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Paul Butters Oct 2018
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.

Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.

What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.

And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.

It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.

Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.

But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.

Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.

Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\10\2018.

Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Stephen Chapman indeed requested this...
Mike Hauser Sep 2017
Every time that I mention
The good times they are missing
These Young Whipper Snappers get bored

You'd think with me talking
That I was speaking Martian
Them thinking me out of my gourd

They can't fathom a time
With T.V. black and white
Where all day only three channels played

And at the days end
They'd play the anthem
With the rest of the night being the ant race

Or of a telephone
Rotary with dial tone
Where the calls were cheaper at night

These Young Whipper Snaps
Have no idea
How good we had it in life

With no microwave
To heat up a plate
It was all done slow on the stove

Like warm milk at night
To help you sleep tight
That's a pleasure that they'll never know

Or going 90 in Dad's car
With kids as wild as we were
Jumping back and forth between seats

The only need for restrant
Was a roll of duct tape
Or a trunk that's at least three kid deep

Where moms kicked us outside
Saying see you at dinner time
And you better stay out of trouble

If I need you before then
And you hear the bell ring
Your **** best be home on the double

With information overload
Today's fads come and go
All in the blink of an eye

Life these day's is in the crapper
For these Young Whipper Snappers
With no idea of what is a good time
Perig3e Nov 2010
Love mourner
Angst angler
Thesaurus eyer
Rip-rapper
Suet idler
Dream creamer
Cascade scribbler
Intro-***-er
Guts gusher
Endorphinater
Sonnet snoozer
Trochee tripper
Iambic lamer
Spondee sniveler
Whisper whipper
Music quencher
Apt-less  adjectiver
Yeast yearner
Simile stitcher
Metaphor monger
Exclaimationizer!
All rights reserved by the author
Mike Hauser Oct 2013
That's it I've had it
Tired of being ignored with a wink on the side
I'm tired of being told what old men should do
Going to start taking life on the flea..or is that the fly

I'm going to hit the streets of the city
And be known as that cool guy that raps
After I add a tad bit more Poligrip
So my dentures can get down with that

I'll get me a ball cap and turn it sideways
My pants already hang down past my crack
I'll even learn the latest catch phrase
Like, Hey dude..what's up wit dat?!

Think I'll even rhinestone my walker
For that little extra bling, bling
They'll say check out that crazy rapper daddy-o
Man that cat can really swing

I'll keep the lyrics clean like I do my diaper
That's why I bring my nursie with me
After all she's a wonderful wiper
Don't worry I pay the extra wiping fee

I'll also get her to hold up the cue cards
Since my memory over the years has waned
No longer to be known as that old white *******
Beating JZ at his own game

I'll get jiggy with it every chance I get
As I fizizzile my way to the top
I'll be bigger than that guy with the candy name
That young whipper snapper will melt in the hands of this rapping GrandPop
Herman Nucleosis Mar 2013
You have your walls
To protect you from the outside
But what's the use of walls
When the enemy's inside?

Where the hand that hurts
Can be raised in the kitchen
Where the legs that kick strong
Walk with your children

Where the unstoppable big mouth
Talks endlessly of nonsense
Where limited points of view
Teach twisted, shallow lessons

Where broken bricks of self-defense
Channel your pains to others
And it's only a matter of time
Before the whipped becomes the whipper

Where the pleas of the heart
Are drowned by the radio
Where it's another place you dream of
And a time long, long ago

Where all hope for the future
Is lost with the winds
Where smiles are expensive
And cheap are the sins

Where you work yourself to sadness
So you can be happy someday
Where gold is high up in the hierarchy
Humility and patience easily thrown away

Where the big heavy rock
Is a simple hello
But as light as air
The flaws of your fellows

Where guns for protection
Are turned to your head
So what are walls now, do tell
I need them around my bed.
Francis May 2017
Consistently inquisitive,
Of phenomena greater than man,
Searching for the solutions unknown,
Intuitive is forever my brand.

What happens when man,
Reaches beyond infinite measures,
When we meet below the abyss,
When society succeeds in endeavors?

The very curiosity of being,
Makes being all the more wild,
Dreaming of the unlimited,
Exceeding our endless multiverse.

Evolution or creation,
Big bangs and natural selection,
Why blue and red turn purple,
Or hot becomes cold on an axis?

A whipper asking why,
To questions that wallow in sunder,
We contain desires to seek the truth,
But will always be left to wonder
Mike Hauser May 2013
Sitting in an open meadow
To the call of whipper wills
He places his pen in motion
As the winds calm to a still

Nature turns to bend an ear
To what he has to say
The stream near by so crystal clear
Slows down in its wake

The words flow out in rhythm
As mighty eagles soar
Distant thunder clouds cry out loud
Urging him for more

He is natures poet
Brought forth at this time
To bring nature back together
In simple poem and rhyme

But the poetry isn't so simple
As rhyme flows through near by wood
Mother nature relinquishes the reigns
All for the common good

Every living thing feels the power
In this poets pen
Waiting for the perfect timing
To where all can begin again

With life  back in balance
He travels to where it is he came
Until we are in need
Of natures poet once again
Ken Pepiton Feb 12
What is a daemon?
In computing, a daemon (pronounced DEE-muhn) is a program that runs continuously as a background process and wakes up to handle periodic service requests, which often come from remote processes.
------------------------
Did no one ever tell you, child,
never swear for no excuse,
plead guilty,
confess you was beguiled,
indeed. By some when
back then you had kin, what
made time to preform
the secret baby making.

Once upon a time,
we were always orphans,
from first whipper snappers used
to scrape tar from industrial chimneys.

Songs of Innocense in a new age,
learning old religions decay to mythos,

whence new religions tie memorium,
whence each season we return to recall

our broken spirits, how so and so sang,
lala live for today, la la live for today,

some same stories we recall, links,
URLs, to old sessions recording history,

close your eyes and drift away, listening,
much as winds seem to do, returning
on their circuits from collection
to collection, paid attention tokens, believed
to soften the hull on the gospel seed sown
to a cultivated faith, planted to propagate,

the idea of a secret code Truth uses in spirit form,
the Truth of truths, which, if known, even once,
makes the captive free,

mentally, happy as one can imagine,
under unchanging immutable terminii enforcing
order.

Order, called for, order in the court
of geeky oddball poetic discerners of like or love or not,

Thought traditions trades across epochs forming news,
too much to think about while considering sidereal extents.

