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Francie Lynch Oct 2019
You don't wear black face.
You'd never do such.
You don't wear white face;
Do you Kabuki?
Mime, non? Mime, oui?
But every March,
Millions of others,
Attired in green,
Some painted like Celtic warriors,
Affect terrible brogues,
And get sotted, some must disgracefully.
That's what the Irish do, think they?
I won't wear a yarmulke on Yom Kippur,
Not a burka on Eid al-Adha,
Or lead the parade
Up Fifth Avenue.
Slainte
Don't know why the world thinks the Irish are drunkards. I go to Ireland every year, and the only drunks I see are North Americans, whites and blacks, gays, straights and all others not mentioned.  Even the phrase "Paddy Wagon" is an ethnic slur.
Freddy S Zalta Jan 2015
She walked up the stairs, swiped her metro card and made her way up the stairs to the platform. As she walked towards the front end so she could get on the second car of this F train headed to Manhattan, she felt the cold winter wind snap at her. Pulled up her collar and wrapped her arms around herself bracing for the cold.

She was wearing blue jeans with boots over them – a small black ski-jacket with a red scarf. Her hair, shoulder length blonde was covered by a knit cap, also black.

It was the 5th or 6th month of her working at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. She still wasn't even sure what her role was there, her title was “Music Manager” yet there were two other “Music Managers” there as well. She enjoyed working there because she loved to see so many people enjoying the books, music and the other stuff that they sold there. She also loved to sit during her breaks and read. She loved to read anything that was written around the 1920’s. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, T.S. Eliot, Edith Wharton, and so many more.

She had always felt “different” from her peers and this caused her to find herself alone some nights watching TV or forcing herself to write on her blog.

Julia was 26 years old and had graduated from Kingsborough College 4 years earlier. She had thought about graduate school but then realized that she really wasn't interested in any specific degree or even future.

She had been diagnosed with depression back when she was 16 years old. She had never tried to **** herself nor hurt herself but would spend too much time in her room and away from any social life.

When she was 18 and a freshman at college she fell in love with Mitchell, a senior with four different girlfriends and a future as a politician. When she found out about one of his other girlfriends she broke up with him. It was a couple of nights later that she found out about the others while browsing through Facebook. The fact that she had been so blind and naive to not even catch any clue that he was actually dating 3 other girls, hurt more then the loss of having him around. She was hurt and she closed herself off from any social life after that.

“It wasn't the fact that he was with the other girls, it was the fact that I was stupid enough to fall for someone like that. Thank God we never had *** – that would have really put me under.” She had told this to her therapist and the therapist only cared about asking her. “Why didn't you have ***?” She felt creeped out and stopped seeing him.

Her friends tried to bring her out of her slump but it was way above their ability. Love can heal all things but some wounds can only be soothed not healed.

The darkness in her room followed her  wherever she went.  It wasn’t until her 26th Birthday when she decided to go to see a different psychiatrist, a female Doctor this time. Towards the end of her first appointment it was suggested that she should begin taking medication. She felt she could help herself without taking any medication.
“When you feel you want to try them out you just let me know. We would begin with a very low dose…”

She saw the train in the distance approaching in its snail like pace. The wind, the cold and the clouds all conspiring to make it feel as if the train is at a standstill just two blocks or so away. Finally the train crawled in and came to a stop; the sound of the doors opening, the electronic ding-**** and the voice – “next stop Avenue N, stand clear of the closing doors.”

She finds a seat by the window of a two-seater row. She likes to look through the window and watch as the different scenes come into view and just as quickly disappear. It reminds her that her’s is not the only world that exists. That the world does not truly revolve around her. She watches as the train rolls along McDonald Avenue; school van picks up children, two people are sitting eating breakfast on a second floor apartment directly across from the train. She concocts different ideas of what they are conversing about – are they expressing happiness and love or are they scared and feeling alone?

She looks inside and sees an older man reading a hard cover religious book, perhaps the Talmud or something? Two seats to the left of him is a Haitian woman speaking on her cellphone in Creole – really loudly. He looks towards her and nods his head in disapproval. Down the way a large man sits eating with his jacket open revealing his sizable girth, as if in pride? he is downing a bagel and licking the cream cheese to avoiding it from spilling over. He has a Yoohoo chocolate drink in between his legs and is in some sort of comatose gorging ecstasy. A lady is applying makeup to her cheeks and when the train stops at Avenue N she draws her eyeliner pencil under her eyes – framing her Asian eyes with the imperfect blue she decided to use.

Avenue N and the doors open to a black man wearing a yarmulke and looking Jewish but for the color of his skin, in these parts at least. He is of Ethiopian descent and is Orthodox – she knows this because she once heard him speaking to another passenger on the train. A fifty-ish lady walks on and is, of course, on her phone giving orders to one of her children, it seems. Julia looks away and checks her phone – no alerts, no emails, no missed calls. “Next stop Bay Parkway.”

Across from her on the other side of the train, she can see the Verrazano Bridge and outside her window she can see thousands of graves lined up. She thinks about their lives – mothers, fathers – they were all once babies who needed to be fed, dressed and changed.

