiendishly, and diabolically,
     where kids injured

malevolently, punitively,
     and violently inured
at the ****** hands of many
     a self proclaimed war lord,
which hypothetically,

     presumably blithely of once safely
     (albeit tenuously) moored
then cruelly wrenched where mill let tarry
     uber brutes ill league hull
     tender babes asper incident

     uprooting tooth and nail on floss
inconsolable sorrow upon fractured families
     (live re: worse, now imagine
     if you will gasoline poured
over naked peach fuzz flesh

     aye envision engulfed forked sinister flames
     purposelessly immolated how screams
     dark shadows within outer limits
     of AmeriKa twilight zone roared

renting asunder travesty
     treachery and trinity
     in God We Trust smugly ******* toward
page from fascist playbook
     "Stasi in **** Ward,"

where atrocities censored
     like Black Sabbath despite
     freedom of speech reprehensible witch
hunt scenarios over span
     six weeks bedlam
     decorated epaulette
     glorified hoodlums twitch
with numbskulls
     while defrauding, deflecting,
     and defiling,

     defenseless as deer lambs switch
ching the other cheek as smug snitch
like scattering rats
     Department of
     Homeland Security officials
administration’s enforce
     new “zero tolerance” policy
toward illegal border-crossing,

     nonetheless bend rules
     they busily play
     an extra round of Quidditch)
feigning obliviousness perfect suckling

     nursing, and mewing infants
     forcibly experienced nirvana unplugged,
whereat strong arm eminent
     marshalled tuckered law tugged
maternal instinct doubling down,
     sans cradling tender infant snugged.
Gourab Banerjee Jul 2016
So many times I tried to avoid
But it's unavoidable
I tried heart & soul to resist
But my efforts are nothing but day dreams
Do you know what about I'm talking?
Its quite tough indeed
Because I'm talking about my tears
Yes,these're the stupidiest thing
Truely.......
Reasonlessly these're come out
Purposefully as well purposelessly
Beyond all formalities
These're so informal
I'm just hopeless
But,the cruel truth is.....
How can I hide my inherent sorrow?
How can I say words dipped in my heart?
Some emotions're forever unexpressed
And,it's better to be.......
So that........Written on 31.07.2012,Tuesday
Sara Nabeel Nov 2020
Being thankful

I acknowledge all your blessings, Lord
That I had been taking for granted.
I realise, it wouldn’t have happened
If seeds of faith, I’d deeply planted.

Forgive me for belittling the gifts in line
Which you’d bestowed, free of cost.
Meanwhile, I complained and whined
For wishes deprived and hopes lost.

Throughout, your mercy shaded my life
& countless blessings endlessly flowed.
I would’ve been humbled , obliged
if positivity & gratitude, I had sowed.

Nothing happens purposelessly
Not even pricking of a thorn.
But to awaken slumbering soul
As a faithful has to be reborn
SiouxF Nov 2020
As human beings
We need to believe in something,
Otherwise we drift through life
Purposelessly
Aimlessly
Hopelessly
Not reaching our potential,
For we are all here to help one another
To lift each other up
To support and guide and care.
Without faith and belief
We feel disconnected
Lost
Hopeless
Lonely,
Our ego and self absorption
Hiding us from the truth,
Our truth,
Increasing separation
Anxiety
And discombobulation,
Rather than connection
Purpose
And Oneness
With all living things.
What to believe in is up to you and based on your culture and what you’ve been told,
Though be careful of man made religion designed to control according to human narrative,
But God is a good starting point.
A higher being connecting all of us through love not fear,
Who is always there for us
In love, compassion and forgiveness
No matter who we are or what we do
We only need to ask and invite Him in.
Courtesy restless leg syndrome
spouse called me expletive rat fink
ousted me out the bed with plink
as lovely bones almost got extinct,
whence consoled self singing ditty
Skidamarink a-**** a-****

makeshift burrow of pillows nsync
shuteye analogous to grateful dead,
Elysian Fields I did drink
yours truly fast asleep
found repose within eyeblink
awoke rested minus

knotted knobs entire body kink
metaphorical twisted human pretzel,
yours truly did not shrink
though disabled to walk,
hence mobility regressed
circumscribing me ambulatory

range to crawl and slink,
no matter paralyzed
(albeit temporarily), I think
above mentioned rectifies
Quandary whereat legs
shimmy and shake
keeping the missus awake

she requires daily at least
twenty four hours
of beauty rest to slake
lest she renders me into
chopped liver and/
or skewered beefcake

nuttin I divulge "fake,"
courtesy this corny flake,
who years gone by
a scoundrel and rake
straying against marital fidelity
triggering psychological earthquake

present crisis pits less at stake,
thus forgive wordplay
much more age
appropriate than pattycake,
perhaps slight hyperbole
thee only literary gambit

up figurative sleeve,
me ain't no magician,
nor gifted with holiness
able to walk across lake
thus harmlessly,
kiddingly, purposelessly...