Desiderata, poetic license, madejathank, Christian Nation,

Conquistadores were still heroes in 1954,
when the generation first born in the United Nations
victory forever standardization of historical information,
- Boomers stepping aside, survivors come to remember
- first were we to be graded by machines for marks
- made in Number two pencils rounded to one swipe
- width, right answers, only, only, one swipe between
- the lines, esoteric practice for precision aim.

to be overseen by servants of the victorious economy,
as pieces resorting to old formerly used rules of conduct,

smell the wind the strange idea carries,
worth weight, pushing power, pumping umph,

known cost of use, userer's fee, faith, the story held true,

with the evidence in the box, the bag, the sacred bundle,
all but forgotten, faith becomes the evidence of things unseen,

children are told
to hold these truths, those being taught you,
as you line up
in patterns
of proven paid attention, facing the flag

child, you should remember, wordless, for lack of a phraze,
thinking What? What am I pledging, what is pledging, I swear

I mean, I swanee, by golly, gosh ****, shucks, I ghucking did not know.
Feeling chthonically frisky on a warm day after a long storm, called an atmospheric river these days.
Moi Saint Paddy Fake Trump Petted Family Irish vignette
At the tender age of fifteen years old, Aaron O’Harris boarded the Dublin gangplank and made a mental note to drop the “O” as this paternal grandson faintly recalls such anecdote told to me when just a wee itty bitty teensy weensy whipper snapper of a lad.

His decisive gait echoed across the wooden walkway.

Straight away (on that blustery march dawn – circa late twentieth century), he briskly boarded the ship that would shortly depart from the Emerald Isle and take him to America.

My paternal grandfather quickly wiped away stray tears at the prospect of severing ties with a large brood of siblings.

An abusive alcoholic father and passive mother would hardly notice the absence one son among a dozen plus offspring.

Matter of fact, a voluntary choice to become an immigrant in the Matzoh land of milk and honey would translate as one less mouth to feed.

The journey across the cold waters of the Atlantic began in earnest once the captain and crew pulled up anchor and instinctively oriented sights toward an invisible point thousands of miles distant.

While on board the long journey, he (known in traditional Gaelic as Sainmhíniú) kept the tedium at bay and kept himself occupied with divers pursuits.

An accidental trait eventually discerned in him from others to be a natural born leader by other passengers.

A good many of these other fellow countrymen and women (many with small children in tow) shared the common goal of starting life anew in the United States, and discovered him to be adroit at not only playing such games as checkers, chess, cribbage, but adept with singing (in traditional Brogue), and performing fancy foot work.

Improvisational songs (based on tunes from the home of Eire) evoked sadness at leaving the motherland (steeped in a rich history steeped in legend and lore), yet also excitement about beginning an adventure with countless opportunities to witness potential fortune or fame.

Visions of streets paved with plenty of golden wealth brimmed and danced supposedly available and within easy reach for those who possessed pluck.
Randhir kaur Mar 2017
Oh please help to get me.
Hey whipper-snapper be my vestige again.
Those trees are obscure, be my mirage again.
Far-flung from my kernel ,be my chain again.
Oh please help to get me,
Be mine and my again.
Mike Hauser Apr 2016
Wait a minute buddy
Is this some sort of joke
No one told me this would happen
The moment I got old

That all my youthful vigor
Would be replaced with aches and pains
And that I would barely remember
My first let alone last name

And that all the pills I'm taking
Would be my meal replacement
I should buy stock in Advil
I'd be a millionaire if you know what I'm saying

Luckily I'm not there yet
Where diapers are a necessity
Guess I have to thank my prostate
Keeping the *** from running freely

And the hair that used to be
On top this shinny head
In my early 50's dug a tunnel
That now comes out my nose instead

Every morning when I wake up
I'm now wondering who, what, when, and why
Heaven looks a lot like my bedroom
When I feel like I have died

Guess all those old farts in the home are laughing
Over the wool they've pulled for fun
But don't worry all you young whipper snappers
Your day is soon to come

Yes someone somewhere is cackling
At this the cruelest joke
Though I find nothing funny
About me growing old
Mike Hauser Mar 2016
That's it I've had it
Tired of being ignored with a wink on the side
I'm tired of being told what old men should do
Going to start taking life on the flea..or is that the fly

I'm going to hit the streets of the city
And be known as that cool guy that raps
After I add a tad bit more Poligrip
So my dentures can get down with that

I'll get me a ball cap and turn it sideways
My pants already hang down past my crack
I'll even learn the latest catch phrase
Like, Hey dude..what's up wit dat?!

Think I'll even rhinestone my walker
For that little extra bling, bling
They'll say check out that crazy rapper daddy-o
Man that cat can really swing

I'll keep the lyrics clean like I do my diaper
That's why I bring my nursie with me
After all she's a wonderful wiper
Don't worry I pay the extra wiping fee

I'll also get her to hold up the cue cards
Since my memory over the years has waned
No longer to be known as that old white *******
Beating JZ at his own game

I'll get jiggy with it every chance I get
As I fizizzile my way to the top
I'll be bigger than that guy with the candy name
That young whipper snapper will melt in the hands of this rapping GrandPop
James M Vines Aug 2016
When the cold wind blows and the Whipper Whippoorwill stops its nightly song. I walk among the tall Cedars that are evergreen. I see the hues of Blue and Silver on the needles of the tall sentinels that stand along the road and line the banks of rivers and streams. They fill the valley with their scent and give haven to birds from the coming winter chill. Though their bark is rough, their heart is soft and fragrant. Sometimes I cry when one is cut down, but I do not mourn long, for I know it will be transformed. The tree will become a hope chest or the frame of a bed filled with childhood memories. So I walk on among old friends and feel a sense of peace. As I stand among the cedars of the valley where I live.
Do you see what i see ,
The moon is on the hill,
The evening cries a melody,
The whipper will the chorus,
The symphony that sings to me of old forgotten fears,
And to my eyes it brings gentle flowing tears,
A goodnight dream a fantasy,
A lost reality ,
The days go by filled with time,
The seasons change yet i remain the same as ever was,
Through aged eyes the season fly through summer autumn spring,
And in the end the winter has become a part of me,
As i lay chilled up on the hill where i lay in peace,
Don't weep for me for you see ill live in memory.
she stands at the body mirror she got for her 16 birthday
she just looks at herself

for days that is all she did
for weeks she stood at this mirror

a month passes
we notice something different about her

she has lost a few pounds
we all assume she is getting in shape

3 months pass
she is very weak and thin

we get worried
she hasn't eatin' in days

everyday she stands at her mirror
looking for more flaws

the mirror will always whipper a lie to the young girl
"your fat","you'll never be beautiful"