“Snap out of it! She tells herself.” She stood up as if to wash crumbs off of her clothing – shook a bit and sat back down again. She would not, could not allow the darkness to seep back in again. It always began with a thought…since she finally gave in and had been on meds for a little over a month, the fog had begun to lift a bit. A bit. The “low dose” had been doubled since her first week and now she began to “See a little clearer, is that one of the benefits?”
“You are seeing more clear because you are not running as fast as you used to. You are slowing down and able to live at a healthy pace. So now the colors you once defined as green, yellow and blue have a deeper meaning to you, am I right?”
“Yes, its as if I can focus now>”

She looked out the window, looked back into her bag and took her book out. “The Corrections,” she had yet to read it but loved the title. In her mind she had pictured it as someone in the middle of their life who decides to make “Corrections.” She was afraid to begin reading it because she knew it wasn’t about that, specifically, and preferred the definition in her head.

“I am making corrections these days.” She thought to herself.
The fact that she decided it was time for her to take the leap and swallow a pill once a day was proof in itself. “I want to be the best I can be, to enjoy life…” Lately she has been having vivid dreams – only to wake up, try to remember only to forget quickly.

The train goes underground and where once she would get anxious she now welcomed it as if an embrace.

“Too many stops to go until I find my way…” She heard a voice inside of her say, or sing? Or was that the lady behind her?

“Too many corrections to make within myself so I can even begin to find my way anywhere.” She thinks to herself as if answering someone.

“Corrections…yes…can it be as simple as that? Look within myself and accept what is wrong and right and make some corrections?”

She walked off the train at 14th Street and found her way upstairs and out onto 6th Avenue. She walked east towards Union Square and felt the cold air hitting her face – feeling like a pale of freezing water in the August heat.

She feels a bit more at ease and knows that there is a change happening and it could be from that small pill. A sense of hope, not full blown hope but a ray and that is more than she has felt in a long time.

She looks across Union Square and sees the celebrations of everyday life on display. Men painted in silver and gold, a clown dancing or riding in a small child’s bicycle, chess players lined up and waiting for challengers. People walking quickly chasing time trying to catch up or outrun it. Cold wind blowing pieces of paper high up – churning around and around.

She looks up, crosses the small street, smiles at the guard, opens the door and walks inside.

italicThere are countless stories of people in this world chasing memories, dreams or hopes that were once so vibrant – now laying dormant on the side of empty streets. Ghost towns where youth and optimism were once at play in the streets where dreams were erected only to fall in a lost battle against the ultimate thief – time. Julie turned out to be one of the happy stories in this world…she ended up meeting her cousin at the store that same day. He was with a friend of his named David – he smiled and she smiled back. Sometimes good things do happen and they happen when you least expect them to. She is still working on her corrections and has yet to even read the first page of the book.
How about that Polish guy:
Karol Jozef Wojtyla!
AKA Pope John Paul II,
Previously, a Cardinal,
The Archbishop of Krakow . . .
A tough cookie; in 1941
His mother, father, and brother
All died, leaving him the family's
Sole survivor.
Worked in a quarry,
Later a chemical factory,
Enrolled at a university,
Closed by the Nazis during WWII.
Ordained as a priest in 1946.
Holding 2 doctorates, Professor of
Moral Theology & Social ethics;
A powerful preacher,
A great intellect with vast charisma,
Working as a Catholic priest in
Communist Eastern Europe,
He was often asked
If he feared retribution from
Communist leaders? He replied:
“I’m not afraid of them.
They are afraid of me.”


Sounds like a scary guy?
Pope John Paul II,
The name he chose--
Tipping his yarmulke
To Lennon & McCartney,
For “Hey Jude,” no doubt,
Patron Saint of lost causes &
Desperate cases--
History’s most well traveled pope,
With that signature bit,
Coming off trans-oceanic airplanes,
Cutely kissing the ground.
First non-Italian Pope
Since the 16th century.
A strong stoneworker’s body, &
Knowledge of chemistry,
When Pope John Paul I--
Another Beatles fan—died in 1978,
After only a 34-day reign,
Few suspected Wojtyla.
White smoke (fumata bianca)
Announcing a new pope,
Chosen on the 7th round of balloting,
The first-ever Slavic pope,
The youngest pope in 132 years,
Yet conservative, a Papacy marked by
Firm, unwavering opposition to
Communism & war,
Abortion & contraception,
Capital punishment, & homosexual ***,
Coming out later against
Euthanasia.
Human cloning, &
Stem-cell research.
But, hey, you had to love him.
Took a bullet, famously in St. Peter’s Square,
By would-be assassin &
Double ***-*******,
Turkish political extremist named
Mehmet Ali Acqa,
A Muslim, later a Catholic-convert,
An early skirmish in 21st Century
Anti-Islamic Crusades.

Our Polish Pope John Paul II,
Died, succeeded in 2005 by
Our German Pope, Herr Ratzinger,
Calling himself Benedict XVI,
After The King of Pop,
Michael Jackson’s favorite rat,
Benny began the beguine—
Beatifying John Paul II,
During his first year on the job.
Later, acting as if
The Papacy was actually, just a job,
Does the unheard of:  RESIGNS,
Rather than die in office.
Rather like Nixon,
*N'est–ce pas?
tricia lambert Feb 2014
I'd like to eat a mango
As I glide through a Tango
My bubbles would pop
While doin’ Hiphop
I’d soothe my soul
Swingin’ Rock and Roll
No time for slumber
While doing the Rhumba
My blood would pulse
To a Viennese Waltz
Dizzy’s how I’d feel
Skipping a Scots Reel
I’d dance Ballet
With my valet
I’d cut a rug
Doing jitterbug
I’d be happy as
Improvising Jazz
I'd like to swing a Fire Poi
In exotic far away Hanoi
I’d fly to San Francisco
To indulge in Disco
I’d as soon not talk
Sliding through a Moonwalk
I’d wear a yarmulke
While doing the Polka
I’d get the gist
Of doing the Twist
I could unwind
With a Bump and a Grind
I’d take off my wig
For a fast Irish Jig
I'd be a hot Mama
Performing the Cha cha
My heart would sing
To a Highland Fling
I’d step up the tempo
To stamp a Flamenco
I'd feel alive
Just doin’ the Jive

Now the ending’s your choice
For better or woice!
One is glad One is sad
Pick one and it’s done-                                      

I’m off to France                                 It’s the witching hour
For a chance to dance                        And I’m a wall flower.


