so kindled in sear summer July,
Upheaval churning in my most stoic feeling frazzled, I am,
Thank GOD for Good Riddance- putting on a thinking cap
And  my Good Instincts prevails..
    Brooding over and praying in silence-
       PEACE and Faith too ; sustained my intertwined...
guts good 'ole meshed up toiled my life.
                   Like a web-gathering digging out into knitted vine..
                     Gotta dance w/ grace even if someone ogling..
                       actin' out like zilch..
                        out there mesmerizing.
Give it all out for sake o' Inamorata  
                  And fervor like ne'er be in paroxysm, a day or two ..
                Rhyme with the melody o' songs
            And Sing it all out on top o' my lungs
      like there's no one's eavesdropping
Amusingly enough as I wantonly be wanted
And feel hurting no more,
  Sleeping in minty pillows, sobbing no more...
    At the time, eventide dusk comes,
     That Beauty; rests indeed, bellows
       Live and let live like it's a bed o' heavenly velvety Roses in this cauldron earth!.ensnared my thoughts together oftentimes,
      Through waylay conflicts
So akin to as DRAMA Momma!
    That another can tote to my table.
      Getting' along just fine witn MYself..
      thus restore my sense of panoramic mindset; - my BLESSINGS- scrutiny on my studies  and my cherub babes who cares as whippersnapper!
    Thou Loves me more than
       of enormous superficial stuffs-
          things that won't last-
            I'm in solitude for soul searching'.
              I am of thy belief that
everyone needs time...
To just Be! @ peace with just MYself!
J

“I’M THE GUILDFORD GUILDHALL CLOCK I AM!”

Oh I’ve been knocking out time now since…eh….let’s see 1683

Minutes and decades flow through me
The everlasting skies above me.

I’m iconic I am
dressed in my black and gold.
I ( if I may be so bold )
AM GUILDFORD.

The pride of Surrey.

I watch the High Street
as it runs down to that

young whippersnapper statue
THE SCHOLAR or whatever.

People congregate about the chap
eat sandwiches….listen to a busker

busk opera.
Only in Guildford!

But it’s me they look up to!

And is it time for tea?
Why so it is and. . .
citizens clatter over the cobbles.

I’m the Guildford Guildhall clock I am!

Tip! top!

Ticktock!Ticktock! Tiptop!Tip top!

TIP!!!!!!!!!!

TOP!!!!!!!!!

whitewash ash
whirlpool
whippersnapper periwinkle

whistle
which witch
whimsy zero

whimper purple
whine wine
whiskey

I am still a child
A baby
A youngster
A Whippersnapper
But
I am older than many
When it comes to my
Thoughts
Emotions
Struggles
Faith.
Age is just a number.
15
It just goes to show.
Age is just the amount of time
That You
Have blessed
And have remaining to bless
Others.
Take advantage of a
Small number.

Listening to Dave Grusin,
"Mountain Dance," vintage 1979.
The thought strikes:
"Why is it that only the
Early Jazz Giants are deified?
Of course, we need Chet Baker and
Miles Davis in our pantheon, &
Gerry Mulligan & Charlie Parker
Not to mention (cue Soupy Sales:
"Smack. I told you not to mention that!")
Coltrane or Stan Getz.
And yet, we're all getting long teeth and
there's a lot more Smooth Jazz to come,
Post-1950s, take Grusin, for example, or
George Benson or Herbie Hancock, and
What about Earl Klugh & Larry Carlton?
Let's not forget Spyro Gira &
The Daves: Benoit and Koz.
And we would be remiss
To miss Chris, young Chris,
Chris - "The Whippersnapper" - Botti.
But I digress.

i could stare at your very photogenic (albeit invisible) countenance all day, all week, the entire month, this remaining year, at least one additional decade, boot no more than a century21!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Looking for a best friend, or...a wurst (liver) re: enemy.

brief bio Matthew Scott Harris doth briefly sketch
almost two win a half score years since me being:
Born January 13th, 1959

I shake my shaggy hirsute hair
in utter disbelief, when the cocked arrow
begat thine conception,
when meal ate mum and octogenarian papa

begat their second offspring and only son,
what now seems to be a stepped-up pace,
where father time doth affix another candle to blow
where the passage of life measured

in swiftly tailored decades
denoting another birthday,
when with the blink of an eye,
I vividly recall crow

wing like a Lil whippersnapper of a boy
leisurely playing monopoly
for make-believe dough...
--------------------------------------------
nothing ranks as the greatest gift
since being a father twenty-one years ago
then bearing witness to grow
increasing autonomy

of my two precious daughters
whereby each will become master
of their domain, and meet a loving beau
(actually thy eldest dates
a delightful young man
from Puerto Re Coe),

whom intuition discerns would be
a near perfect match –
and this papa intuits dough
nuts to dollars – that such an
em man hint gentle, humble,

intelligent lad – doth ***
pa fully become the future groom
of said firstborn, (which outcome I know
wing couched in a couple of poems

sent his way, and no doubt his smarts lo'
and behold revealed the slightly obscure wish),
where love doth most obviously abound mo'
then prevailed between myself and bride o'

mine these last deuce score
plus (21+) years, but now this Poe
whit aspires to recognize the worthiness of she,
whose chose thyself as a lifetime
groom cuz peaceful status quo

avoiding animosity –
as thyself and spouse gently row
merrily...merrily...merrily
our quiet quite rickety craft
which oft times in the past needed a tow
off the craggy shoals of constant woe.