she believes these fibs the ugly mirror will tell
she dwells on the words it will say

one day it tells her something new
"making yourself bleed is the answer that will wash you slate clean"

on cut two cut 3 cut four
dripping from her writs to the floor

a small tear falls from her eye
she lays back as her eyes begin to roll

she takes the breathe that was her last
her mirror has finally destroyed this young girl
Classy J Jan 2020
This is a story of a kid named Gunther,
Now, Gunther started out life with tragedy,
Growing up with an abusive mother,
& a drunk father hooked on drugs instead of his family.
Gunther instantly understood he had to be a hunter,
A survivor in order to push through this adversity.
Most days Gunther was scrounging for scraps,
A young kid in a mad city, this certainly ain’t a place for whipper-snaps.
Saying his prayers while being surrounded by sharks.
A good kid in a big city, walking alone without a safe-house,
Feeling like a mouse,
Living in a society ready to put him in a jailhouse.
Treating him less like a human, and more like a fox.
For his skin isn’t a kin to dominant standards,
So, he is left to be an ostracized *******.
Cast out by factors beyond his control.
With a system designed to **** out his soul.
****!

The story of Gunther,
A story of someone who was like a brother,
A story of someone trying his best to get out the gutter.
This is the story of Gunther.

But things started to get better for Gunther,
He was doing well in school which made him feel like an achiever.
Dreaming about graduating and making enough money to have a better future.
Around this time, his father got sober and gave his life to the creator,
But even though his father became healthier and kinder,
He also became stricter,
Striving for perfect and if Gunther wasn’t that he was deemed a sinner,
For Gunther entering the church,
Was like entering a burner,
But he kept going to please his father,
For his mother was gone,
And his little brother was too young.
To fully understand the pressure.
Nor did Gunther want his brother to face the same pressures.
As he did when he was younger.
Having the same exposure to demons and monsters.
So, Gunther decided to take on the tether.
And face the bitter weathers.

The story of Gunther,
A story of someone who was like a brother,
A story of someone trying his best to get out the gutter.
This is the story of Gunther.

When I met Gunther it was junior high,
And I can’t lie, I couldn’t actually stand the guy,
He was my bully, the thorn in my side.
Little did I know our fates would be intertwined.
Becoming my best friend, leaving our past beef behind.
Having some shared stories of being despised,
However, I would soon learn that some past pain can’t die,
And Gunther started to get addicted to drug supplies,
And starting drinking like everyday was the 1st of July.
He would soon start to push our friendship aside,
In order to prioritize all his time fiending for his next high,
Becoming a monster with cold red eyes,
But I still tried to help him the best I could,
After all we were from the same hood,
But it’s hard to heal a heart turned to wood.
And, I knew that if I stayed his friend he would drag me down too.
So, I said my goodbye because that’s the only thing I could do.
****.

The story of Gunther,
A story of someone who was like a brother,
A story of someone who couldn’t overcome the gutter,
This is the story of Gunther.
Thomas Oct 2016
I have told you of the delema I face with my mother and sister, in the perspective of my sister.
My mother is drawing near to the brink of suicidal thoughts,
All due to the conflictions with my sister, I continuesly blamed my mother, not knowing, not wanting to know my sisters role as the whipper to the whipped was.   But I am at a crossroads, I believe my sister, I believe my mother, but to fight for each other's approval is absurd.
The thing is that I am a person who strives to make things better, no matter the cost or the probability of success.
Right now the war at the peak,
My mother is praying to her god that she be hit by a semi.
While my sister revolts against society and destroys her future.
While I sit here uselessly in between the both of them pulling them away from the bridge of suicide.
It's a statement on my life
Michael Marchese Jan 2017
My fire might flicker
Though wild it roars
When oil is thicker
Than water-thin wars
In my rivers of blood
Which boil and fill  
With anger they flood
From the barrels you spill 
Your acid rain shower
Then raises frustration
As I solar power
A new generation

Which melts all the ice
In my cool-head aloof  
For no snow-blinded guise
Can bury the truth
Down further they dig
And then drill ever deeper
While we buy the rig
That they keep selling cheaper
But money is cold
And it's making me sick
And it freezes my soul
Like each cabinet pick

Their whipper winds crack
With white lightning force
But I thunder write back
With tornado discourse
For my tropical breeze
Has felt too many die
And my last temperate trees
Have heard Mother Earth cry
Her judgment will soon
Blow the guilty away  
In a righteous typhoon
That I've long kept at bay
Michael Marchese Mar 2018
As gold as my soul as it slithers and shivers
And withers
To smithereens
First she was fire and ice at the same time
Second was burning wealth land with the moonshine
Deep as the sky when I’m high in the sky
Now I fear of no depths of the bottle, I ask why?
Try as I might to undo what I do
To imagine the tombs they await I and you
They equate I and you
They degrade I and you
And they make us see through what is not I and you
One more reason to fight
For a lefty theft right
To threat Tet upon agent’s of oranges blight
Splittin’ 3/5th’s a white
With arms-dealin’ pro life
Like it’s Jefferson smokin’ his whipper wind pipe
Diggin’ Ghraibs for his slaves in the back of a black site
Business is boomin’ like Truman in ruins
We trade magic mushrooms with animist humans
That’s just how we do it
In 50 state fascist Ford family reunions
Of clinically cynical gimmick illusions
Malthusian predictions
On stocked market shelves
Just as coated in sugar
As Keibler elves’ spells
British rebels who colonize
Liberty bells
Pledging sacrosanct vanity
Brinksmanship sanity
Phosphorous fire and fury brutality
Tyrant king lizards of ye olde feudality
The light was embered coal,
That danced within your soul,
As the sky fled from the evening,
And once again alit the coin that silvered in the night,
Though not bright its gentle light would guide me from the shadows,
The air is chilled as whipper will cried into the darkness,
As wind will moan I'm not alone deep within my chasm,
A dream of light some other night with darkness all around me,
And dream well on until the sun sweeps the dark horizons ,
As light will soon so i shall too retreat into the morning.
Ameliorate Mar 2020
Curdled cream and three separate drafts of a memory I can't quite pen properly.
Disappointment inbound, pouring the first cup of freshly brewed coffee down the drain.
Had I checked the date this wouldn't have been a waste of $4; but a solemn reminder of analogies leaping from my brain.
Cycle of sleeping all day to lie awake during the nighttime, overthinking. Curtains of feeling bad about inability to wake normally, darkness of the evening encompassed I finally pull myself out of the bed.
Despite this current pattern, last winter undoubtedly worse with feelings of self destruction and loathing.
For currently I do not cry every waking hour, just wish I was different with no apparent response to change.
Cats continue to be stricken with yet another upper respiratory response to declined immune system of an exotic breed.
Lost debit card, jobless flounder.
No appetite or desire to binge eat for the first day of my existence.
Headlight reflections crawl across the ceiling and I'm suddenly five years old again, afraid of almost everything.
Summer evenings when the whipper-well called out haunting symphony of their nighttime songs.
I never quite believed they were birds, moreover monsters and I never heard those calls other than childhood.
My father outside, and I in the grass.
Childhood wonder as he climbed a ladder to retrieve me a piece of the moon.
Wide eyed awe at this miraculous feat, my father could reach the moon.
Unnoticed by young eyes, the moons sphere just out of reach by trillions of lightyears.
A rock plucked off the driveway.
He must've been proud of his farce, my bewilderment and excitement beaming.
I love you.
Twenty five years later, a memory I haven't connected to in decades.
Perhaps the next time I look to the man in the moon, I'll see your face etched softly on the surface.
That radiating glow reminding me things will be alright.
It's been an odd winter, my heart is cooled more than our weather as of late.
Somewhere through the forests of Sandilands Provincial forest a deer crunches across the snow.
Silence, except for its breath, a softness.
Trees encompass, nurture and protect.
You are home.
I wrote this a month after the suicide of my father.
© JUPITERSPROUT_ 2020
Big Virge Feb 2020
These Days It's CLEAR ... !!!

