While Walmart and Best Buy attract Black Friday shoppers nationwide, Fayetteville’s local businesses offer unique deals throughout the week on boutique clothing, gift-worthy items, outdoor accessories and Razorback apparel.

Southern Trend

Sale rack prices will range $5-15, and customers whose total reaches $50 or more will receive a free tote bag. Southern Trend clothing company offers Razorback apparel for men and women and other casual clothing that depicts Southern living. Their headquarters and closest retail location is at 614 W. Sycamore St.

The Mustache Goods & Wears

Saturday following Thanksgiving, The Mustache Goods & Wears will participate in Small Business Day with special deals throughout the store. The Mustache sells gift and novelty items and clothing, striving “to carry products you don’t normally find in Northwest Arkansas,” according to their website. The store is located on the Downtown Square at 15 S. Block Ave.

Lauren James

All regularly-priced items will be 25 percent off, and planners will be given to customers with a purchase of $65 or more. The Lauren James brand includes fashionable dresses, a line of women’s collegiate clothing, and other clothing and accessories with a Southern flare. One of three corporate locations in the country, the Fayetteville Lauren James shop is located just off campus at 623 W. Dickson St.

Houndstooth Clothing Company

Now until Thanksgiving day, all long sleeve and short sleeve tops are buy two, get one free with Black Friday deals to follow. The brand includes Razorback apparel and other casual clothing with outdoorsy designs. Houndstooth Clothing Company began in Fayetteville and now sells merchandise online and in stores across the state. The closest location to campus is just off the Downtown Square at 29 N. Block Ave.

Pack Rat Outdoor Center

Pack Rat Outdoor Center will sell featured Black Friday merchandise from The North Face brand. Saturday, Nov. 26, shoppers may enjoy food and drink at Customer Appreciation Day. Pack Rat sells clothing and accessories fit for an active and outdoor lifestyle, with products such as hammocks and hiking boots sold at their 209 West Sunbridge store.

Riffraff

All merchandise, except nine specially marked-down items, will be priced 30 percent off the original price tag during Black Friday, 8 a.m. until 1 p.m. Just off the Downtown Square at 19 S. Block Ave., Riffraff boutique sells women’s clothes fit for everyday life to holiday parties, as well as gift and novelty items.

Campus Bookstore

The Campus Bookstore sells new and used textbooks, school supplies, Razorback gear and clothing. The store is located just outside of campus at 624 W. Dickson St.

Alumni Hall

Alumni Hall, located at 3417 N. College Ave., sells various brands of Razorback apparel as well as Razorback accessories and gifts.

Maude

Established in 2007 in Fayetteville, the racks of Maude boutique feature women’s clothing from sweaters to skirts with shoes and accessories also for sale. Maude in Fayetteville is located at 706 N. College Ave.

Savoir-Faire

A boutique local to Fayetteville at 1 E. Center St., Savoir-Faire offers casual and dressy clothing and accessories, including holiday fashions sold online and in-store.

Gatsby’s Boutique

Boasting a ‘20s fashion influence, Gatsby’s Boutique sells clothes and accessories at their shop located at 609 W. Dickson St.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses

I am a riffraff-er
A child and a *******
angry as a soldier, yet silent.
A quack, making no progress
and refusing to ever confess
arrogant and stuck in my ways
My brain aches from all my dilemmas
and my heart screams with a passion, without a subject.
I have wandered and I have waited
I have tried and I have failed.
I've hated and shunned
Judged and mocked
All around me an illusion crumbled
Naked, I had been standing
Blazed by the sun's light
and taunted by the day's wind.
Silent still I stand.
An observer, distant and impartial.
I never participate
unseen and unfelt, I linger
Barely beyond the borders.
I am a quack, glorifying my dreams
and turning my back to the scenes.
My world crashes
My form falters
My mind surrenders
But my pen still tingles
and my desire still crackles.
Behind my words I hide
My mind's eye, I blind
Thinking I must never give in
Thinking my star has risen
Struggling with the void, I have grown
learning nothing, keeping nothing
and helping no one.
Crazed by an ego that's crying for help.
It will not rest until it is appeased
its hunger sated and its thirst quenched.
And my brain will continue refusing to focus or concentrate until I rest.
What am I talking about here ?
Does it have a purpose ?
or is it just more mindless blabbering ? Pen abuse ?
No, no coke for me brother, I do ink now.