“I’M THE GUILDFORD GUILDHALL CLOCK I AM!”

Oh I’ve been knocking out time now since…eh….let’s see 1683

Minutes and decades flow through me
The everlasting skies above me.

I’m iconic I am
dressed in my black and gold.
I ( if I may be so bold )
AM GUILDFORD.

The pride of Surrey.

I watch the High Street
as it runs down to that

young whippersnapper statue
THE SCHOLAR or whatever.

People congregate about the chap
eat sandwiches….listen to a busker

busk opera.
Only in Guildford!

But it’s me they look up to!

And is it time for tea?
Why so it is and. . .
citizens clatter over the cobbles.

I’m the Guildford Guildhall clock I am!

Tip! top!

Ticktock!Ticktock! Tiptop!Tip top!

TIP!!!!!!!!!!

TOP!!!!!!!!!

The old ways will change
as
the old days disappear
and those who were
here
will be gone.

Looking forward to
a world full of new?
not sure I am.

I think,
stick in the mud
old things are good
but when I was a
whippersnapper
thoughts were different then.

This must be progress,
when everyone wants more and
I'd settle for less.

moving beads on the abacus
then it's
back to us and
computers to boot us
right
back to the abacus
and sometimes the circle's
complete.

The righteous write sermons
that serve men like them.

And out there
the architect feels proud,
laughing out loud, clapping
with glee

he cannot see what a world full
of new will do.

breeding frenzied jawboning
nastiness, rock'm sock'm vermin
zealously, dizzying hordes kickstart
outrageous trampling, xMen busting

displays, heralding luminary
pastoral times, Xing Bethlehem
figurine Jesus observes sacrilegious
wackiness anarchy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
  
Ah, nothing beats the fistfights,
   bloodied noses,
   knocked unconscious bruising
   bad *** blimp

   at absolute gall
bladder kicking, eye poking,
   neck choking, up pall
ling, et cetera brutality at this,
   that, or s'mother mall

far from madding crowd portentous squall,
but at a safe distance
   removed along a deserted hall
witnessing flying seer sucker-punches,

   et cetera all
encompassing pandemonium
   solely about one small
pinterest ting live mutant

   ninja vudu doll, a mere couple inches tall,
sporting ability to transform
   into an antagonistic tournament
   cavalier two pronged horn spurning beast,
   which former attribute
   manufacturer didst install
with constituent parts shipped from Blue Ball

poker red hot furious loosed bull
   eyeing a glitter bauble
   half cocked pissant, with an alien drawl
dressed in bulletproof coverall

shoving people
   just another brick against a wall
angrily erupt volcano like,
   provoking  lava lee flowing mayhem,
   when a security detail
   prior to temporary cease fire didst recall

merely axes whatsapp with y'all
thence, bing kicked in groin
   and reduced to crawl,
   thus in no mood to sing jingall
bells, where stood,

   yet another beefy watchman
   aghast at squall
lid human wrecking machine
   analogously offensive as off fall
spreading riotous wildfire conflagration

   analogous to absent referee,
   when sure betted best
   team mate of foot ball  
   lost Superbowl game
   by a tackle merely postal
stamp size distance to win game,

   thus anonymous observer
   made an urgent call
   to Donald Trump, whose reaction begot
an uncontrollable nuclear fusion reaction

   jerryrigged, hair-pulling,
   fisticuff dueling brawl,
spreading bedlam, sparking
   avast capitalone, groupon,
   flickr ring plenti tinder
   triggering military police to go awol.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
a quick thinking whippersnapper
   holds up a baseball bat
as a make shift microphone,
   donning reversed hat
feigns to be an announcer
   live from pseudo faux palestra and spat
out nonsensical *** for tat.

And join (singing the words
in the next paragraph) whether alone
in a traffic jam
basting, cooking, then eating a lamb
prepared by thee missus
a superb culinary madam.

“A Ram Sam Sam” Lyrics
A ram sam sam, a ram sam sam
Guli guli guli guli guli ram sam sam
A ram sam sam, a ram sam sam
Guli guli guli guli guli ram sam sam
A rafiq, a rafiq
Guli guli guli guli guli ram sam sam
A rafiq, a rafiq
Guli guli guli guli guli ram sam sam.

The following dereliction of truth
heavily influenced
my babe of mine name Ruth
(think prevarication forsooth)
essentially crafted countless years,
when yours truly
courtesy parochialism bred cooth
preserved timeless tintype of me
many moons ago
sitting pretty (once a bonny lad)
with his innocent lass
perched on mine bony knees
while forced lip tulip in kissing booth.