I've Now Passed ... " Those Years " ... !!!

Where ... RUNNING My Mouth ...
To PROVE WITHOUT Doubt That My Thoughts Are SOUND ...
Is NO LONGER A Need That Lives Within Me ... !!!

AGREE To DISAGREE Is Now The Theme ...
With Which I ROLL When The Youth Get BOLD ...

And Wanna TELL ME How Things Now Go ...
....... I KNOW What I KNOW ....... !!!

As I'm SURE They Do ...
But There's Something In The Youth That's NOW ON SHOW ...

A DISRESPECT For FACTS That Come From OLDER Mans' ...
YUP ... Mans' Like Me Who Deal In FACTUAL SPEECH ... !!!

NOT Conspiracies ...
That Are Now On TV's ... !!!!

I CONSPIRE To REVEAL ...
The Things Youngsters NOW SEE ...
That Simply ARE NOT REAL ...
And ARE FILLED With FALLACIES ... !!!

Like ... DODGY Referees ...
And Stars Whose SHINE Concedes .......
To Personal DEFEATS That Leads Me To Believe ...
DEEP DOWN That ... They Are WEAK ... !!!!!!

SO MANY New Age CLOWNS ... !!!
Who've Signed These CRAZY DEALS ... !!!!!

Marketing ... Promotion ...
So YES Living ... " The DREAM " ... !!!

Causing A COMMOTION Because The Dream ... "Conceals" ...
A Lack of TRUE DEVOTION To What Most Want To See ... !!!

HIGH Quality ... NOT Sporting CHEATS ... !!!!!
Or MIMING Teens Whose Sheen Is CLEAN ...
Until We See Them ... BROKEN Down ... !!!!!

WITHOUT Being Drowned ...
By The HYPE That SURROUNDS ...

"They're the greatest thing to come along,
since Jesus Christ, The son of GOD !"

"The son of who, he's just a fool !
Check Bieber son, he is that dude !"

"Okay, can I ask, how old are you ?"

"I'm Twenty Two, what does that prove ?"

"It proves that you have a limited view !
Don't get it confused, I have one too,
but mine has seen, a bit more, nah' mean !
Respect for old heads, now seems to be dead, and I ain't that old !"

"Who told you so, you're grey and choose to not make moves,
your thinking's off, I think your mind's gone soft !"

"You're probably right, what could I have learnt
from seeing the times, when you had to earn,
your time to shine, and rep' that hype !"

YEAH ... " Rep' That Hype ! " ...

NOT Just Get Signed And Then SUDDENLY BE ...

" THE MAN " ... Like MIKE ... !!!!!

Or Like ... " ALI " ...

" THE GREATEST of ALL TIMES ! "

OPINIONS In The Young I DO WELCOME ...
But ONLY When RESPECT ...
Is What Young Heads Then COME WITH Next ... !!!

The Sad Thing Is ...
It's NOT JUST Kids NOW FLIPPING The Script ...

A LOT of OLDER Heads ...
Now Be Running Talk That's FOUL ... !!!
Since When Did EVERYBODY ...
Have Knowledge That Was GODLY ... !?!?!
These Days MOST Peoples' Arguments ...
Are CLEARLY Rather .... SHODDY .... !!!!!

To Me These Days It's CLEAR ...
These Whipper Snappers FEAR ...
Arguments of Reason ...
That PROVE Their Thoughts AREN'T Seasoned ... !!!

So When They're Brought ... It's TREASON .... !!!!!!
And Then COME OUT Their DEMONS ... !!!

DEFIANCE PRIDE And Then DENIAL ...
Passive AGGRESSION They KEEP Defending ...
UNTIL ... Common Sense Lessons ...
Leave Their Demons ... SUITABLY Weakened ... !!!

We've ALL Been There When Youth ... "ENSNARES" ...
Our Ability To HEAR The Things Most of Us FEAR ... !!!!!!!!!!

Because When Most Are ... " YOUNG " ...
It's CLEAR That WISDOM Comes ...

BEYOND ............................................................

..... " THOSE YEARS " .....
It's always an interesting write when looking back, especially at the changes that have occurred since your youth has faded, and you see and hear what the next generation, have to say .....
bekka walker Jan 2023
If love is to gold;
Your hands are to Midas.
In a pan of penne pasta,
Or sizzling out a fresh cracked la croix.
Touched my tummy,
Full of gold, Midas nurtured safety.
Don’t worry bubble guts,
Take a whipper for love.
Plunge, jump, reach,
go ahead,
Fall.
Into my pile of blankets on my sheepskin rug.
Share in ecstasy of being witnessed,
I call you to the stand!
In 1803 where we both reached for the same mango.
I loved that bodega, in that other life, where our souls crossed paths that last time.
Or so I can imagine.
Chris Sep 2019
If I were to take a ****** of the whipper snappers stack
Would I be put with the snappers pudding pack?
But perhaps a putters prepping prepares the snapper
But too prepared and the snappers pudding’s pack goes whack!
The snapper quacks in the snappers shack but what the snapper lacks
Is a sniping snappers smirk with a snapping remark
The whippersnappers friend the smiling shark remarks
“I’m glad to take part in such a part in the remote part of the park!”
“That snort was short” yelled from across the court was the upset porg.
For his movie failed and his ship had sailed beyond the mail to the forgotten land where's he derailed.
This was really quickly and poorly made but thought I might as well share it with you guys. Enjoy.
Big Virge Apr 2021
Okay So I’m An... Old Timer...
Whose A... POWERHOUSE Rhymer... !!!