The breath in my chest
Scraped against my esophagus
As the preacher read his
Introductory scripture and a
Mourning loved one doubled over
In grief and despair as she
Struggled to bid adieu;

The hairs on the back of my neck
Stood horizontally and
Perpendicular to my concrete floor
As I heard the sweetest soul I know
Choke on her sobs on the
Other end of the receiver,
As she struggled to understand
The onset of pain and finality
She was forced to swallow;

My stomach hollowed and
Acidic anger bubbled and carved out my insides
When I read my best friend's texts,
A series of words
That seemed too cruel to be true,
A riffraff of  interrogatories and
Unsettled punctuation,
Summarizing the momentary suspension
Of her resiliency
As she processed the
Breaking of her heart;

And now I lay motionless
On my mattress,
Hot tears masquerading behind my
Tightened eyelids as I writhe in
Empathy,
Alone in my incapability
To end the pains and the woes of
Those around me,
As my body thus must then grieve
For me.

Raindrops pelted the earth in fiery spill
Clouds drove away the submissive daylight
Warmth tamely surrendered to chill
It was then those eyes came into my sight!

A bare bodied riffraff hardly into his teen
He looked an absurd picture in a silent film
Standing there exposed in streaming skin
One shivering model playing rain’s victim!

But this wasn’t the way I thought like then
Myself a kid returning from school
Rain-coated and knowing no pain
Living secured under parental rule!

I just felt then something was not right
He shouldn’t have been left in such a state
A cold or a rain fever catch he might
The kid who could have been my mate!

Your mom and dad, I asked, where’re they
Leaving you in the rain to roam
Should have been indoors on such a day
And not stray off from home!

The boy it seemed couldn’t surmise
For long deprived of kindness
Filled up his eyes in sheer surprise
But soon grew saddened his face!


*No dad no mom I’ve never known them
Known only to play in the rain
Live in the street without a name
Orphaned too long for any pain!

To fake a smile
To make things seem worth while
To force a laugh
To blend with the riffraff
To act so tough
To bluff
To be carefree
To seem happy
To motivate
To hold on and wait
To fight
To shed some light
To put on a mask
To remove the casque
To keep this act going
To keep on moving
To hold back the tears
To face the fears
To leap
To dive deep
To wander
To let things squander
To get lost
To prevent an emotional exhaust
To put aside the memories that we shared
To add more words
To keep acting like a third


ARE ALL SO EASY

Than...

To accept
And
To forget...

That you and I
USED to be a *we

Like God amassing gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh,
vain potentates, possessed by pride that riches will confer,
depleted pillaged villages in pagan days of old…
With ******* privileges, their fortunes were foretold.

In feudal times, chaste clerics, cloaked, wrapped rings around the mind
with hymns of magic, mystic myths and figurines enshrined,
while blessing bayonet-like blades that mutilate and maim…
With ******* privileges, believers bore no blame.

In search of caramel colonies, some sailors set their sails
to conquer puppet provinces, for sovereignty prevails,
purloining wicked treasure troves which others claimed their own…
With ******* privileges, such sins sustained the throne.

Well, nowadays the quest proceeds, this time for ebon oil,
so peoples once again are caught within the serpent’s coil
and, pierced by fangs of greed and lust, death yields benign escape…
With ******* privileges, you’re free to rip and ****.

We wave the flags and beat the drums and often kneel to pray
to glorify our victories, bold, that happen far away;
but none salute the severed souls impaled upon a pike…
With ******* privileges, the riffraff look alike.

One day the moguls won’t agree on how to slice the pie;
they’ll spit and spat and, ***-for-tat, atomic barbs will fly -
but when the button’s finally pressed, they too will grace the heap…
With ******* privileges, the hole that’s hewn is deep.

Soaked him a shower
From the roadside balcony
For him the day’s better hour
Turned bitter agony!

I told you earlier too
You need some homework to do
Else prove yourself the fool
By others’ rule!

To brim to full his misery’s cup
The man next to him was looking up
Just in time moved away
Never believed in the look straight say!

Adding salt to his injury
The riffraff looking carefree
Grinned just in time,
Your shirt is stained with grime!

He looked up too but too late
A born loser since the first failed date
Then stood stunned a while
On her lips played the wickedest smile!