Unlike centenarian
who crafts  these words,
perchance yar juiced
a young whippersnapper man or woman
maybe born, bread and raised
in the city that never sleeps,
or dwelt in the boondocks or sticks,
catch some 'possum or squirrel
and as a loyal son or daughter take a tram
to enjoy a tasty repast

with widowed momma,
cuz ever since da
yo papa passed away....,
a futile attempt made to fill that void
awash with more'n than half a century
of wedded bliss,
whereat purposelessness pervasive
per surviving mother,
who feigns happiness, regales others
with showers of affection,

and remains active feeding her avocation
comprising striving and succeeding
to be adept within the culinary arts
thru self taught trials and errors
of brave taste testers
(which guinea pigs ought
to get medal of honor for bravery),
though her exemplary cooking reputation
exceeds five star Michelin rating
through meticulous

and exacting measured ingredients,
she glides within the kitchen
however occasionally,
a fork and spoon slips to the floor
which inexplicable
gravitational alchemical phenomena
fuses separate pieces of cutlery
into one eating implement
whereupon a dead reckoning
takes shape, that "mum"

might be in mortal danger
per inconspicuous cooking tool,
whence ya stop SnapChat tin
and shutterfly as greased BuzzFeed
twittering like a bat out of hell -
ya swoop down smash mouth facebook first
presaging a fatality visiting  
upon the head of mum
(her christened name Chris Anne thumb -
the last appended word

linked with her diminutive size),
who intently engrossed,
keenly self absorbed,
and rapt attentively
with tasks at hand
most likely oblivious
to potential safety dukes of hazard
as a benevolent offspring temporarily
take instagram reprieve,
and utilize fancy footwork

tote hillbilly tubular re: turn
to counterpoise vis a vis
match less laws of physics,
whereby toe tulle lee tubular
test tick yule har kickstarter antics applied
to kindle hurly burly gnarly flatware bach up
adjacent to state of the art beet oven
which upright pedal
poised pose like leverage incorporates
quickly donning improvisational

makeshift faux cuirass
with suitable culinary accoutrements
stringing together various
geometrical metal trays
and tin *** for helmet,
whereby a strategic
stance thence established,
where inert stainless steel
buffoon glaring spork
would be forced

to take tailspin upwards,
whence fingers grab
innocuous lethal weapon,
which self entertainment learned
while stationed in a rack
run amuck mess hall rowdiness
taught said table mannered tricks
magic mike moment imitating hotmail -
glorified footlocker earthlinked craft,
where whatsapp tinder penned didst

inviting Barack Obama
to zap hiz frankfurter foot,
when he made a syrup prize visit
nobly endeavoring without evincing
auld trumpetting donning shoe purr action
trained first with dominant topface toes
alternating with recessive
opposing shod totally tubular taps
until fancy footwork became ambipedal
balancing ball of left

or right foot atop tine
or dish of fork or spoon respectively
as stray stainless steel ware defying gravity
gracefully leapt - somersaulting
in a pirouette pinwheel linkedin arc
tine and/or miniature
shovel scooper over handle
kin ur pinion (all things considered)
an eye opening experience
and the simple pleasure one can derive
from practicing strategy
trigonometry, spatial relations.

He took a dead leaf from on top of a thriving, lush bush, and crumpled it in his hand;
Then his son he started to reprimand:
"I've told you a million times to leave them lizards alone!
Now you've done it!
We're out of a home
Because of it!
Whadda we do now?"
Through his tears the boy answered somehow:
"I'm sorry, Pop; I know it aint right,
But them lizards, they was gunnin' for a fight!
And as far as our house is concerned,
I don't care if it burned
To the ground!" the young
whippersnapper said.
The father shook his head
Hysterically and said,
"Well, Son, we might as well head
For the middle of the ocean,
'Cause I don't have any notion
Now where we can go."
The lad answered, "We'll show
Them lizards, Pop; they won't
Get the better of us.  Don't
Worry; I'll take care of everything!"
The sire began to laugh, then to sing
A silly little song that broke
The tension and awoke
In them both a sense of relief,
And the belief
That everything would be okay
Seemed to mark their way
As they walked along.
Yes, the father and son felt no wrong,
Despite the lizards' protestations;
And so they continued on with their epic perambulations.

Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."

Juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2021 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull o' Eire rush deuce cent)

aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent

without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -

good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment

eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent

scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment

secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet

ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent

gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed stitch of truth!

Since adopting the guise
of Norwegian bachelor farmer,
I may as well fabricate genetic stock
lock, and barrel linkedin to Celtic legend.

Sentimentalism invariably swelled me *****
regarding how grown former bonny lad,
essentially mutely surfed, finagled, and coursed
one existential nihilistic wave after another
nearly getting drowned in the process

Any non American English
exotic pronunciations in general
and dialects predicated
with United Kingdom in particular
held me spellbound.

Debate ensues that the term brogue comes
from Irish word barróg, meaning
"a hold (on the tongue),"
thus "accent" or "speech impediment."

An alternative etymology suggested
that brogue means 'impediment,'
and that it came from barróg
which is homophonous
with bróg in Munster Irish.

Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."

Juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2023 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull o' Eire rush deuce cent)

aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent

without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -

good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment

eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent

scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment

secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet

ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent

gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed stitch of truth.

Gun owners indiscriminately brandish
loaded firearms toward innocent victims,
and concomitantly excite
purported in accordance
with first amendment, relish
yet proliferation allowing
free ranging banshee dervish
sans weapons of mass destruction
(mainly innocent lives)
inures citizens to appear off fish
U.S., and self-important
becoming comfortably numb
at regular headlines detailing
some lone a bit mish
hug ha, an automatic killer
methodically unloading with a swish
multitudinous cartridges attempt
to evening the score, a wish
to take revenge viz a personal vendetta
amidst the madding crowds -
utter oy vay - tis Yiddish.

Such proliferation of
high-powered assault pistols
berserk arc with surging blip
bipedal hominid(s) grip
with a the hand a dirk in case the clip
doth miss the mark,
where siege mentality induces
nationwide sprint ting infamy to drip
metamorphosing into
malignant state with curled (Elvis) lip
mailer daemon hell bent
on besieging bait (unaware nip
*** nap noopy snapchatting beings)
bursting with deadly quip
with a barrage of bullets
malicious intent to spray
killing machines delivering rip
paying deathly howls
amidst pandemonium, thence funereal slip
epitaphs etched on tombstones proliferate
taking souls to Hades trip.

More often than not
such brutal and nasty team
(short lived) nefarious scheme
directed at humble lettered people
(like those comprising ream
member ring my hometown -
once evoked with pastoral meme
of Lake Woebegone) minding
their p's and q's, when in the extreme
and out of the blue like a nightmare
interrupting an idyllic dream
a sudden bitta bing bitta bang
rings terrorist catcall followed
by red tide and river of bloodying
bodied of hue men caskets
rendered veneer of dark wood
within lies corpse,
pistol whipped, where mortician
daub with creme.

soundcloud boom across
thus occurs yet another staccato sinister sonic
the pearl jam gray slate
of some formerly anonymous
name sake, which underline or boss
son or daughter of
***** blitzkrieg of shells cross
invisible trajectories shatter
(at shutterfly speed),
the democratic rubric - rendered as dross
disposable lives of society
with senseless slaughter,
whereat somber silence
echoes nostalgia for the Mill on the Floss
when life seemed so innocent
against the gun metal gloss
wails of agony at another human loss.

This epidemic re:
murderous love affair perfervid
with gruesome morbid
fixation allowing, enabling
and providing terrifying
trappings, whence went Pandora out the lid
anger loosed maniacally gun down
(in S-L-O-W mo) recorded by hid
madding crowd, each person
locked in crosshair grid
source (perhaps pathetic plan
premeditated) employing did
da ding from flying bullets,
a coterie upping the ante vis a vis bid
ding fare thee from odious
loading incendiary fiery clips.

Trigger happy homicidal maniacs slake thirst
to take aim in billeted soiree
with deadly precision, and spray
with pump posse city,
a congregated engaged groupon
of people), with egregious pay
shunt and methodically
mowing down, a slew - nay
re: doth unsuspecting
victim aware - delivering may
hem to this anonymous
American citizen as well
family and survivors, who lay
down their sorrows,
which bring revulsion and gray
obsolescence of faith in mankind to fray.

Death be not proud,
nor ought airtime allocated to these
heinous cavalier avengers
foe tee eight-hour special (proffers
twitchy finger itching to squeeze
especial easy access
to sophisticated high caliber compact
offspring doth please
manifesting those prize pride
killing machine owners never freeze
rapaciously with so much ease
lethal gimcrackery cutlasses
even a lil whippersnapper kite runner
unleashing whipping cords
lacerating more so than ropes will ever do  
necessitate strong control
to stem violence as disease.

Black flag(s) show up
on social media platforms
when potential homicidal maniac(s)
communicate(s) intent to strike
with ambush and ready
read - able, eager, and willing
to embark upon murderous rampage.

Prospective killer armed to the teeth
usually a young bucking male
between ages of eighteen and twenty five
wielding, targeting subjects then firing
high powered choice powered guns such as:
Bushmaster XM15-E2S rifle;
Glock 20SF handgun
.22LR Savage Mark II bolt-action rifle
or AR-15-style rifle,
a popular range of semiautomatic weapons.

After countless shooters on the loose
wreaking havoc vis a vis carnage
****** death and destruction
indelibly etched upon consciousness
regarding every surviving person,
who hears and especially
witnesses the terrible and horrible news
anesthetized, brutalized, traumatized, et cetera
for his/her remaining existence.

Violent deadly crime spree shoots upward;
gun owners indiscriminately brandish
loaded firearms toward innocent victims,
and concomitantly excite anguish
purported in accordance
with first amendment relish,
yet proliferation allowing
free ranging banshee dervish
sans weapons of mass destruction
(mainly innocent lives)

inures citizens to appear standoff fish
U.S., and self-important solitudinarian
becoming comfortably numb
at regular headlines detailing
some lone hooligan a bit mish
hug ha, an automatic killer
methodically unloading with a swish
multitudinous cartridges attempt
oddly to even the score, a wish
to take revenge viz a personal vendetta
amidst the madding crowds -
utter oy vey - tis Yiddish.