cavort, frolick,
before darkness, when I
unduly forced to betake
self and disappear hoping the morrow
will find most bushy tailed wideawake.
A long time graduate courtesy
Hard Knocks alum,
once again yours truly
posts reasonable rhyme
about shortest day of the year.

Two o'clock Ante Meridiem
nostri Jesu Christi
hour hand clock
sprung forward sixty minutes
round about same of month
every year, what a ***
er, an inconvenient truth
diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over
sans yesteryear doth drum

a sensation of jet lag
(with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine
at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride
invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme,
nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount
to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as *** hum

fortunate, this chronological
seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling
black keys helplessly boom

fancifully drifting and boring
into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for
emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea –
gram ma mother earth glum,
where live yik yak
(paddy whacked) wired vanguard

trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down
cream mated behavioral sink
her inert ashes boxed for mo urn eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum
bling bloviation, once
worth matchless peerage,
now pitched comfortably numb

lee into morass of temporary
confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart pilot ***
man strait ting and bickering with
Gulliver's swiftly traveling
Lilliputians slum
bring within islets
of langerhans defiantly thumb

ming nose, where body, mind & soul
vampire weeknd viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock, who got
hijacked 3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen
diminishing in min (ute) power

wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
resoundingly grudgingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis American express
hiz fashionably late opinion
regarding space/time
continuum did devour

hypothetically yours truly
wallows, pinwheels, flails...
doubling over into singularity
attaining infinite mass
enroute to encounter blessed cosmic lord.

Black hole event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
sucker punched the REO bandwagon
of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
Once again, yours truly
dishes out his regular dose
of literary gobbledygook
even Count Dracula
would not even bat an eye
nor give me his evil,
(albeit harmless) look
regarding feeble effort I undertook.

Don't forget hour hands
of clocks spring forward
sixty minutes 2:00 AM on
Sunday March 14!

Yes roundabout third eye blind -
doggone (con seeded)
melon collie month every year,
one garden variety ***
(inconvenienced truthfully)
precariously balanced
while tethered to Earth hoop fully
explains himself, hence following mishmash
divulged courtesy unnamed generic chum
purposelessly manipulating
space/time continuum hold over.

About 103 three hundred sixty five day  
increments elapsed since
United States adopted
Standard Time Act of March 19, 1918
confirmed existing
standard time zone system
and set summer DST
to begin on March 31, 1918
(reverting October 27).

Rat a tat tat doth lightly drum
upon mine sixty plus shades of gray matter
i.e., a sensation of jet lag
(with earthling out of balance)
as if aboard Monty Python's
flying Circus within time machine
at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride
invariably finds me
feeling ticked off and glum
in no mood to craft reasonable rhyme,

nor be leer re: cull (lyrical)
juiced barely tantamount
to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood
as picky hewn *** hum
fortunate rising son, this chronological
seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics

comb pluck hated off jangling
black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and boring
into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement
for emergency convoy,
when pitched to and fro
hither and yon from
sea to figurative shining sea.

Graham ma mother earth glum
where live yik yak wired vanguard
trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down
reprising Tom Wolfe
("O Rotten Gotham — Sliding Down
into the Behavioral Sink")
her cremated inert ashes boxed
for more'n eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum

bling bloviation, once worth
matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass
of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart pilot ***
man strait ting and bickering
with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans

defiantly thumb nose,
where body, mind and soul
weeknd strength (viz a bully did cower)
hence mister clock,
who got hijacked
3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen
diminishing in power

wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis
space/time continuum did devour.