Tricia Lambert
Mike Hauser Aug 2014
I've got a Bobble Head Buddha
That nods on the dash
Some guy named Gideon
Whose Bible rides in the back

Rainbow covered Rosary beads
Hang from my mirror with ease
I've got all the bases covered
As pretty as you please

Have my cassette of Hindu chants
Where I hum along
Shaved my head for Hare Krishna
In case I get it wrong

Holy water in my reservoir
So when my windshield wipers wipe
I have that added protection
Never knowing what might

A Yarmulke from a Bar Mitzvah
In the seat next to me
With a case of Watchtower in the floorboard
I pass out for free

No cigarettes or coffee
Like a good Latter Day Saint
In case Jesus comes back a third time
Who's to say that he ain't

With all my bases covered
I feel pretty safe
Guess I can now crank the engine
And start out my day
I'm a firm believer in Jesus Christ (who's only come once but will return) and his saving grace.
I just watch some people these days bounce around from whatever religion makes them feel good and this little ditty came to mind. Each of us have a hole in our hearts only the true God can fill. If your not satisfied with where your at, that right there is the problem. Don't rely on man to tell you who God is...let God do that.
I.
I contemplate nom de plume (a).
The nomenclator (b) pax (c) kiss of peace (d) .
Coddle (e) the dowry (f) , the dowsables (g) pas de deux (h) .
Fill the kyack (i) with tidytips (j) from California , that land lease (k) .
No irrational number (l) , reality two (m) .

Definitions:
(a) non de plume - pen name.

(b) nomenclator - a book containing a ciollection of lists of words or names .

(c) pax - from Latin pax vobis (peace to you) or pax vobiscum (peace with you). A pax is a liturgical object used in the Middle Ages and Renaissance for the Kiss of Peace in the Catholic mass . It began to replace the actual Kiss of Peace in the 13th century .

(d) Kiss of Peace - An ancient traditional Christian greeting.

(e) coddle - treat in an indulgent or overprotective way .

(f) dowry - property or money brought by a bride to her husband on their marriage .

(g) dowsables - obsolete word for sweetheart or lady love .

(h) pas de deux - a dance for two people , typically a man and woman . A duet in ballet.

(i) Kyack - a packsack to be swung on either side of a packsaddle . Two connecting sacks .

(j) tidytips - an annual wildflower native to western North America .

(k) land lease - leasing the land upon which a tenant may own the home but not the land .

(l) irrational number - is a real number that cannot be expressed as a ratio of two integers . A number with an infinite number of digits .

(m) reality two - Jen Oliver Meiert - two realities . One is the physical reality . And the other is psychical reality .


II.
Fatten on krass (a) and farina (b) , fanfaronade (c) , mordancy (d) , honey and beurre noir (e) on toast .
Nothing to ambsace (f) !
The guidon (g) carried by a guidon betraying the one ,
"one's fancy" only to be crushed by a juggernaut (h) . . . promace (i) .


(a) Krass - German for gross or coarse .

(b) Farina - name in the U.S. for milled wheat .

(c) fanfaronade - arrogant or boastful talk .

(d) mordancy - a biting or caustic criticism .

(e) beurre noir - French for black butter .

(f) ambsace - the lowest throw of the dice .
Something worthless or unlucky .

(g) guidon - a pennant typically attached a pole that narrows to a point or fork at the end . A standard for light calvary .

(h) juggernaut - huge and overpowering force .

(i) promace - animal tranquilizer .


III.
Could I quintuplicate (a) the subdebutante (b) becoming tag end (c) ?
Would I cozen (d) the bulblet (e) from the branch Circe (f) ?
The Elaine (g) of long ago evanescent (h) my Hesperus (i) friend .
To Hesperides (j) especially , the Jinni (k), lowball comedy (l) .


(a) quintuplicate - fivefold . To multiply by five .

(b) subdebutante - a girl in her mid teens about to become a debutante .

(c) tag end - the last remaining part of something .

(d) cozen - to trick or deceive . Obtain by deception .

(e) bulblet - small bulb produced on a larger bulb .

(f) Circe - Goddess , nymph , enchantress or sorceress of magic . Daughter of Helios and either Oceania or Hecate . Able to change people into animals with potions or incantations .

(g) Elaine - the women of Arthurian legend who died of unrequited love for Lancelot . From Greek , a girls name meaning "sun's rays or shining light" .

(h) evanescent - soon passing out of sight , memory , or existence . Quickly fading or disappearing .

(i) Hesperus - the planet Venus . Evening star .

(j) Hesperides - legendary garden found at the western extremity of the world that produces golden apples . The nymphs that with the aid of a dragon guard the garden that grows the golden apples .