And TOP NOTCH Rhyme Designer...

So I’m NOT Like These Grimers’... !!!
Or One With... One Liners...
Like Great Battle Rhymers... !!!

Or One Who Now Mumbles...
And Stumbles Like Dumbos... !!!
With PURE Mumbo Jumbo... !?!

But I AM One Whose Humble...
And READY To RUMBLE...

With Any Young Rapper...
Who Thinks That They’re Dapper...
Because of Rhyme Chapters...
They Run In Their Chatter...

Because I Will BATTER...
With POWERHOUSE Matter...

These Young Whipper Snappers...
With SUBJECTS That FLATTEN...
The Nonsense They’re Chatting... !!!

In Things That Now Factor...
In Rap Being... "Captured"...
And MUMBLED Away........
By Today’s Hip Hop Strays... !!!

So NO Hip Hop Hooray... !!!

Just POOR Verse That DISPLAYS...
A... World of Wordplay...
That’s Now FAR From GREAT... !!!

Like Those From The Days...
When Lyricists BLAZED...
And TRULY AMAZED... !!!

Through Wordplay They’d Create...
That Was... UNLIKE Todays...
That’s Mostly Now... LAME... !!!

And Gives Proof of Brain Drain...
That’s... BLATANT And PLAIN...

For REAL Emcees To See... !!!
Whose Wordplay Is REAL...
And NOT Made For Some Deal... !!!

That Makes Them Church Mouses...
Instead of Those Grounded...
By STRONG POWERHOUSES... !!!

Where Words AREN’T Just COUNTED... !!!
And Suitably... DROWNED In...
... Waterless Fountains... !!!

And MOUNTAINS of CRAP... !!!

BELIEVE Things Are Like That...
When It Comes To The Rap...
Brought By POWERLESS Cats... !!!

Whose Chat Is SO WEAK...
That When I Hear Them Speak...

My Powers INCREASE... !!!
Like SPIKES In DISEASE... !!!
That NEEDS To DESTROY...
All The IGNORANT Noise...
That Simply... ANNOYS... !!!

Due To Boys Who LACK Poise...
Who’ll Employ... ANYTHING...
For Their Verse To Get Heard... !!!!!!!

By Those In... “ The Burbs “...
Who Have... POWERHOUSES...

Where Moguls Stay Focussed...
On Structures Much WEAKER...
Than Lyrics Once FEATURED...

As Those That Showed POWER...
To... Lyrical COWARDS... !!!

Like Those Who Now FLOUNDER...
In... Showers of Powder... !!!

Because They CAN’T Cope...
With POWERHOUSE Smoke... !!!

That’s NOT Like The Dope...
That They SHUV Up Their Nose... !!!

It’s Now ALL ONE BIG JOKE...
Flows Now Deemed To Be COLD...

When They’re Those That SELL SOULS... !!!
To The Lowest of Bidders...
These INDUSTRY SINNERS...

Whose Houses Are SHROUDED...
In... DARKNESS And Hounds In...
All Kinds of BROKE Mountains... !!!

Where Cowboys Be Mounting...
Some Horses ABSORBING...
The ******* They’re TOUTING...
As Being Worth POUNDING...

Through Speakers When WEAKNESS...
And Lyrics Worth DROWNING... !!!

Are What They Be FLOUTING...
That CLEARLY AREN’T Founded...

By Feeding Off Writers...
Who REALLY ARE RHYMERS...

Who Flow WITHOUT DOUBT...

Like A Rhyme...

... " POWERHOUSE "...
There really aren't so many around anymore !
(jokes all in jest)

Hard to believe, I orange in a lee
started life as barely visible speck!

Just in the course of healthy growing
season, this former minute nearly
microscopic entity developed into
quite pleasing nose cone herbivorous

specimen, though modesty restrains
me to rattle off an excess of adjectives
to describe fine physique of this
munch able mealy mouthed morsel.

Though my existence the epitome of
any ordinary carrot, the natural and
man-made dangers got drilled into my
cortex from the moment sprouts spring
from that black kin décor fleck.

Matter of fact, the bunch of family
members frequently primed and trained
in case creature with row of sharp
front teeth seeks fancy feast

These practice drills catapulted me,
(and others in same graduating class)
to cope with what crops up out of
deeply grounded growing
sense of false security.

Although just equipped with only
circular reddish trunk, and lack
extra limbs to apply defensive
maneuvers, the techniques taught
to us at prestigious carrot league

school focused on artfully crafty
movements, sans wriggling deeper
below topsoil in an attempt to thwart
thumping hindquarters of one
or group of rabbits.

Now tis wise those once cute bunnies
heed thy advice RUN RABBIT RUN!

Ever since firmly anchored in the earth
via number silvery tendrils as young
whipper snapper, me dad constantly
forewarned me to be on the lookout

and take every measure to avoid the
likes of Bugs Bunny, Kit Carson,
Peter Cottontail, and their motley posse
of voracious appetites for destruction.

At prime of full-blown young adulthood,
and essentially as grown prized well-rooted
stew pen dis crème of the crop nose cone
(built superbly shaft like), a promising
adulthood awaited me.

Unbeknownst to farmer Boyce Harris,
this outsize conical vegetable would
sprout into quite handsome inviting
healthy snack.

A thatch of tousled mop top red matted
hair exemplify carrot teen years.
So…hear me and listen up, ye hares who
house a harem of hungry herbivores.

Ye aint gettin to sink yaw choppers into
me crunchy grate ‘C’ pulp and chamber
that secretes savory sweet celluloid.
I yam not stew ped!

Over a goblet of fire me deathly hallowed
juice will pots sub lee only grudgingly relent.

Defense against the well red orange arts
prepare this protean plant to avoid pursuits
that whet an overly active appetite for
suffering like fate of late mister potato head.

At all costs, an orthodox upbringing instilled
herculean efforts to steer clear of radical stirring
raw bits, which subversive underground posse
frequently met short, nasty and brutish outcome.