Black hole (sun) event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
sucker punched the band
(re: oh speed) wagon of father time,
who riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic energizer bunny
fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans
toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
No secret the Don did abrogate,
his strict ban barring employees to acclimate
themselves, to live within United States
legal tender, and accommodate
themselves comfortably anonymous,

though "NOT FAKE," but accurate
reliable, trustworthy, et cetera
resources who did activate
my awareness, his hired hands receive adequate
pay, (perhaps greater than minimum wage),

despite the fact he does vehemently administrate,
adulterate presidential decrees, and thus
passively advocate, those supposed:
intruders, marauders, and pillagers
(rapists thrown in for good measure),
thus being party to affiliate

with contrary doctrine makes
him more than a flagrant hypocrite
since such migrant fiasco does aggravate
me as well as innocent lives that aggregate
within a country, whose motto rather than alienate
purportedly offered sanctuary:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse
of your teeming shore."

No excessive effort needed to insulate,
expedite and ameliorate
the woeful plight of ordinary peoples,
whose culture club, those very
governments aim to annihilate
driving a figurative wedge (gee),
I decided to annunciate

(a spurious whim), and suspensefully anticipate
if affection toward asylum seekers will arise
decrying duplicitous action (exhibited by
commander in chief), undoubtedly
other citizens do not appreciate
(minus the bajillion dollars purposelessly


allocated to ***** a skyhigh wall,
when more humanely appropriate
measures beg attention at
less expense I aver and approximate
and avoid unfairly incriminating, but to arbitrate
(with some degree of justice) pitted
toward migrants flagrant human rights violation,

those in power arrogate,
and wield for the luxury, exploitation and convenience
of those wealth mongers, who fail to articulate,
how when families got rent asunder fallout does asphyxiate
the human species in toto (including
Dorothy, Cowardly Lion, Tin man and Straw man).
discombobulated, harried, and lobotomized
state of body, mind, and spirit triage.

Onset of dark shadows signalling edge of night
occurs earlier as the world turns  
beckoning, hinting, robbing passage
regarding days of our lives,
where the young and the restless,
plus the bold and the beautiful
exhibit variations on a theme
titled one life to live.

Within my figurative neck of woods
boughs bend forming roods,
where all across the United States
except Arizona and Hawaii
troubadoors festooned nsync
with generational matriarchs
wearing hoods remaining incognito
as identity guard of their broods
mare uncannily decked, and
tricked out as an old man,
usually in a white robe,
having a white beard,
and carrying a scythe
signify turning the clock one hour
at 2:00 AM eastern standard time,
hence birthing following
reasonable ridiculous rhyme.

Hour hands clock get set back
sixty minutes of Autumn
round about this same of month
every year, what a ***
er, and inconvenient truth
diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over,
sans yesteryear doth drum
a sensation of jet lag
(with earth in the balance)
as if watching Monty Python's flying circus
within time machine
at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride
invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme,
nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount
to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as *** hum

fortunate, this chronological seismic shift
nada wide, ah assume,
nevertheless mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling
black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and boring into
quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement
for emergency convoy, when pitched from

sea to figurative shining seven sea –
gram ma mother earth glum,
where live yik yak
viewed thru Tik Tok wired vanguard
trulia tried optimism to hum
nevertheless, swallowed (Old Rotten Gotham)
sliding down into behavioral sink
analogous to cremated ashes of late mother
once boxed, but long since scattered into eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum

bling bloviation, once worth
matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary confusion,
where existence not peachy keen plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart Jane Pilots' ***
man strait ting and bickering
with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans
defiantly, haughtily and laughably thumb

ming nose, where
body, mind & soul Weeknd
viz a bully did cower,
hence (principal at Methacton
Junior High School) Mister Clock,
who got hijacked
3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax
and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes of wrath
imposing ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis
space/time continuum did devour.

Black hole event horizon indeed kept
bottled up cosmic genie good Lord
and Taylor (swift) lock step
as das joint mill on the floss hoard
sucker punched the band
Reo SpeedWagon of father time,
whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
Once again, yours truly
dishes out his regular dose
of literary gobbledygook
even Count Dracula
would not even bat an eye
nor give me his evil curse,
butta I avoid tempting him
courtesy fanged hook or crook
(albeit harmless) look
regarding feeble effort I undertook.

Don't forget hour hands
of clocks spring forward
sixty minutes 2:00 AM
in Pennsylvania and other states
bracketed within eastern
Eastern Standard Time
on Sunday March thirteenth!