(k) - Jinni - also Genni . In Arabian and Muslim mythology the intelligent spirit with less ranking than an Angel that can appear in human or animal form for the purpose of possessing humans .

(l) lowball comedy - a deceptively crude comedy with underlying meanings .


IV.
My Maginot Line (a) , my Magen David (b) . . . before you board mae west (c) .
The squirting sea cucumber .
The Sammum Bonum (d) goes .
It's Watch Night (e) like a watch pocket (f) .
Zombism (g) we have digressed (h)
The incunable (i) mickle (j) , the  micawberish (k) pentagram (l)
exposed .


(a) Maginot Line - weaponized concrete fortifications built by France in the 1930's to keep Germany out .

(b) Magan David - originating from Medieval
Arabic literature . A hexagram (overlapping equivalent triangles) that was used as a talisman on protective amulets and was known as the Seal of Solomon . In the 18th century it was adopted by Jewish interest as the Star of David .

(c) Mae West - Personal flotation device (PFD) , life preserver . First inflatable life preserver created by Peter Markas in 1928 .

(d) sammum bonum - Latin . From Rome's greatest orator meaning 'The highest good' . Virtue .

(e) Watchnight - a service also called Watchnight Mass is a late night Christian church service . Held on late New Year's Eve . Also called Freedom's Eve service , a celebration and remembrance of the Emancipation Proclamation (enacted January 1 , 1863) which freed the slaves in the Confederate States during the American Civil War .

(e) watch pocket - extra fifth pocket on the right side of blue jeans made for a size 16 pocket watch .

(f) Zombism - the Kongo and Kimbundu system of religious rites . Characterized by worship of a snake diety during Voodoo rites .

(g) digressed - leave the main subject temporaryly in speech or writing .

(h) incunable - a book , pamphlet , or broadside ( a critical response) printed in Europe before the year 1501 .

(i) mickle - a very large amount .

(j) Micawberish - resembling the character of Wilkins Micawber in the Charles Dickens novel
David Copperfield . Especially optimistic to the point of being irrisponsible .

(k) Pentagram - five pointed star used in ancient Greece  and Bablyonia . Which is used today as a symbol of faith by many Wicans and said to have magical powers and associations .


V.
While the rabalo (a) swims the tropical seas
succes de scandale (b) .
While the Exmoor (c) ponies exert , ****** (d) in-and-out (e) .
And the Langur (f) from Laos
lies lethargic , drinking meadowsweet (g) ale .
The Nereids (h) tease and pase (i) in polyrthym (j) .


(a) Rabalo - common snook or sergeant fish .

(b) succès de scandale - a success due to notoriety or things of a scandalous nature . Public controversy .

(c) Exmoor - an area of hilly open moorland in west Somerset and north Devon in South Wales England named after the river Exe . Ancient royal hunting grounds .

(d) ****** -  Queen of Asgard and wife of Odin . Stepmother of Thor and adoptive mother of Loki .

(e) in-and-out - copulation

(f) Langur - long tailed aboreal monkey with a characteristicly loud call .

(g) meadowsweet - or mead wort is a perennial herb that grows  in damp meadows in Europe used to make medicine .

(h) Nereids - In Greek mythology the Nereids are sea nymphs , daughters of Nercus and Doris and known to be friendly and helpful to sailors .

(i) pase - a maneuver with a cape used in bullfighting meant to get the attention of the bull .

(j) polyrthym - a rthym which makes use of two or more different rthyms simultaneously .



VI .
The enchantress in a jaded jodhpur (a) .
So kitsch (b) with the live stream (c) mouth .
A menu (d) with folded mantis hands , a Nazarene (e) .
An à outrance (f) , an abstraction (g) .
***** envy (h) , reach-me-down (i) , rest house (j) south .
The simoon's (k) coming , simon pure (l) in simony (m) .


(a) Jodhpur - also called riding breeches . Tight fitting trousers that reach the ankles ending in a snug cuff worn primarily for horse riding .

(b) kitsch - German meaning ****** art . Excessively garish or sentimemental art usually considered in bad taste or lowbrow .

(c) live stream - to stream digital data . Data that is delivered continuously and is usually intended for immediate processing or playback .

(d) manu - (Sanskrit) is a term found in Hinduism . In early texts it refers to the first men , (progenitor of humanity) .

(e) Nazarene - native of Nazareth . A member of a group of German painters
working mainly in Rome who from 1809 sought to revive the art of Medieval Germany and early Renaissance Italy .

(f) à outrance - exorbitance .To the limit .

(g) abstraction - freedom from representational art . Dealing with ideas rather than events .

(h) - ***** envy - the supposed coveting  of the male ***** by a young female according to Sigmund Freud .

(i) reach-me-down - second hand clothing

(j) rest house - shelter for travelers especially when there are no hotels available .

(k) simoon - a hot dry dust-laden wind blowing in the desert , especially in Arabia .

(l) simon pure - untainted purity or integrity . Absolute pure , genuine or authentic . Also used negatively as pretentiously or hypocritically pure .

(m) simony - the buying or selling of ecclesiastical privileges . Such as something spiritual . Taken from Simon Magus
(Act 8:18) who endeavored to buy from the Apostles the power of conferring the gifts of the Holy Spirit .