Many accounts repeated detail brutish slave labor
that often comprise 1. faux nose as ideal abutment
to hold up bifocals for an aging frosty the snowman
or  2. never volunteer myself in role of that metes
outcome of scarecrow or strawman.

These innocent furry creatures possess two sharp
front teeth wreak havoc and rent asunder and turned
many loving defenseless Daucus carota into pet
trill like liquefied car rot.
Ah...a flood of memories wash over
this anointed Goatama Boo Da,
whose respected G.O.A.T status
among generic green acres,
which swathed across Highland Manor
analogous to petty coat junction
showcasing, jumpstarting and donning
a bright towering bewitched kid
barren regal deportment
proudly trumpeting himself
as Maga hatted apprentice
being mentored courtesy this ole buck,

where attendant goatherd didst ha
intimate diddly squat,
hence never did expect me
(an adept harried style swiftly tailored
windswept teary eyed pundit)
sentimentally woke evincing
young whipper snapper
metamorphosed into chargé d'affaires
exceeding wildest expectations
to apply goatee
to dab moistened eyes ma
lament tab lee recalling blissfully innocent
kickstarter libidinal oomph pa.

As a kid, this now middle aged old goat
silently bends back disbudding head
as if noggin didst float;
bleats, and thence
blinks back tears to emote,
asper remembrance of things past,
when me papa and late mama didst dote
via gently grooming my tattered raggedy coat
whereat patches of missing fur reveals bloat

head distended abdomen
no longer evinces picture
of mine prime head butting days
when unchecked chutzpah, daring do,
and exploratory forays
found this then runt
strayed far from the madding crowd
upon verdant fresh fields I didst graze
and sought out secluded cool shelter
from hot, humid summer haze,

where abundant bucking bronco energy
resorted, succumbed and tugged via natural
sluggish inertia and predilection to laze,
and oft times dreamt being trapped
within some M. C. Escher maze
given up for lost or...,when
n'er a reply from plaintive bleats,
whence upon awakening
bestowed ablutions to Billy Gotti goat,
(Latin Name Capra aegagrus hircus)
unstinting praise

groggy state elapsed with pleasant waft
of cooler August air
cloven hoofs confidently, gingerly,
and jerkily strode to espy clear
panoramic view when 'ere
afar off in the distance,
an indistinguishable glare
to view scenic
quintessential picture dis interfere

foretold a recognized
landmark comprising around
perimeter defined areas
hosting happy hustings
(no...not hustling) ground
encompassing accrued memories
to date within storied mound
caching predominantly pleasant
bouts of playtime, when siblings pound
for Avoirdupois pound
raced each other observed
by Mister Sun at his coterie of sound
clouded pillowy cerulean
celestial garden, which
helped get tension unwound.

Now while doddering, hobbling,
and limping with *** leg
(Battle of the bucks him
Boar skirmish) in old dote age,
which declining physical well being
restricts shenanigans akin
to limiting an artist prohibited
to paint with the color beige
to an ever shrinking unseen cage
soon...t'will be sent out to pasture,
whence concluding stage
of existence paid with demise
collected by grim reaper,
who only accepts deceased
as sole (soul surviving) standard wage.
My humblest apology if the following account
doth gross thee out forlorn childhood of mine
found further ostracization of me tantamount
being shipped off to a leprosarium.

As a chronic gold digger in early grade school,
specifically within nasal passages, I excelled at
locating awesome gooey gems. The pinky seemed
most opportune for button nose of mine as most
convenient handy implement to mine for juicy
succulent wads of yuck. Early academic ex pear
re: ants helped refine delicate art of reaching
pitch perfect snot. This individual craft essentially
entails extensive dexterity in conjunction with
recognizing ideal picking time. If one plunges

the little finger prematurely, nothing but a glob
of **** will dribble out. Best to wait until rock
hard sensation felt when applying pressure to
either nostril. The consistency of rock candy the
best analogy for this other than tasteful habit
instinctively learned when being housed in the
womb. Upon birth one or more phalanges often
solidly locked where mucus generated. This
common medical condition frequently requires
delicate intervention (usually minor surgery)

to separate glued gummy intertwined proboscis
with fleshy mitts. As a natural born miner for
the most moist and choice septum byproduct,
this man as one gangly whipper snapper mastered
the art of sifting thru the sinus cavity to extricate
boulder sized buggies wrote the book on this
ole factory chews. Unlike many other young
children who fancied this fun hunt for crusty
crab cakes like formations as delectable treats,
this grown man chose to paste them on under

side of his desk. No particular strategy for affix
sing goop upon the underneath section of old
fashion unit (whereby the top opened up and
provided a dish like formation to store materials)
motivated this daily cultivating for ripe buggies.
Within very few months, the front most section
became quite thick with wads of buggies that
quickly hardened into scaly coating displeasing
even to my high tolerance for gross. Since no
preliminary measure took place to map out

where to place the collection of daily glob,
inevitable contact took place with aging dried
buggies that felt like molting shells of insects.
Nightmares eventually took place incorporating
this scary goblin like creature (usually dripping
lugi with mossy slime), which sought out his
insatiable hunger for buggies. In these dreams,
I tended to be honored with razor sharp fangs
and dagger type fingernails. The latter came
in particular service to probe my pinocchio-

sized smeller with amazing ease to scrape
practically to the brain (and perhaps some
grey matter did get unintentionally removed)
to appease the buggy monster. Soon after wake
king up in a start from this nightmare (when
outsize still pitchblack), a blurry image seemed
to dart thru away leaving soggy footprints
closely resembling phlegm!
Harriet Shea Aug 2023
Performance adorn in stillness arriving with
power, deep within the cliffs of knowledge
freedom connects with light, beaming down
on those who have not felt the breeze
blowing past.

Awareness clings close to those who observe
without knowing, they see beyond those
who doesn't notice a flowering ****?

Who knows the feeling that creeps inside
of a person, who feels every drop of
falling rain sees every ray of sunlight
in the shadows of doubt.

Every emotion dancing above existence
in rhythm, empathizing with how Pines
trees have whipper wills singing through
the night, allowing to be heard
for a while to make everything
perfect with nature's sweet song.

How awareness is in love with
the silent observant soul!

Aware in silence


Copyright ⓒ DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved)
Harriet Shea Jul 2019
In the midst of my day's inspiration
I capture each though tucking it
away for another time when I may
need a little extra love.

Silently observing calmness of a
cool evening breeze, listening to
the whipper -wills in the tall pine
trees of summer, and waves hitting
Rocks below, I look up among
the stars kissing the moon.