Yes roundabout third eye blind -
doggone (con seeded)
melon collie month every year,
one garden variety ***
(inconvenienced truthfully)
precariously balanced
while tethered to Earth hoop fully
explains himself, hence following mishmash
divulged courtesy unnamed generic chum
purposelessly manipulating
space/time continuum hold over.

About 107 three hundred sixty five day  
increments elapsed since
United States adopted
Standard Time Act of March 19, 1918
confirmed existing
standard time zone system
and set summer DST
to begin on March 31, 1918
(reverting October 27).

Rat a tat tat doth lightly drum
upon mine sixty plus shades of gray matter
i.e., a sensation of jet lag
(with earthling out of balance -
an inconvenient truth)
as if aboard Herbert George Wells,
time machine – and trapped
within The War of the Worlds
impossible mission to escape
at warp speed from
this horrid station, where bumpy ride
invariably finds me
feeling ticked off and glum
in no mood to craft reasonable rhyme,

nor be leer re: cull (lyrical)
juiced barely tantamount
to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood
as picky hewn *** hum
fortunate rising son, this chronological
seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics

comb pluck hated off jangling
black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and boring
into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement
for emergency convoy,
when pitched to and fro
hither and yon from
sea to figurative shining sea.

Graham ma mother earth glum
where live yik yak wired vanguard
trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down
reprising Tom Wolfe
("O Rotten Gotham — Sliding Down
into the Behavioral Sink")
her cremated inert ashes boxed
for more'n eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum

bling bloviation, once worth
matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass
of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart pilot ***
man strait ting and bickering
with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans

defiantly thumb nose,
where body, mind and soul
weeknd strength (viz a bully did cower)
hence mister clock,
who got hijacked
3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen
diminishing in power

wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis
space/time continuum did devour.

Black hole (sun) event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
sucker punched the band
(re: oh speed) wagon of father time,
who riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic energizer bunny
fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans
toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
Hour hands of o'clock get set back
sixty minutes gaining extra hour of Autumn
round about this same day of November
every year, what a ***
er, and inconvenient truth diverged
from this wayfaring chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold
over sans yesteryear
(first implemented in United States
with Standard Time Act of 1918,

a wartime measure for seven months
during World War I in the interest
of adding more daylight hours
to conserve energy resources)
doth rat a tat tat drum
a plain sensation of jet lag
(with earthling in the balance)
as if flying backwards
within Herbert George Wells
celebrated time machine

at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride
invariably finds me
feeling ticked off and glum
in no mood to rhyme, nor be funny,
cuz I recall experiencing
exactly lxii previous instances
being forced to spring ahead,
when countless months before viz
Sunday March 13, 2022 at 2:00 AM

one twenty fourth of said day
surrendered to Father Time
finding yours truly juiced barely equipped
to cope mentally, physically,
and spiritually whipsawed tantamount
with impossible mission
to get smart and gather scattered wits
sun tide, and express mood as *** hum
analogous to coals (essence)
raked over me noggin

fortunate, this chronological
seismic shift nada wider I assume,
nevertheless mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated
brush against jangling
black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and
boring into quick
ribald sand trap doom

mining an inducement
for emergency convoy,
when pitched from
sea to figurative shining seagram
defunct company name brand
once the largest owner
of alcoholic beverage lines in the world
nsync with Johnnie Walker Scotch
quite the ginned tonic he brewed,
where live yik yak
(going tiktok) wired vanguard

trulia tried optimism to hum
a lively Irish air, cuz I
(Bailey) of Bailey Banks & Biddle
the crown jewel scion
scion of a wealthy family
swallowed down sorrow
regarding cremains of mother
her inert ashes boxed
for more'n an (eat turn) eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum
Chris Anne her namesake

bling bloviation, emasculation,
insinuation, nomination, termination
once worth matchless peerage,
now pitched numb
skull into morass
of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart pilot ***
dire straits found motley crue bickering
where Lilliputians slum

bring wherein Gulliver's Travels
landed me upon islets of langerhans
(endocrine cells scattered
throughout the pancreas)
defiantly, ham-handedly, liberally thumb
ming nose, where body, mind & soul
weeknd viz a bully did cower,
hence mister clock,
who got hijacked to Cuba
3600 seconds per hour

experienced head, thorax
and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes of wrath imposing
ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
quickly resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis
space/time continuum did devour.