Such proliferation of
high-powered assault pistols
graph berserk arc with surging blip
bipedal hominid(s) deadly grip
handling barrel as dirk in case the clip
doth miss the mark,
where siege mentality induces
nationwide sprinting infamy to drip
metamorphosing into igneous
malignant state with curled (Elvis) lip
mailer daemon hell bent
on besieging bait (unaware nip

*** nap noopy snapchatting beings)
bursting with deadly quip
with a barrage of bullets
malicious intent to spray;
killing machines delivering rip
paying deathly howls
amidst pandemonium, thence funereal slip
epitaphs etched on tombstones proliferate
taking souls to Hades trip
loved ones next of kin tragic loss
analogously suffering courtesy
stinging invisible whip.

More often than not
such brutal and nasty team
(short lived) nefarious scheme
unleashing angry people to rage and scream
directed at humble lettered people
like those comprising ream
member ring my hometown -
once evoked with pastoral meme
of Lake Wobegon minding
their p's and q's, when in the extreme

and out of the blue like a nightmare
interrupting an idyllic dream
a sudden bitta bing bitta bang
rings terrorist catcall followed
by red tide and river of bloodying
bodied of hue men caskets
rendered veneer of dark wood
within lies mutilated corpse,
pistol whipped, where mortician
daub with creme.

Soundcloud(s) boom(s) across,
thus occurs yet another
staccato sinister sonic thunder
across the pearl jam gray slate
of some formerly anonymous
name sake, which underling of bossed
son or daughter blasting
bombardment blitzkrieg shells cross
invisible trajectories shatter
at uber twittering, shutterfly speed,

the democratic rubric - rendered as dross
disposable lives of society
with senseless slaughter,
whereat somber silence
echoes nostalgia for the Mill on the Floss
when life seemed so innocent
against the gun metal gloss
wails of agony at another human loss
elapsing years tombstone covered with moss.

This epidemic re:
murderous love affair perfervid
with gruesome morbid
fixation allowing, enabling
and providing terrifying
trappings, whence went Pandora out the lid
anger loosed maniacally gun down
(in S-L-O-W mo) recorded by hid
den madding crowd, each person
locked in crosshair grid
source (perhaps pathetic plan
premeditated) employing did
da ding from flying bullets,
a coterie upping the ante vis a vis bid
ding fare thee well from odious
loading incendiary fiery clips.

Trigger happy homicidal maniacs slake thirst
finding me being verbally bullied
seem oh so yesterday
to take aim in billeted soiree
with deadly precision, and spray
with pump posse city,
a congregated engaged groupon
of people), with egregious pay

shunt and methodically
mowing down, a slew - nay
re: doth unsuspecting
victim aware - delivering melee
layered mayhem to this anonymous
American citizen as well
family and survivors, who lay
down their sorrows,
which bring revulsion and gray
obsolescence of faith in mankind to fray.

Death be not proud,
nor ought airtime allocated to these
heinous cavalier avengers
foe tee eight-hour special (proffers
twitchy finger itching to squeeze
especial easy access
to sophisticated high caliber compact
offspring doth please
manifesting those prize pride

killing machine owners never freeze
rapaciously with so much ease
lethal gimcrackery cutlasses
even a lil whippersnapper kite runner
unleashing whipping cords
will serve you more
lacerating more so than ropes will ever do
necessitate strong control
to stem violence as disease.

Nsync with variations on a theme:
of drool worthy Reuben Sandwich
(consisting of corned beef,
Swiss cheese, sauerkraut,
Russian dressing between slices
of rye bread that is grilled
until the bread is crispy
and the cheese melts)
various and sundry
pseudo lurid fictitious escapades
mostly I did merrily wet
an appetite for consummation
whet madness aye ever did dream.

The missus personal trappings
strewn helter skelter
after a hard day's night
every perilous step fraught
with danger field analogous
riding as passenger
with death cab for cutie
'course thy quasi
bohemian rhapsodic Queen
of denial feigns ignorance

attributes hazardous condition
linkedin with accident prone
little lord Fauntleroy's
double doppelganger, me
trumpeting pet husband,
her unrequited germane Liebchen
willing to risk life and limb
doting hand and foot
as proper husbandly duties.

He (ahem... me) exhibits drama
whimsically visiting slapstick pantomime,
especially pretending to remove sneakers
pulling with all my feeble strength
off little feet of wife
half-heartedly struggling,
(stringent rule of shoe game)
lamely denouncing marriage
nevertheless conveying jollity
regarding marital entrapment
er... rather unbridled wedded bliss
constituting fits and starts enduring
about two and a half dozen years.