VII .
Come Nisus (a), Lord of misuse.
With your Ibizan (b) hounds
and ewer (c) .
Your ebulient (d) ectomorphic (e)
mentality .
Board a carrack (f) to Chad breastbeating (g).
Put your thoughts on skewer (h) .
While seeking an essoin (i) , flannel-mouthed (j) idyllic (k) .


(a) Nisus - Greek mythology , King of Megara , son of Pandion of Athens . When King Minos of Crete beseiged Megara , Nisus's daughter Scylla fell in love with Minos . She betrayed her city by cutting off her father's purple lock . The purple lock of hair held magical powers if preserved . Nisus was killed and became a sea eagle . Scylla later drowned , said by the hands of Minos and was changed into a sea bird pursued by the sea eagle .

(b) Ibizan hound - named for an island off the coast of Spain . Ancient breed of hounds once kept by the Pharoahs around 3400 B.C.

(c) ewer - a large jug or pitcher with a wide mouth used for carrying water for someone to wash in .

(d) ebulient - cheerful and full of energy . Archaic - of liquid or matter boiling or agitated as if boiling . From Latin ebullire - to bubble out which is the stem of the word Bullire which is the ancestor of the word boil .

(e) ectomorphic - body having a build with little fat or muscle and long limbs .

(f) - Chad - a landlocked country in north central Africa . One of the poorest and most corrupt nations in the world .

(g) breastbeating - a loud emotional expression of remorse , grief , anger , or self recrimination .

(h) Skewer - stick or metal pin used to hold meat .

(i) essoin - old English . An excuse for nonappearance in court .

(j) flannel-mouthed - smooth and persuasive in speech in order to deceive or manipulate .

(k) idyllic - extremely happy , peaceful , or picturesque .



VIII .
Through the eyes of yashmak (a) ,
below the eyes of  yarmulke (b) .
Whey-faced (c) tunneled half-caste (d)  in a white haik (e) .
Genuflection (f) to Baal (g) , Jehovah (h) .
A docudrama (i) , carbunckled (j) .
As the cross hair sweeps
across professed
liturgist (k) .


(a) yashmak - veil concealing all of the face except the eyes . Worn by some Muslim women in public .

(b) yarmulke - a skull cap worn by orthodox Jewish men or during prayer by other Jewish men .

(c) whey-faced - pale , especially as a result of ill health , shock , or fear .

(d) half-caste - a person whose parents are of different races in particular a European father and an Indian mother .

(e) Haik - a large outer garment or wrap typically white and worn by people from North Africa's Maghreb region .


(f) genuflection - lowering of one's body briefly by bending one knee to the ground . Typically in worship or as as sign of respect .

(g) Baal - was a title honorific meaning "owner" , "Lord" in the Northwest Semitic languages spoken in the Levant during antiquity . From its use among people it became to be applied to Gods of fertility , weather , rain , wind , lightning , seasons , war , and patron of sailors .

(h) Jehovah - a form of the Hebrew name  of God . Means  "I am that I am" or "I am the one who is".

(i) docudrama - a dramatized TV movie based on real life events .

(j) carbunckled - to make painful , sore , or irritated .

(k) liturgist - one who practices liturgy . A form to which public religious worship is conducted . In ancient Greece a public office or duty performed voluntaryly by a rich Athenian .
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Sitting Shiva in a Yarmulke
is not, for me, routine.
Still it was right that I should
grieve
for a man I’d never seen.

A man who loved his children
and was devoted to his wife.
A man who worked long hours
and was happy in his life.

A man active in his temple,
One who coached the little league.
A man like any other-
If you pricked him he would bleed.

He wore his nation’s uniform
when called in time of war.
And when the guns were set aside
He ran his little store.

There may be some million like him
Yet not so many as before
Men who truly loved this country
and were respecting of its laws.

A strong and vibrant middle class
is what our country needs
Not Parks filled with rootless losers
and boardrooms manned by thieves.
Our late Friend, Ron Mittman. Hard to believe it is a year now that he has been gone.
Samira M Apr 2019
Imagine you're in class, and there's a boy with a cross dangled on his neck.
I bet everyone thinks it's normal because his name's Jared, and his daddy drives a Corvette.
What about Isaac, the boy in English class who wears a yarmulke on his head, and fasts for holidays?
Were your anti-semetic slurs not enough to make him want to end his days?
And how about Iman from your class of History?
Why do your peers at school same her because she chooses to practice her faith differently?
Society has taught people that there are only certain religions to follow,
So excuse me, supremacists,
If America is so great, why does the environment feel so hollow?

So Jared, he must be pretty cool, right?
I bet he keeps his hair gelled and his jeans real tight.
He doesn't get called weird, and he doesn't get asked to take his necklace off.
So why does he get a free pass when everytime Iman walks by, a few people stare and scoff.
"So like, do you even have any hair?" they ask her as she walks down the hall.
She fixes her hijab annd puts her head down and drowns in a sea of embarrassment.
She can't help but sit and wonder why she even came to school at all.
the next day the kids at lunch rip off Isaacs yarmulke,
and ask about the labor of his ancestors.
"Well you have to know. you're Jewish!" they say. but they don't acknowledge his pain inside that festers.
"You should be proud of who you are and not judge others" the teachers chant.
But they cannot look me in the eye and tell me that that they haven't give "The Muslim and the Jew" a second glance.
So, excuse me, supremacists,
I beg of you; Let the children be free, let them dance through the day.
Let those with shadowed beliefs speak out, and say what they want to say.
Let the broken hearted children have the freedom to peacefully pray.