Nature filled with endless beauty
touches deep within my heart not
having any explanation of God's
sweet love given me each
day I live.

Time floating by blissful with love
sweet appreciation and devotion
I need not think what would happen
if I never had faith hope and love.

(Love and gather those flowers
that grow in front of you)

God Forever Keep you in his Arms
while you shone down your light

DerenaBree
Harriet Shea Nov 2021
Performance adorn in stillness arriving with
power, deep within the cliffs of knowledge
freedom connects with light, beaming down
on those who have not felt the breeze
blowing past.

Awareness clings close to those who observe
without knowing, they see beyond those
who doesn't notice a flowering ****?

Who knows the feeling that creeps inside
of a person, who feels every drop of
falling rain sees every ray of sunlight
in the shadows of doubt.

Every emotion dancing above existence
in rhythm, empathizing with how Pines
trees have whipper-wills signing in
the night, allowing to be heard
while  making everything
perfect with nature's sweet song.
How awareness is in love with
the silent observant soul!

Noticed not a fabrication of stable
illusions that lock the chamber
of forsaken thoughts.

Hideaway the silence of hidden
beliefs of rainbows coloring
skies filled with fear.

Captured withholding secrets of
innocence in the forest of delighted
solemn dismissal.

Silently awareness engraves
blueprints of forsaken
castles warn and broken
in spite.


Copyright ⓒ DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved)
I saw your **** wiggle in the moon glow of a smile that disinfected
the ****** ward over the death rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
I saw your **** wiggle in the moon-glow of a smile that disinfected
the ****** ward over the death-rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
I saw your **** wiggle in the moon-glow of a smile that disinfected the ****** ward over the death-rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
Harriet Shea Jan 2022
Performance adorn in stillness arriving with
power, deep within the cliffs of knowledge
freedom connects with light, beaming down
on those who have not felt the breeze
blowing past.

Awareness clings close to those who observe
without knowing, they see beyond those
who doesn't notice a flowering ****?

Who knows the feeling that creeps inside
of a person, who feels every drop of
rain, see's every ray of sunlight in the
shadows of doubt and fear!

Every emotion dancing above existence
in rhythm, empathizing with how pines
trees have whipper-wills signing in
the night, allowing to be heard
for a while to make everything
perfect with nature's sweet song.

(How awareness is in love with
the silent observant soul!)

©DerenaBree (All rights reserved)
Harriet Shea Oct 2020
Performance adorn in stillness arriving with
power, deep within the cliffs of knowledge
freedom connects with light, beaming down
on those who have not felt the breeze
blowing past.

Awareness clings close to those who observe
without knowing, they see beyond those
who doesn't notice a flowering ****?

Who knows the feeling that creeps inside
of a person, who feels every drop of
falling rain, see's every ray of sunlight
in the shadows of doubt.

Every emotion dancing above existence
in rhythm, empathizing how pines
trees have whipper-wills singing in
the night, allowing to be heard
for a while to make everything
perfect with nature's sweet song.

How awareness is in love with
the silent observant soul!

Aware in silence


Copyright ⓒ DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved)
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
I (a lapsed milquetoast) experienced
a head splitting hellacious hangover.

I tried to be part of Cool And Gang by being "bad"
to the thoroughly good bone, er...
which trend followed me till man hood,
whereby this bloke still a cad
plus the most
embarrassing older hippy dad
where a shaved pierced pate egad
seems to be the latest fad
boot this nonestablishmentarian
feels more content with himself and glad
though as a precocious

whipper snapper of young lad
did act like "Curious George",
which found me late mum
and then octogenarian
widower father quite mad,
especially when breaking
into the liquor cabinet in me ***** pad
and nearly escaped by a scad
dad dull when the hide o me buttocks
whacked more'n a tad.

Though in a ******* party
rock n rolling crowd,
I (a kung foo fighter
beastie boy) felt alone
yea, as this chap looks back
on them daredevil days
(with behaviour bad to the bone
as iterated above),
and dealt with pounding in ma head
that caused me to groan
which mental sounds

of jack hammers
found this current teetotaler to moan
like the ghost of Marley or a whaler, whereby
even whisper down the alley
or over the phone
also affected me skin tone
to become altered
into an unstoppable
red bullish twilight zone
tortured courtesy MALEVOLENT MENTAL Maelstroms -
doggone hounded me while in a drunken stupor

videlicet - I taste a liquor never brewed (214)
courtesy Emily Dickinson
1830 –
1886
I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!
Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro' endless summer days –
From inns of molten Blue –
When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door –
When Butterflies – renounce their "drams" –
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!

Fiendish and gruesome
phantasmagoric egomaniacal denizens
dwelt deep inside
subterranean uber vault
performed an evil contra dance
haunted psychic landscape
with imaginary (yet realistic)
gargoyle visitations that cast a macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders of the lost Ark
cavorted and gallivanted
disturbed quiescent sleep
with devilish and sinister prance.

Apparitions crept stealthily
into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository, whence illusory landscape of dreams
took place to rejuvenate
exhausted body, mind and spirit triage
rented asunder blissful sleep with a startled fright
cold sweat drenched
nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms
wrought an awful ghoulish sight.

Mushroom cloud anniversary
triggered frenzied gargantuan hallucination
seventy nine plus years ago today
inauguration into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
to maintain self-preservation
in this surreal atomic weapons race
impossible mission to escape the dark threat
that looms and threatens life on earth
one launched missile
spells extermination across entire global space.

No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
death by a thousand cuts
flesh deboned courtesy knife
and guaranteed demise to all life
**** sapiens violent history
of bias, intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare
and chronic species strife
legacy for future,
(and perhaps alien) archeologists,
who will sift thru civilization
debris with delicate as birthing a newborn
with assistance by midwife.

Artifacts buried in a heap
of pulverized and radioactive ash
civilization monuments and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam
spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant
collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction
for beings that become excessively brash.