I reciprocated amorousness,
whether toward MaryAnne,
(his long ago coldly dismissed
sagacious enchanting first paramour,
(half a dozen years my senior),
sported webbed wide whirled toes,
whose astrological forecast
accurately predicted promising
acquaintanceship/relationship – tanked

potential sage rubber soul mates
(two plus score years ago -
gone to naught),
which latter aforementioned
delightfully humble lass
decried he fomented
incessant emotional grief,
he cruelly (albeit unwittingly)
doled out nothing

but lackluster lovelessness
attributed to identical
astrological zodiac signs (Capricorn)
(matter of fact shared same birth date
January 13th - six years age difference)
and similar flat wide thumb
stubborn misconstrued perception,
whereby fancy free and footloose
selfish nasty short brute nevertheless
deemed himself undeserving of love - humph!

Addeneum: Approximately
four plus decades
re: one quarter century after
aforementioned baptismal initiation
love stricken paroxysm
forty fifth president of United States
took (i.e. plagiarized) many pages courtesy,
cruel playbook authored
by Matthew Scott Harris,

who left trail of heartbroken sage woman
commander in chief deliberately stoked,
née sparked long
simmering, smoldering, and stewing
long fostering white supremacist altercation
fiendishly igniting racial conflagration
exploding during late spring 2020.

No matter no child left behind kibitzing
(yours truly as boy plucked petals
off daisy reciting "she loves me,"
"she loves me not"...
cupid loosed an arrow
into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart

she innocently bespoke
"I wanna marry you,"
when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones,
a little girl who lived
approximately three doors down
along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley
perpendicular to Lantern Lane,
or more age apropos,

when young gallivanting
purported vestal ****** ladies
nonverbally signalled
libidinal proclamations of emancipation,
as demurely expressed
lest unlucky (chaste into)
precocious ******* proclivity
suffered the punishment
of being buried alive.

Now back to present day,
when our old geezer,
the prototype garden variety
male of present poem -
any resemblance between general referenced
funny good fella and
living persons purely coincidental.

He (yours truly) easily qualified as
overly cocky whippersnapper,
i.e. young feisty buck
and/or Casanova wannabe
experienced bit torrent
hormonal secretions gushed
particularly in close proximity
wherein wafted pheromones -
think a waif faring ingénue.

As evident and quite obvious,
I fabricate (prevaricating
my signature trademark)
rather than stating bland reality stark,
yet will plainly explain issue
in summary essential rhyme
without reason constitutes
nothing more spectacular than
garden variety generic pockmark
excised pustule ofttimes hallmark
of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.

Crickets , sweet crickets
They ne'er skip a beat
O' Crickets , melodious crickets
Sing a whippersnapper to sleep

which poetic product best be affixed
with hashtag STINKY label.

As a young whippersnapper
and one precocious lad to boot,
I discovered common combustible materials
found in the bathroom.

At opportune times,
I blithely tinkered with dangerous chemicals
that could (but never did)
explode into one humongous
fiery maelstrom and
bloom (re: annihilate)
this lad to smithereens.

Window kept open to avoid
un--necessary nor accidental asphyxiation.
After clearing defecation deep within,
the recesses of my bowels,
I thenceforth indiscriminately combined
various household cleansers
and cleaners (in powder
and/or liquid form) into the bidet.

The requisite sphincter muscle
byproduct constituted the key ingredient.
Anyway, my aha moment arrived
one childhood day
that long sought after ka-boom
sent a plume of smoke
in tandem with geyser of water
caused me to feel
flush with excitement.

Waste trill fluttering filled mine heart
(like music to thine ears)
after mine solid waste
***** byproduct went kerplunk
and caused tsunami
on other side of word.

Mere seconds elapsed
before explosive outcome found me
hurled clear across the room
like a bat out of hell.

Fortunate for me that this
natural ****** excretory function
never caused any serious outcome,
nor injury to life nor limb.
Immaculate notes (with graphic pictures –
albeit crude) attempted to document
any pertinent information.

At some juncture
with this private laboratory experiment,
a close observation
(with nose pinched tight)
revealed bubbles of air trapped within
our archaic household plumbing fixtures.

That aha i.e.eureka moment
prompted me to utter “*******”
when a chain reaction similar
to volcanic rush of air took place
within the planet.

With haste not waste,
these nimble fingers scribbled
unintelligible (deliberately illegible
to everybody but myself)
the chemical romance
to light a fire under the buttocks
of whomever happened
to be in need of emptying their bowels.

Now, I eagerly waited,
(albeit with impatience)
for that opportune time
whereby thee unsuspecting child
or adult needed to answer
that alimentary call of nature
my dear Watson.

The moment of anticipation arrived
when a long forgotten accursed relative
visited unexpected, which unannounced
rap on the door fueled fanciful notion
to whip up potion to promulgate prank
within the *****.

Once necessary ingredients,
(which secret formula cannot be divulged –
well maybe for a negotiable fee)
got poured giddy glee
generated gloating from head to toe.

Quick as Jack B Nimble
or his best friend Jack B. Quick,
these skinny legs (spindleshanks) sped away,
yet in close activity to the innocent
by sitter who nonchalantly ambled
into the powder room to tend to private business.