In your so called "Pledge of Allegiance" that you make the children rise for, you recite that we are all indivisible, and under God, but do you really believe that?
I mean you must not, since half of you reading this have done nothing and seen someone of another religion or race treated like crap.
So tell me, when was God decided to be marked absent in the classrooms where we are supposed to be taught?
Freedom? Equality? Justice? Aren't those the things for which our brothers fought?
Excuse me, Supremacists, let me tell you that closing the doors to God, opens the doors for the Devil,
and we cannot let the ignorance of those who are afraid to believe bring us down another level.

Those that you pushed down before? They pushed back, only harder
The boy you called a "***** Jew" , his faith only grew stronger.
The girl you called a "terrorist" and a "*******" , she went home and prayed a little longer.
Your hate wiil only fuel their faith. Your negativity is what burnt yours out.
You gave up on God, and the belief that he wasn't there to help you, filled your heads with doubt.
So, tell me supremacists,
Is it really those who peacefully practice that are in the wrong?
Or is it you, who lost faith and is scared,
So you keep singing the same old song?
Let the children be free,
Let the children live,
For if you deprive them of their religious freedom and acceptance,
They will have nothing left to give.
This was a slam poem I wrote for my english class in my 10th grade year.
Mike Hauser Mar 2019
I've got a Bobble Head Buddha
That nods on the dash
Some guy named Gideon
Whose Bible rides in the back

Rainbow covered Rosary beads
Hang from my mirror with ease
I've got all the bases covered
As pretty as you please

Have my cassette of Hindu chants
Where I hum along
Shaved my head for Hare Krishna
In case I get it wrong

Holy water in my reservoir
So when my windshield wipers wipe
I have that added protection
Never knowing what might

A Yarmulke from a Bar Mitzvah
In the seat next to me
With a case of Watchtower in the floorboard
I pass out for free

No cigarettes or coffee
Like a good Latter Day Saint
In case Jesus comes back a third time
Who's to say that he ain't

With all my bases covered
I feel pretty safe
Guess I can now crank the engine
And start out my day
I'm a firm believer in Jesus Christ (who's only come once but will return) and his saving grace.
I just watch some people these days bounce around from whatever religion makes them feel good and this little ditty came to mind. Each of us have a hole in our hearts only the true God can fill. If you're not satisfied with where you're at, that right there is the problem. Don't rely on man to tell you who God is...let God do that.
Akin to significance my eldest sister
felt toward her “*******” –
until she became a tweener
(totally tubular fuzzy bendable contrivances
analogous to an outsize pipecleaner)
my Mattie Mattel Doll meant the world
(circa mid 1960's), the whirled wide
webbed world on the horizon
with promise of much greener
virtual Oculus pastures once found
amongst Carib ******
indigenous tribes.

Any child with creative artistic bents
(minus this scribe, whose innate abilities cents
less limited me drawing stick figures, more so dense
macabre satisfactorily applying
   beard or mustache ala events
magic marker to pictured printed (faces forged into fences
of famous people popular
   within culture club), both gents
or gals, whose retouched photographs
   beggared ****** pents
sieve hair loom of men and women,
   while simultaneously rents
sing preoccupied to access
   excel lent glue, devoid of common sense
household padding material,
   and short scraps from circus tents
of yarn for do whit your self based artisans
   into trash bin of history project wents.

Even than orange ranked as the new black.

This abhor ridge gin null snippets
   red + yellow colored strands
atop kepi twas pseudo hair,
   sans manufactured eunuchs adorned head lands
with avast linkedin fingerhut dishabille curls),
    could easily construct grandstands
a similar facsimile re: globular molded,
   incorporated, glommed, errands
contrived head (vis a vis Plaster of Paris
   overcovering NON GMO
   gluten free partially hydrogenated brands
inflated balloon) to affect trademark

     globular fuzzy noggin dry as Awklands.

The simple plain plaything included
   a fitbit lifesaver size plastic ring.

Said small circular loop perfect
   to get jammed below first knuckle
of index finger affixed to a short string  
   (when pulled to extent tub buckle
of tether) activated moonfaced fixed bugeyed
   blank stare to utter garbled syllables  
  asper one who did suckle.

Despite the drabness, homliness,
   laquered pated trapped
xyst Yarmulke cheap flatness,
   I loved ragged slapped
around, and still iconic schlepped treasure
   (uber voiceless with rapt
zealous application bridging elementary
   functioning gizmo), initiating mapped
jabbering lock lipped prattling. Sometimes
   well worn action hero lapped
exhilaration, (got tossed in the air, booted
   as football, succor silently accepted flapped
sear sucker punches from robed buck
   after favorite fictitious "brother" chapped
accompanied my scrawny body at bath time) to adapt.

None the less, this adored billed idol kept me secure, especially
on rare occasions that found this contemplative, dutiful, fun
loving kid under the weather, or hospitalized for minor adenoids removal.

Oh yes, this non gendered plaything (non descript featureless
sewn seems showed zero differentiation, no matter to tell this
August, cherished, fondled kiddie piece de resistance lacked ****** identity.

Absent reproductive organs (eh, nada so significant omission)
cuz, this seemingly resistant quirky plaything, who unfairly re
ceived punishing physical indiscriminate treatment), yet still
connection omnipotent bond existed as if goofy guise happened
to be extended part of mine kempf.