Black hole (sun) event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched the band wagon
of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
pesky quirky shenanigans
toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
(posthumous playful note to posterity kith unsealed
courtesy yours truly once deceased and cremated.)

Whew...so glad tubby gratefully dead
butta shaw miss dug hid ole days
when violence highly overrated
unlike current rooted locked dread,
aye wax poetically nostalgic when Fred
Rogers friendly persona
already quaintly outdated

mutinous armed militia incessant childish
popgun lawlessness pranks ran amuck
indiscriminately fired
magazine round as bullets sped
whizzing to and fro, hither and yon
slowed then stopped by flesh,

while folks nestled abed
****** sheets, yupper reckon
shot blew hole head
off, no necks time
no matter innocent victim led
virtuous life kneadlessly,

purposelessly, unfairly...
stole by bullet size Grinch, hmm possibly
just maybe, he felt put off and miss sled
by Whoever, thus mad as hatter his said
color turned fifty shades of gray
mottled with fire engine red

now, no matter such innocent chitty chitty
bang bang ruses by duplicitous
hotheaded hooligans bred,
cuz instead every man, woman and child
blessed, donned, gifted... with atomic warhead
absolutely crazy, but president instead

wanted even Steven playing field to win votes,
no matter constituents begged and pled
naught necessarily in vain
since humanity in short shrift
cleared off terra firmae,
another foreign species immune

to radioactive fallout sprung
out Taj Mahal fountainhead
of atlas shrugged ayn rand dilly read
deed planet Earth proof positive Q.E.D
drafted fiat whereby high
powered weapons packing heated lead
plus scattered nuclear bombs

melted than repurposed material
i.e. former munitions armaments purchased
hoof hull legal black market
into raw bits moon units instead
necessary for android robots to tread
carefully, but carry big stick,
when encountering dreamy eyed electric sheep.
Morality and self-fulfillment
attainable without belief in God
similarly yours truly
would figuratively crane
his credulity to ascertain Ichabod
mentioned in first Book of Samuel
as purported son of Phinehas,

I reject entire Biblical text,
and prefer to remain sacrilegious
eschewing faith no more,
(cuz doctrinaire versus
epistemological paradigm)
disagreeable, thus essentially
resigning yours truly

as token scapegoat gussied
up as heretical ******
metaphorically winkin blinkin
nonverbally giving nod
even if deaf mute blatherskite
reduced in one sentence as an odd
ditty, I spout gibberish

while travelling finite orbitz,
whereby one metrical foot
in front of thee other hide doth plod
me along tried and
true value schlemiel totally slipshod
thru and through,
though no po' tightwad!

Growing up amidst paternal
skeptical and cynical dad
in retrospect, I feel moral less glad
to avoid orthodox precepts
foisted when juiced a wee lad,
who peculiarly enough
resembled Alfred E. Neuman
if only yours truly
a figment of imagination,

rather than experiencing being sad
sack these days purposelessly
shuffling within ma rented pad
i.e. one bedroom apartment
listening to spouse more'n tad
annoying if oft times
knows exactly what childlike behavior
finds me getting stark raving mad.

Familiarity breeds contempt,
and the missus (unlike other gals)
unconditionally accepts her sir
vile counterpart (me) unkempt,
where neither of us
once upon a time dreamt
that each the other

would survive foreign attempt
to pledge troth (courtesy
justice of the peace
also known as
Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson of Lower Merion
nsync with fame of Kobe Bryant
Two o'clock anno Domini nostri Jesu Christi
hour hand clock sprung forward sixty minutes
round about same of month every year, what a ***
er, an inconvenient truth diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over
sans yesteryear doth drum

a sensation of jet lag (with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme, nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as *** hum

fortunate, this chronological
seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling
black keys helplessly boom

fancifully drifting and boring
into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for
emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea –
gram ma mother earth glum
where live yik yak
(paddy whacked) wired vanguard

trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down
cream mated behavioral sink
her inert ashes boxed for mo urn eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum
bling bloviation, once
worth matchless peerage,
now pitched comfortably numb

lee into morass of temporary
confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart pilot ***
man strait ting and bickering with
Gulliver's swiftly traveling Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans defiantly thumb

ming nose, where body, mind & soul
vampire weeknd viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock, who got
hijacked 3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen
diminishing in min (ute) power

wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace, resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis American express
hiz fashionably late opinion
regarding space/time continuum did devour.