Right ear cocked against wall
that served as barrier between
occupant of water closet and yours truly.

Pleasant barely audible
humming, tweeting, and twittering
(like an angry) bird
singing emanated while obnoxious
guest of dishonor proceeded
to place posterior atop *****.

Seconds ticked by
with every now and again
pages of printed material heard
in conjunction with abdominal
groans and grunts to assist sacrifice
to the porcelain goddess.

Utter stillness suddenly punctuated
by the initial sound of a splash into the crapper.

I cupped hands to mouth
lest any unwanted guffaw slip out.

Instantaneously, our pestilential
kooky cousin kissed their *** goodbye
as propulsion forced the body politick
clear thru the unwelcome ample sized window.

Goodbye Charlie (pseudonym used here
to protect the not so innocent)
soon became diminishing shape
spiraling toward the horizon.

One speck of flotsam headed spaceward
versus the turgid **** joining brethren
into the sewerage cistern.

Written by: Edgar Allan ****,
who required quite some time to recoup,
and with slops pail headed off
to collect specimens from the latest scoop
rearing to go bouncing along
*** signed to another *** rap,
whereby blistered buttucks
hopes to earn yours truly another touché
(**** hay) before bottom smacked
courtesy leader of troop
a strong indigenous native son,
whose **** tressed reputation
recounts storied war whoop.

As a bouncing baby boy
syne of tragic travails in the offing tolled
courtesy analogous bell think Pavlov's employ;
yours truly me mama's apron strings rolled
secure around stubby fingers brought joy
created and garnered webbed wold
between she who helped beget me thru ploy
constituting biological reproduction.

Peter Pan syndrome
not recognized as bonafide diagnosis
encapsulates mein kampf and hard times,
whereby mine childhood's end
dreaded, linkedin and thwarted adulthood
courtesy Anorexia nervosa
(long before said illness
the popular rage
during roaring (2000) twenties

mainly among females)
as feeble attempt to avoid
transitioning into manhood
evidenced today upon
cusp of twilight (zone) years,
when dark shadows (albeit psychological)
metaphorically house these lovely bones
id est twenty first century caveman
with stunted body, mind and spirit.

I feel invisibly chained
to mine early days of yore,
an idealized stage since nostalgia tore
at short lived mettlesome breastplate
activating devastating - festering civil war
leaving seeds of potential emasculation
these approximate three score
years since exiting birth canal,
when both parents in their prime
tickled pink and enthralled
with choice of lifelong paramour.

Renee Cardone therapist
associated with SpringFord school district
doxyme portal allows, enables,
and provides telemedicine
cited how I, a long haired
pencil necked geek aging baby boomer
essentially lives marginal existence
self, constricted, hobbled, quarantined...
since... majority of half dozen plus decades
brought forth upon terrestrial firmament
circumscribing outer limits,
when on January 13th, 19xx

one strong contraction
I ain't kidding ousted
future adverbial, he/him one wily wordsmith
makes period **** exclamation,
viz noun sensible, proverbial...,
who dangled me like a participle,
(hence obstetrician put the scare
of wuthering heights
within yours truly)
well seasoned whippersnapper,
who frolicked in summer re:
amidst the purple rain.

Light years since chronological wave length of boyhood, when mull late mum and (strapping in his prime) dad bossed, dictated, fulminated, harangued, jointly lambasted, mandated, pounded, yet unsuccessfully sabotaged quintessential trademark MineCraft aversion cutting hair. Aye-kneaded lockets, which amounted to necessitating remonstrance, thus unveiling vocalization with yearning zeal ascribing clutching excessively to frizzy greasy hair. Silent protestations incited joyless kickstarter, mercurial, no-nonsense outpouring per querulous response. This traitorous underling vehemently writhed yowling stinging zings. Compulsion, fixation and obsession with hair ranked as thee most vital aspect when just a whippersnapper. Paranoia and suspicion re: long brown locks assumed outsize personification. I now admit such irrationality incorporated realm encompassing terrain that expanded outward into infinity. Even now, a residual facsimile framework scaffold of neurosis thereof to prepubescent peculiarity exists. Hindsight (ordinarily 20/20) cannot broker explanation. No idea why adoration, declaration, and galvanization with unkempt appearance (harried style and swiftly tailored rats nest hair prevails), despite dishabille wrought unattended imposing disadvantage, whether in hot pursuit of employment, female glorification, or tolerance from others. this external characteristic (re: non-groomed mass of matted hairs akin to nonverbal expatiation. this individual did not wish to be part of madding crowd. no matter onslaughts  inviting barbarous (er barber us), calumnious, and deleterious, comments among thine human body electric, constant comets zapped psyche with abominable, execrable, and inexcusable malicious, nefarious, and opprobrious provocation. even ma deceased paternal grandfather hook kept a full head of hair to his grave (Aaron Harris - listen up) called me Mary (and inflicted misadventure per ******* bowl cut), though choice to grow uncombed thatch clashed with his conservatively favored iron maiden linkedin unguent zztop,  which barbs became internalized only to manifest into anxiety with even less ambition to conform to au current presentable appearance. even me mother when alive and vibrant as a cockroach on a hot stove pulled no punches, when pronouncing her unsolicited feedback such as ” you’re going out like that"?, when she new of my intent to scout for employment, (which effort oft times characterized futility) with nary job offers. still unanswerable passive (now silver) streak radicalism prevails. hence this poem, qua "dress for success" motto, when social security disability (for anxiety, ocd, panic attacks, plus laundry list of other psychological maladies) bubbled to surface of my consciousness. as a breakout writer, (with Kosher blessing of Samson, who would be all smiles) exempt me decrees, honorably lauded pitched proletariat tendentious tinder of the establishment, which ink cube baited current rubric incorporates a much looser modus Vivendi viz appearance.