The woman smiling without the slightest regret
With no hint of apology for causing him this fate
Not one consoling sorry for marring his day
But saying on his face *you came on the way!

you never want the people, poetry never wants the people, the effective performance of democracy before Pilate left the Jews scarred entering unconquered territories of the former Roman Empire, where the phonetic encoding was far more precious than that ****** Christianity of enabling the circumcision without the 613 minor commandments missing... too fickle too whatever it was... people bring with them the bubonic plague, Protestantism, all the recent crazes in gaming... they never bring in the Rōnin Aishas - they always bring the riffraff of hopes and dreams readied for the few worth the ambition - they bring in all the bones except the spine - they're not here for a poem, they're here for a coliseum - the furore! - you know what i hate about seeing ballet or the opera? the ******* clapping... too much of it... i might live in a village, but going to an opera house feels worse than walking the countryside... the clapping is not even an ******, it hurts the ears, esp. culminating with encore! and bravo! who let these peasants out on the town?! who?! compare that to a Slipknot mosh-pit and you get the picture: with the former you get an exactness on what limbs were used... with the latter you're a pit of dismembered pieces akin to heston blumenthal cooking up whale *****.*

****... italics and the airs of how to pretend
the earth is jumping skip-rope
rather than in smooth ovals circulating the canary globe -
i forgot what i was supposed to say...
... ... ... ... ah! in the 20th century you wrote books
and earned and gambled the earnings...
in the 21st century you write and you gamble...
a lot of people are trapped in the 21st century,
writers don't have the leisure time -
if you write you write out of a love for the actual
act of writing, none of us will have a chance
to write and gamble on the horses,
the two fused - we write and gamble -
there's no chance to earn anything more it -
the harsh reality being - you have to chose
a certain type of poverty to accomplish a continuity
with writing - by writing you are providing the
inaccessible answers to escaping capitalism -
you have no answers, you have proofs without
question - i can't write and party like 20th
century's elites could - i don't care how far criticism of
my writing goes - the public looked far too long
at the wrong crowd - we're the new Antoinette Marionettes -
the moral brigade is out and about -
Bohemia even in ideal will soon become the sudden
implosion of Yugoslavia;
but what of the great injustice they did unto Franz Kafka?
he said: better print my works in LARGE PRINT
or burn them... they didn't burn them, and published
his works in the tinniest of possible claustrophobic cares -
they did more justice to Bukowski - printing him
with print so large it could almost be considered a form
of Braille. i guess that's the best imagery that can be
acquired when describing humanity's moral compass -
a Bermuda triangle whack-job magnetism worth of a tornado.

Psychoactive,
More active than your passive hashtags
I'm acting like passion's lacking in these masses
No more than attractive caskets
Really just static traffic, molasses,
Fashion classes? You're wearing classic ashes.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
This *****.
Unstuck, this one's luck has run amok,
Adjust our distrust to highlight this unjustice.
I'm just one among us.

Us and them. Red and blue. White and black.
We're all dead, just lay me on the mat.
There's chitchat tryin' to get at where I'm at
And why I'm there.
It's riffraff.
I'm just kicking back.

Thy birth on January 13th – cervical contractions would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove to synchronize his seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks after ma parents did pro create
Imminent lviii plus years ago to date
this present baby boomer doth indubitably and inherently equate
Nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate
neurological manifestation sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous to frontispiece per the story I hate
of my life and hard times, when all of a sudden out the blue irate

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating, and describing me own Pigs Bay
Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay
riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did Swiss hide dill naught
   to decimate with Sherman determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times) referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an ****** that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.

Do you ever look at the sea?
Thinking to yourself where on Earth you could be?
Looking at seashells and conches,
Take a deep breath from your conscious.

Hearing laughter from the turquoise waves,
Wondering where the dolphins might bay.
Take in the maiden's dainty splash,
Creating scenery like that of endless riffraff.

Perhaps it's a bit of a bore.
Well the beach always has a lot in store.
If it's too much for you on the floats,
Don't mind joining the others on the sailboats.

Could someone please reach up an unscrew the moon
Hush the curs and the coyotes , the 'werewolves' and the
loons  ..                                                    ­                                                         Blackout the neighbors , the katydids and wildcats , the rabble and the riffraff
Will you please hide the bulb and let a poor man nap* ...