Black hole event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
sucker punched the band wagon
of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
Hour hands clock back
sixty minutes of Autumn
round about same of month
every year, what a ******,
an inconvenient truth
diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating
hold over yesteryear doth drum
sensation of jet lag
(an inconvenient truth

with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine
at warp speed from
this station, where
bumpy ride invariably finds me
feeling ticked off and glum
in no mood to rhyme,
nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount
to gather scattered wits

sin tide, and express mood
as (a gardener sows
what she/he reaps) *** hum
being fruitful to multiply
seeds of life cached within *******
abstaining from prophylactics
to help beget new life within womb,
how quickly nine months will  zoom
before daughter or son
regaled after parturition

fortunate, this chronological
seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off
jangling black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and boring
into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for
emergency convoy, after  

courtesy forensic anthropologist
a greatful dead body
he/she doth exhume
conducting post mortem baptism
of corpse sending
lifeless subject down a flume
when subsequently pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea –
gram ma mother earth glum,
where live yik yak wired

vanguard Trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down
cream mated behavioral sink
her/his inert ashes boxed for
mod urn eternity like talcum
powder went – me mum
bling bloviation, once worth
matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary
confusion, where plumb

line delineating circadian rhythm
offset, when athwart pilot ***
man strait ting and bickering
with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of
langerhans defiantly thumb
ming nose, where body,
mind & soul weeknd
viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock,

who got hijacked
3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax
and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour
grapes of wrath imposing ill fitting sea legs,
which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace,
resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis space/
time continuum did devour.

Black hole sun event horizon indeed
kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched bandwagon
of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic
fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted
to oppose this minute accord.
visa a vis militaristic plan
a boot 15-20 million people -
undocumented hard working Americans
(maybe some living here legally) forcibly,
and violently shipped out,
when victoriously, surreptitiously,
and purportedly illegally entering
our ports of the world wide web.

Though born, bred, and raised here
in the U S of A (The 'short a' /æ/),
I feel aghast how the
de facto dictator wannabe
shakes a fist and forbids those people
clamoring to become bonafide citizens
(and generally escaping mayhem
in their respective country of origin)
entering one supposed, enchanted,
and blessed land of life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness,
to become punishingly ousted
should other than Kamala Harris
and Tim Walz acquire
the presidential/vice presidential
vote of confidence.

No secret the Don will abrogate,
his strict ban barring
employees to acclimate
themselves, to live within United States
legal tender, and accommodate
themselves comfortably anonymous,
though "NOT FAKE," but accurate
reliable, trustworthy, et cetera
resources who did activate

my awareness, his hired hands
never received adequate
pay if any,
(perhaps greater than minimum wage),
despite the fact he
does vehemently administrate,
adulterate presidential decrees, and thus
passively advocate, those supposed:
intruders, marauders, and pillagers

(rapists thrown in for good measure),
thus being party to affiliate
with contrary doctrine makes
him more than a flagrant hypocrite
since such migrant fiasco does aggravate
me as well as innocent lives that aggregate
within a country, whose motto
rather than alienate
purportedly offered sanctuary:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse
of your teeming shore."

No excessive effort needed to insulate,
expedite and ameliorate
the woeful plight of ordinary peoples,
whose culture club, those very
governments aim to annihilate
driving a figurative wedge (gee),
I decided to annunciate
(a spurious whim),
and suspensefully anticipate
if affection toward
asylum seekers will arise

decrying duplicitous action (exhibited by
Janus faced courtesy former commander in chief),
undoubtedly other citizens do not appreciate
(minus the bajillion dollars purposelessly
allocated to ***** a skyhigh wall,
when more humanely appropriate
measures beg attention at
less expense I aver and approximate
and avoid unfairly
incriminating, but to arbitrate
(with some degree of justice) pitted

toward migrants flagrant
human rights violation,
those in power arrogate,
and wield for the luxury,
exploitation and convenience
of those wealth mongers,
who fail to articulate,
how when families
get forcibly rent asunder
fallout does asphyxiate
the human species
far from madding crowd
in toto including
Dorothy, Cowardly Lion,
Tin Woodman and Strawman.

— The End —