Upon reflection, asper this childhood memento (nary a clue
what triggered remembrance of things past yesterday comprised
true value), an aha moment awoke to attempt to cap cha vague
essence about pretend friend designed in 1955, and based on a conceptby Mattel co-founder Elliot Handler. The character “Matty” derived from the name Mattel.

The nom de plume a concatenation of sortsderived after founders,
Harold Mattson and Elliot Handler. A brainstorm session
yielded concurrence viz the hybrid name of Matt + El (short for Elliot).
Robert Ronnow Apr 2023
“There’s nothing you wish for that won’t be yours
        if you stay alive.”  --Beowulf

Winter has arrived and the wind cuts through
the parking lot under the el in the Bronx,
streets stretch out in their directions, events
in their mere chronology have no relation.
Old friends face certain dissolution
with perplexity, comity and humor,
look with gay eyes on their future
in a forest or a city, someplace.
Snow outside, despair inside. Homelessness.
Raccoon tracks cross the soul. Prostatectomy.
Winter mix. Don’t relax. The difficult
dangerous season when weak creatures die
and the strong barely survive. Leave me alone
with autumn, an autumn like last autumn.
Don’t stand around my bed, I won’t be in it.

Jack’s in jail. His panic attacks are like
an AI on automatic pilot
who wants to live, just like the rest of us
under the eye of eternity or
running in new snow, loving that feeling.
Some people go dancing in fishnet stockings.
Effortless mastery, success without practice.
Fractals without chemistry. Do the small
things first, clean the house and bless the guests.
Sick of Krshna, sick of salad, sick of self.
Sick of meditation. As I lay dying
the full moon’s rising. My existence
is indivisible from the wry Creator’s.
I like the old Rhymer, his smile resplendent.
It’s Death, not the Jewish king, in your rose garden.

I ply my arts all day alone. All I have
is all I do not know. The past isn’t dead
it never even happened. Learn the changes
then forget them. Keep on learning and re-
learning them. Down the steep and icy trail
through hail and storm. Take into eternity
my hail and farewell. We’re living in the
Anthropocene. Indestructible garbage.
Bulldozed landscape. Big Brother, dead father.
***** of the tiger.  Getting thought to twitch
the prosthetic. Mischievous, malevolent,
militant thistles. Or just plain polite
Americans, afraid to get shot.
Bump bump bump down the igneous rocks of life,
take the boulders two at a time down.

Old-timers bagging groceries, low social
security for the security guard.
Situps, pushups, fix yr brakes, fix yr leaks.
I know what’s gonna happen before it happens.
Polar bear mugs wino exhausted by that earlier,
irritating, constant need to survive.
Surrounded by history, neither seen nor heard
from again. And a deaf mute in a pear tree.
If it’s human, nothing’s wasted. Pasted
into a big wet kiss or posted
on the internet. Stolen from the pockets
of the dead, burgled from living memory.
Most art is dispensable, ***** and *****,
vaginal lubrication, prostate enlargement,
the unknown, anonymous man named me.

I’ve been wrong before and I may be wrong now.
Things fall apart. Or maybe not. Maybe
it’ll all hold together 10,000 years more
after all we’ve observed a galaxy born
13 billion years ago, a faint red blur,
and microbe partnerships on the ocean floor.
The good life’s all around us smiling
girls on bicycles, dogs on leashes,
equality is mandatory.
Sweet solitude and privacy, quiet
sitting spot, write a little, read a lot.
Tip generously, gratuitously,
like good luck. Haircut, cabride, dinnerout,
to eat a continent is not so strange.
Does Jack even exist? I doubt it but

the class of transformations that could happen
spontaneously in the absence of knowledge
is negligibly small compared with the class
that could be effected artificially by
intelligent beings, aliens in the bleachers.
Japanese knotweed also known as kudzu.
The Chinese navy also known as t’ai chi.
Water shortages. War and wildfire.
What you’re scared of and what you love. Contracts
and deliverables. Hate speech, fate.
Humor or ardor, I can’t decide.
Dad’s steel-toed boots. Leaves, flowers, fruits.
Things are said, mistakes are made. I’m driving
pontificating on geopolitics
when an archangel flies into the windshield!

Lost my timepiece, lost my metronome.
Well, music is a manufactured crisis.
Caloric restrictions, control your addictions,
desire to be famous, propensity for violence.
The profusion of species contents me.
Wilderness comes back strong as cactuses,
chestnuts, coral. No more missile crises.
Eat less, an empty belly’s holy.
Horselum, bridelum, ridelum,
into the fray! World order—not my problem.
Only meditation can save your soul,
should there be such a thing. There are actual people
half woman half man running past me
and dream people in movies half language
half light. Or they lie under polished stones
embossed with actual photos of themselves.

Learning who you actually are is difficult
as sitting still 10 minutes w/o a thought or want.
To get lucky you gotta be careful first.
Knowledge of death without dying =
early retirement. Counting your blessings,
a healthy activity. No solution
to death’s finality, and such a blessing
awaits me, too. If you’re suicidal
they call the cops. The audience is full of glee.
Watres pypyng hoot. Chinese characters. Quantum guesses.
Most failures, and most successes, are in our future.
I embrace wild roots and run through streets
with arm around my girl. Inmate #427443.
Poetry and surgery—they go together
like a horse and buggy. Cheerful as a flock
of chickadees. Looking for a lost horse,
I hear Appalachian Spring!