If I was my own man
I’d be out not in
I’d be bad not good
I’d eat goose not food
I’d be loose not leashed
I’d be first not least
I’d be chaser not chased
I’d be stud not chaste
I’d be wolf not woof
I’d be riffraff not poofed
I’d be beast not boy
that is...
until dinnertime.

Okay Mummy?

Enshrined for all posterity
mine benediction for reverence,
whereby conflict resolution
ameliorated courtesy peaceable solutions.

An adulation, concatenation, encapsulation,
gratification, introspection, et cetera
encompassing poignant episodes of mein kampf.

Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line
state of the art COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive girls
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledger
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.
Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with

attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Philanderer,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble.

Wily wordsmith wields wisdom and wit
renders requiem welcoming thee to visit,
no matter foisting poetic riffraff (mine)
necessitates applying figurative tourniquet
to staunch potential
life threatening hemorrhage
oozing out fifty shades of
your gray cerebral moon unit,
thus best be extremely cautious
heed warning to preserve
self interest and quit
while ahead, i.e. stop reading
and surreptitiously exit,

now lest noggin contents
rendered into pureed blivit
causing irrevocable damage,
now just for fun grab
amusement park ride ticket,
and picture yourself
in a boat on a river
squarely bobbing along...
barely staying afloat
courtesy soaked sponge square pants
within skeletal ricket
tee skiff analogous to
time warped white picket

fence forever lost and seasick
out of desperation imploring malefic
powers that be while moored thick
within (think) Scylla and Charybdis
not caring a lick
despite super tramping cheap trick
worse fate than death,
where metaphorical flick
finds one human flotsam and jetsam (ye)
violently ****** into realm wick
head witch, which
in toto along metaphorical yellow brick
road nsync cues soundcloud

faintly reminiscent of Herman's hermit
mid nineteen sixties approximate
time Beatles made mop top headlines
both bands selling
one after another smash hit,
where half crazed lasses frenziedly
screamed and threw maniacal fit
activating advent of groupies
they made nun sense sickle habit
to shadow many rock and roll band
initially majority identifying as Brit
nowadays global musical hodgepodge
synthesized linkedin with fitbit.

I christen this for those too far gone villainous listeners drifting in and out where all space and sound differs from the inner louse, spinning out now new spouse left with the umpteenth kid I lost count got it straight out from the horse mouth, even got a giftbag made of **** rags from the riffraff that bought it with tickets and mixed it with the ripped off gift tags.

Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system no less,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive gals
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledge er
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish,
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.

Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with
attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust hypothetical fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin down on miscreants
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Phil Ander er,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debsauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble
methinks ye uttered vamoose,
hence best make a bee line and hastily scramble.

at Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School

As a Halloween costume,
one year during early grade school,
my father got the brilliant idea
for his sole son to be dressed
with one of a kind getup.

Missus Shaner
(the talon clawed, shriveled
relic of a dinosaur,
who taught fifth grade)
gave me first prize,
and subsequently felt so convinced
about authenticity of this kid
being “privileged white trash”,
she notified another kid
dressed as a janitor
to dispense with me
in the school dumpster.

The sanitation disposal company
drove me (and subsequently
dumped yours truly
among the real *******
in the dumpster)
to nearest landfill
loaded with all kinds of junk
such as food scraps, recyclables,
and soiled diapers.

Over a short span of time,
the detritus commingled
into one noxious brew
of a despicable fly haven,
whereby jiggling lifelike maggots,
jumpstarted, lunched, and nursed putrescence
re: reeking and teeming vibrantly
with yum zuck for a swamp thing,
I seemed to be metamorphosed
into sewer rat as if by some cruel hoax.

Nothing prepared, neither sickened
nor violated senses
of smell, sight, taste, and touch
to the maximum factor
intolerant of odoriferous odious stench.

Each pestilential assault
issued an appalling refrain
courtesy Fiona Apple's:
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do.

Before mine myopic bespectacled eyes
(smarting from constant comet drubbing irritants
(which glasses – rather bifocals –
caked with smudge good as naught),
stayed wide shut from inundation
of said corrosive gaseous shaped
oxbow lake comprising wreath like wisps.

Liberty vis a vis in sight
envisioned visibly threatened offshoots
of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,
sordidly slithering silently,
yet straightaway as a scene
from some spooky sideshow
or “haunted house”.