The majority of mine lxiii years
expended delving deep into imagination,
yours truly escaped, loosed, thwarted...
reality courtesy bookland
roaming cerebral cortex terra firmae
did not amp pulley satiate
seemingly depression found me
(an uncompetitive, oversensitive,
intuitive, contemplative bookworm)
with scrunched pate,
a day short and a dollar late

one dime a dozen lad
hood scrimp and scrape,
a familiar pattern typified fate
viz - hand to mouth bleak
how zing existence aye equate
extant throughout three score
plus three years date
journeys round el sol,
this varsity schlepper, procrastinator,
malingerer did create
current emotional state
mottled with sea henna tint
financial, emotional and

psychosocial characteristics stint
aye serum eyes while
in utero the blueprint
indelibly etched analogous
brand York Peppermint
also analogous to musician
recording tracks upon primed glint
ting digitized compact disc
clear polycarbonate plastic substrate,
a reflective metallic layer,
and a clear protective coating
of acrylic plastic
breakable as flint.
  
Though afflicted with severe
panic/anxiety attacks
suffering became manifest destiny
for decades housed née sequestered
in abominable barracks
(one common joe biden his time)
made debut during prepubescence,
ambivalent toward and quite lax
concerning mien kampf,
when adolescent/puberty at max

metamorphosis from boy
to man found me strongly in pax
averse to growing up
Anorexia Nervosa latched did tax
developmental height and weight,
whence this grown male did wax
nostalgic for his boyhood-
literally starved himself -
not quite to death,
or unconditional self-acceptance by peers.

Mine psyche felt ship
wrecked upon the jagged shoal
of abject apathy, self-injury,
and jury-rigged penury now a pall
duh, these psychological idiosyncrasies
perfect breeding ground to maul
and rent asunder psychic ground
for lack of pride slinking along hall
ways resonating with flapping wings,
his doppelganger exhibited gall
wherein yours truly remained
face down from a major fall
when both parents alive
(thine mum deceased
almost eighteen plus years,

when grim reaper didst call
now octogenarian widower pop,
who since this initial writing
passed away about
sixteen months ago)
espied sense to bawl
upon death ova
me mum, and sensibility
evinced inquisitive kindled
linked opportunistic quest
misunderstanding, avoiding
whirled wide web
as a young whippersnapper -
wait, that iz not awl.

Inform me if you wanna explore
additional tidbits glore
cuz long poem comprises more
lines offering metaphorical tour
within me body electric
akin to teenage wasteland
after internal near deadly war.

watching space invaders
sailing across my eyes
which must be failing.

I could be tiring
I might need
rewiring or
de-coking
might have to
give up smoking,
surrender to celibacy
eat fukin salads?
I
suddenly feel very chipper
like a young whippersnapper
it must be nearly
playtime.

Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."

Though semitic thru and thru
yours truly (me) dons guise of being Irish
trumpeting hoople linked with
the folklore and culture of Emerald Isle
juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2024 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull
o' Eire rush deuce cent)

aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -

good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent

scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet

ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed
stitch of truth.

THE LAST WALTZ

twilight enters the room
it doesn’t  bother to knock
“Ahh…yes…a guest…I know Mr. Death!”

Death bows before me
like a bad
impression of Rudolph Valentino

death asks if
he can have this dance
I feel I can’t refuse

“Ahhh… Death…Mr. Death!”
I swoon as if in a bad melodrama
“I could die in your arms!”

and suddenly the party was:
over in an instant
the orchestra packing up their instruments

the Past had been packed away
the Future to be put on hold
Now was the only now I could afford

music lingered
like cigarette smoke
writing itself upon the air

“Ahhh…that’s Life!”
trying to ****** it from the air
the music slipping through my fingers

“Now…now!” Death smirks
“I’ll have none of that!”( my heart stopped )
I took his hand…we…stepped into the dark.

*

Someone I used to look after in the long long ago. She was a ballroom dancer and a very good one in her time so I guess when her time came to go and she nearly went but didn't( which was how she was able to tell me what it was like )she thought of Death as a dapper young whippersnapper who would sweep her off her feet. I used to sit in many a twilight with her and just hold her hand in silence or softly...very softly...hum THE MERRY WIDOW WALTZ to her.