As a way to bury wounded knees,
free guilt sans
being psychologically trapped,
and wrath of my strict parents,
I imagined awaiting an eternity
for my modified sentence
against being secular humanist
individualist, minimalist, nihilist...,

no way to dodge
fiat decreeing penal solitude
for this rambling future man,
who felt unready to kick the can
on account of violating ban
against abominable illegal mandate
with no way to commute death sentence
for the simple act of voicing opinion

against existence of heavenly gate,
nor hellish underworld
despite religious ****** decreeing penance
spurious pedagogical poetic rant
not the ravings of some half mad lunatic
carefully plotted recitation that springs
from combined teachings of Kant
and jolly old Saint Nick

charges ******* up
per this average don
purportedly flagrantly
decrying and blaspheming
Judeo-Christian paradigm
proselytizing devout believers
with disenchantment blind faith no more
equated with hill of beans upon,

which dogma erected epitomized
by complex edifices via grime
sweat and tears from slave labor,
where usurpation of freedom won
until outspoken spokespersons
risked life and limb
to invalidate the existence
of supreme deity who created life

whether for extra credit
or perhaps on a whim
Adam from whose rib cage
without anesthesia but razor sharp knife
sported Eve with a physique
quite pleasing and trim,
but rather than get lost
in the garden of Eden myth

final seconds of existence tick away
without intent to recant statements
solely acceptable to B'nai B'rith
prompting last words of mine as oy vey
with no regrets - deeming heart
of religion flimsy as pith
thing in the wind or house of cards
vulnerable to blow away.

Though ma mum deceased nineteen and a half plus years ago, and thine papa inching closer toward the inescapable clutch of the grim reaper (when these words typed – he long since passed October 7th, 2020), I revel to be a conscious individual despite the torturous road from those perilous days of yore er rather mine earlier formative pages when the strong armed lance of ignorance jabbed me with toad dull ambivalence evolving from the fusion of two cells after froggy went a courtin.

HANDMADE FROM (the genes of) BOYCE AND HARRIET HARRIS -
(free versatile poetry my atypical mode (modus operandi) at describing, introducing, and decoding myself).

How apropos and divine to stumble (merely by happenstance) across a chance to claim my (virtual) fifteen minute fragments of fame just in the click and nick of time.

Although gainfully unemployed (do to a series of unfortunate events that now finds me receiving social security disability), I can still vividly visualize utter despair and vouchsafe to acquire the requisite trappings emblematic of psychic misfortune.

Indelible, permanent and unfading abysmal damaging domestic dynamics got etched deep upon the memory of this erstwhile individual.

The general gist in the form of quick brush strokes (namely written) of psychologically traumatizing recollection now follows.

I can attest to malevolent mean-spirited objections by my father (and late mother) in regard to my grossly unacceptable attire, deportment and work ethic.

Nonetheless, a sense of righteous vindictiveness manifested itself thru attendant Pyrrhic victories.

Back in those days I (a married grown adult male and considerably past the age of rebelling against authoritarianism - and also their one and only not so prodigal son) poorly wore the mantle and staff of supposed maturity.

Lack of compliance and obeisance with regulations and rules of the Harris household (mainly thru being in constant denial to conform, maintaining emotional detachment and estrangement and evincing little or no concern for other family members) brewed, festered and lied dormant during prepubescence.

The pressure and tension between and betwixt genetic kinfolk (so palpable one could sense an indomitable barrier), would rank as successfully dysfunctional way before such nom de guerre became in vogue.

Fury and wrath became markedly and noticeably pronounced once exiting the storied four walls of high school.

The venomous barrage and fusillade spewed forth from off parental tongues at an exponential rate and on a par to feeling the stinging cudgel of a horsewhip.

Out of fear and timidity, I consequently and silently absorbed cruel treatment.

Neither the eldest nor youngest sibling bore witness against the tender spirit of their only brother.

A façade as of a hardened (statue) conveniently adopted.

This embodiment poorly served to fend off the onslaught of incessant anger.

This defense mechanism (identified as passive aggressive by mom) offered miniscule protection as I mentally dodged lobbed insults and affected defiance (in league like poisoned blackened bards and daggers hurled) of said threats and ultimatums.

No matter these bitter pills of blaring character assassination (mine), denunciations, fulminations, incriminations, intimidations, vociferous vocalizations (by said parents), I stood the shifting sands characterizing my ground at playing the deaf mute, which repression and internalization of emotional maelstrom only caused self contamination and manifestation of humiliation.

They (dad and mom) became further angered and inflamed per my total oblivious stance.

This reaction added insult to injury.

Deliverance per tough love lessons amplified to the tune of additional feats at becoming excoriated, ranted and raved against this, that and the other of my habits and nonchalant indifference to pursue work.

Those involuntary, unrehearsed and vicious family chats happened to be replete with heavily exploding and uncorked anger.

That (of course) would be a considerable understatement.

Dad (the de facto, elected and nominal spokesperson for unpleasant chest thumping exclamations - which conveniently took place no earlier than the stroke of midnight - emphatically swore (adrip with dramatic livid rage - like rabid beast) all manner of vulgarity and demanded from this insolent appearing male offspring immediate compliance.

Defiance and fatigue offered him that predictable and usual blank stare upon hearing the kind and lenient sentence to pack bags and GET OUT!

With the dreaded approach of dire and sealed fate (played out in this overactive imagination of mine with dad and mom fiendishly and grotesquely expunging themselves of any last vestige personal belonging), I most anxiously bided my time.

Those next couple weeks forced self-evaluation of Atheism, while I hunkered down in my bedroom.

The recurrent consideration of relinquishing nonestablishmentarian paradigm in favor and lieu with God, miracles and salvation seemed to clash with being this liberal thinker.

As indicated, the tempest and tirade quickly got turned back upon those who so masterfully tormented this second born, whose steadfast stoicism and subservience to a higher power perchance brought a temporary respite.

That hollow deadline, (which happened to be just one of many similar sputtering swearing valuations of love) blithely came and went without incident - no matter expletive filled intense oath to remove self from premises at 324 Level Road) continued to keep pulsating to remain an occupant with kinfolk.

What caused especial ire and wrath to fester (per this apparent ambivalence, indifference and nonchalance for me to take any job - even shoveling **** - particularly within the emotional bedrock and firmament of deceased mother) constituted remembrance and vivid reminder of her father.

My maternal grandfather (Morris - Moshe - Kuritsky) supposedly never paid much heed to regular and steady employment (to support his four children and wife) despite his skill as a harried styled swift tailor.

Hence my mother (Harriet) grew up and lived in utter destitution and poverty.

Mother subsequently reacted with ferocious vindictiveness upon witnessing a near magic transformation of near identical behavior in Matthew - the single heir to the family name.

I avoid alcohol
yet still have a ball
when the bell of inquisitiveness doth call
this mindful male toward productive pursuits
rather than fall
prey to temptations of vice only deliver gall
down the unmarked hall
of future time,
as likened to evade the maul
from some ferocious beast
or an urgent plight to retch
ideally within a toilet stall
perhaps faded splattered by stains on the wall
of other anonymous imbibers - good day y'all.

— The End —