This ugly slop
splashed upon mine formerly
pristine academic uniform
appeared near identical
to the grub hub (the lunch lady served)
splattered sundry speckles
sans sundry detritus,
which found me writhing with nausea.

Thee nasty muck and mire
found this formerly introverted boy
transformed into a sponge bobbing
squarely panting creature
from the black lagoon,
whose skinny sea legs  
sought semi-solid surface
to stand upright position amidst
variegated flotsam and jetsam.

Dishabille appearance acquired
a fresh splattered coat of rancid slimy
green eggs and ham with bacon
covered gangly arms
(among other bit pieces of moldy clothes,
food and iconic library oddment)
ricocheted unpredictably as trash truck
violently shook up and down
all night long en route on this highway to hell
found me thunderstruck
(before being buried alive in Moyer’s Dump),
which toxic brew would be declared
a Super Fund Site
and shuttered in the near future.

Once Robert Hall wardrobe
affixed with a capitalone fancyfeast
of grateful dead road ****,
kickstarter from some automotive contraption,
and plenti of fish heads
(with thine square pants
trimmed with lovely bones),
I felt indistinguishable
from regular riffraff riding shotgun.

When random trucker parked and stopped,
the awful bin laden made ready
to empty contents within the mountain
of olfactory noxious material.

A thought occurred,
that now might be the golden
(or rather **** steeped) opportunity
to extricate myself
from morass of mish mashed,
spud nicked linkedin kindled juggernaut,
icky first class bric a brac.

Dragged through mud, white becomes black
Sifting through the filth of life
Moments are hours, thoughts are years
Time stands still in pain, and no tongue to taste joy

The wheel of the living spins
New creations jump off its spokes
Souls seek comfort in familiar places

The noise of life is deafening
Reality breaks free of mindfulness
Moments disappear, reactions occur
The old man is left with the absence of nostalgia of his long life

The herd chases happiness, and think it noble
Its pursuit plunders well-built roads
Deserving of Nothingness is no burden at all
Soaring above the Riffraff to no avail

Whereby yours truly presages and doth abhor
nothing short of an imminent civil war
dwarfing insurrection on January 6, 2021
oddly enough even reducing
ordinary decibels to a mute whisper
madding crowd trumpeting cacophony of ˈthȯr
drowning out sense and sensibility
allowing, enabling, and providing
golden opportunity for anarchy to run rampant
one issuing, earthshaking, and booming
as one collective soul with pride

against prejudice queercore
amidst pandemonium of lawlessness
voices at the forefront ear splitting din
most all social media platforms
buzzfeeding, jump/kickstarting,
and twittering bigotry,
gender inequity, and misogyny nevermore
gender diversity celebrated
reveling harmoniously think
arranged marriage of Kokila and Kishore
parents (most likely deceased)

of Menil and Amit,
one former best high school buddy
with my youngest sister Shari Todd
for most of her sixty three years an herbivore,
and in most respects the antithesis of Eeyore,
(a pessimistic, gloomy, depressed,
anhedonic, old grey stuffed donkey
and friend of title character, Winnie-the-Pooh),
the former would never stand a chance stayin alive
during the reign of brontosaur,
and other so called terrible lizards.

Aforementioned fatalistic political forecast
would translate as absolute zero freedoms
as entrusted with Declaration of Independence,
and Constitution, which incendiary rhetoric
already trumpeted courtesy Republican
dictator wannabe, who will eviscerate
any and all social progressive policies
would essentially leave a **** government
devoid of recognizable Democratic polity.

Lemme plagiarize myself
and express sardonic wit
alliteration with the letter "R,"
I gleefully, playfully, and zestfully transmit
the following poem,
the proto antagonist
will nary even garner an obit
no dead giveaway signs
only brave hearts pointing *******
subtly signaling welcome
to the black parade, the sole intermit
where gewgaws (trolls)
with orange hair sold.

revealing Ronald **** revisited.

Regarding ridiculous rhymeless
ruminative rhythm rankles readers.

Repugnant racist Republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler
rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric
radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts
Refrains retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights
ruckus ricochets revenant reign
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick;
render ruinous ramifications
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.

Rabid ****** rictus
rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod
routing reigning royalty.

Reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality
rides Rolls Royce
relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.

Riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response
revisit rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization
recalcitrant reactors release rapture
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance
raconteurs rack rubles.

Red room reflects Republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated
rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory
rapier robed robbers
ransack reliquary resounding retaliation
retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation rightly remembered
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
Raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled
rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked
refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment
road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.

Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response
rife rampage removes respectability
responsible roused restitution refuted
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway
railroad reverberates rivalry.

Reflexive ramrod reaction
reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation;
Rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.

Requisition requires resilient reseeding republic
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing
rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.

Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins
registering ******* romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!

at Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School
interestingly enough landed me a grubhub grab bag.

I rooted thru poetry anthology of mine,
and came across an unpublished poem
by one obscure poet (me), whose trademark
wit and wisdom hallmark
cardinal characteristics
of posthumous fame and fortune
largesse most likely
tabby bestowed upon grand kittens -
appended courtesy Facebook
since none of my two (both
twenty something aged) darling daughters
opted to be fruitful and multiply.

Courtesy brainchild of dear old dad
(actually when alive
and in his prime, he happened to be spunky
as an overgrown lad),
unanimous assent between him and mother
(she also when young, his junior by a tad)
both agreed their quiet natured son
(yours truly plus younger sister)
best be outfitted as *******.

Anyway, as a Halloween costume,
one year during early grade school,
my father got the brilliant idea
for his sole son to be dressed
with one of a kind getup.

Missus Shaner – long since gone to dust
(the talon clawed, shriveled
relic of a dinosaur,
who taught fifth grade)
gave me first prize,
and subsequently felt so convinced
about authenticity of this kid
being “privileged white trash”,
she notified another kid
dressed as a janitor
to dispense with me
in the school dumpster.

The sanitation disposal company
drove me (and subsequently
dumped yours truly
among the real *******
in the dumpster)
to nearest landfill
loaded with all kinds of junk
such as food scraps, recyclables,
and soiled diapers.

Over a short span of time,
the detritus commingled
into one noxious brew
of a despicable fly haven,
whereby jiggling lifelike maggots,
jumpstarted, lunched, and nursed putrescence
re: reeking and teeming vibrantly
with yum zuck for a swamp thing,
I seemed to be metamorphosed
into sewer rat as if by some cruel hoax.
Nothing prepared, neither sickened
nor violated senses
of smell, sight, taste, and touch
to the maximum factor
intolerant of odoriferous odious stench.

Each pestilential assault
issued an appalling refrain
courtesy Fiona Apple's:
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do.

Before mine myopic bespectacled eyes
(smarting from constant comet drubbing irritants
(which glasses – rather bifocals –
caked with smudge good as naught),
stayed wide shut from inundation
of said corrosive gaseous shaped
oxbow lake comprising wreath like wisps.

Liberty vis a vis in sight
envisioned visibly threatened offshoots
of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,
sordidly slithering silently,
yet straightaway as a scene
from some spooky sideshow
or “haunted house”.

This ugly slop
splashed upon mine formerly
pristine academic uniform
appeared near identical
to the grub hub (the lunch lady served)
splattered sundry speckles
sans sundry detritus,
which found me writhing with nausea.

Thee nasty muck and mire
found this formerly introverted boy
transformed into a sponge bobbing
squarely panting creature
from the black lagoon,
whose skinny sea legs
sought semi-solid surface
to stand upright position amidst
variegated flotsam and jetsam.

Dishabille appearance acquired
a fresh splattered coat of rancid slimy
green eggs and ham with bacon
covered gangly arms
(among other bit pieces of moldy clothes,
food and iconic library oddment)
ricocheted unpredictably as trash truck
violently shook up and down
all night long en route on this highway to hell
found me thunderstruck
(before being buried alive in Moyer’s Dump),
which toxic brew would be declared
a SuperFund Site
and shuttered in the near future.

Once Robert Hall wardrobe
affixed with a capital one fancy feast
of grateful dead roadkill,
kickstarter from some automotive contraption,
and plenti of fish heads
(with thine spongy bobbing square pants
trimmed with lovely bones),
I felt indistinguishable
from regular riffraff riding shotgun.

When random trucker parked and stopped,
the awful bin laden made ready
to empty contents within the mountain
of olfactory noxious material.

A thought occurred,
that now might be the golden
(or rather **** steeped) opportunity
to extricate myself
from morass of mish mashed,
spud nicked mine
linkedin kindled juggernaut,
icky first class bric a brac.