Look one way, from another come the heart’s
missed beats. Much better to look slowly,
labor for the success and happiness
of others, even the old and frayed.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest.
Look more closely. It will be gone in a few days!
First entertain, then enlighten if you can.
Is it stress? Yes. Tired of death? It’s what it is.
Let’s play sports, have ***, live a wonderful life,
give generously. If you see a hawk on a bough
at field’s edge beyond the corner you should have
turned, maybe it’s a sign to go on, alone.
No body, no soul. No mirror, no black hole.
No mission, no hero. No applause, no noise.
No experience, no nonsense. If words can
be arranged in any order can they be
of any use in foreign policy?

Disappointed, didn’t get what was wanted.
Forget me not, is that all I want?
A catbird account, a mockingbird account
and an owl account. Then, and only then,
nothing’s missing and nothing’s left over.
Jail or zen mountain monastery
hiphop artist hypnotist bebop trumpeter
unknown soldier black bear bad bladder
ice cold beer poker player wry Creator.
If not one way, then another. Otherwise
give me your 5-10 best hiphop artists. Can
they take the sting out of life like bluegrass, jazz?
Mimics, woodpeckers, sing-songers, hawks,
chippers and trillers, whistlers, name-sayers,
thrushes, owls and a dove, high pitchers,
wood warblers and a word-warbling wren.
Unusual vocalizations.

We have hope that everyone alive is
essential, consequential. The commonplace
and everyday is sanctified. Nothing else
special need be done but stay alive.
Don’t lose passport, don’t be late to airport.
Insects are pollinators, insects are us.
Romance without finance is a nuisance.
November, however, is sweet, sunshine
through bare trees, dry brown leaves companionably
visiting among the dead. When middle school lets out
at the periapsis of Earth’s orbit
that’s the face of joy. Each leaf out and Jack
in his boxers. If you run over a chipmunk,
a groundhog or a skunk, say a short prayer.
One can’t help being here, queynt.

I live in a state so blue there’s nothing I can do
to change man’s trajectory and if I could
what angle of re-entry or ascent
would I choose? Grace is what we get
no matter what. Come the tired end of day
Jack thinks why not waste time watching tv
but the next day he has a hangover
like Ernest Hemingway or **** Jagger.
Your soul is immortal. It exists outside
of time. It has no beginning and no end.
If you cannot accept this, forget it all,
do not even begin. It all goes into
the same church service and comes out babbling
for God to appear. The shorter the service
the better, less passion, more resistance. Joy
may outlast the holocaust. Get it while it lasts.

The material world is reality, my friend.
Reality is not always what we’re after.
I like Jack’s confidence, that working the problem
will result in better outcomes than guessing.
Confidence is the feeling you have
before you understand the situation.
A hawk hunting or just floating waiting
for inspiration, a heron rowing east,
an owl’s quiet hoot even simpler than
the pentatonic bamboo flute.
What’s not to like? Ice cream, yogurt, profit, tofu.
Mosquitoes this summer are relentless,
heat and humidity, merciless.
Ice will ice those little *******.
Killing time before it kills me. Ha ha.

Whatever forever. Poetry is plumbing
your unhappiness habit until you reach joy.
As I think of things to do I do them.
Thing by thing I get things done. I think
that’s how my father and his father did things, too.
“Away up high in the Sierry Petes
where the yeller pines grow tall, Ol’ Sandy Bob
an’ Buster Jig had a rodeer camp last fall.”
It is the older man’s responsibility
to protect, not as a hard-charging archangel,
Jack’s joints couldn’t stand it, or hero
but as a rational participant,
cool, caring and completely zeroed in.
Culture or religion is an answer to
the problem of what to do and why do it
when your cancer makes poetry from
losing the argument with yourself.

To die spiritually in the hot sun
and the body go on climbing, haunted,
hunted, nature’s intelligent partner.
People are the element I live in, or else.
Call for the elevator. Wait for the el.
Snow on the Sonoran, each saguaro
wearing a white yarmulke. Creosote
smell as snow melts, ocotillo buds out.
Man needs help from every creature born.
The blackbird contains death but it’s bigger than death.
It’s more like God but an ironical god.
Smaller and funnier than God, impossible
to regard directly, gotta look sideways,
aim binoculars left, right, up, down—
missing every time. There’s nothing you wish for
that won’t be yours if you stay alive.
(alternately titled: idolizing childhood's end
today April 25th, 2021
generates elusive warm treasured memories).

Akin to significance my eldest sister
felt toward her “*******” –
(totally tubular fuzzy bendable contrivances
analogous to an outsize pipe cleaner)
until she became a tweener
my Matty Mattel Doll (circa mid 1960's)
meant the webbed wide world  
with promise of much greener pastures
on the Apollo space age horizon
where virtual Oculus virtual reality dwelt
amongst Carib ****** indigenous tribes.

No matter yours truly then
fast approaching his decade number seven  
of twentieth century tantalizing
figurative future promises held sway
(namely technologically
Luddite intimations spawned),
I zealously, fervently,
and desperately clung
to battered Matty Mattel doll.

Any child with creative artistic bents
(including this scribe),
whose innate sensibilities and cents
severely limited me drawing
stick figures, more so dense
macabre satisfactorily applying
beard or mustache as stylish elements
applying magic marker to picture printed
faces forged into fences
of famous people popular
within culture club, both gents
or gals, whose retouched photographs
beggared ****** pents
sieve looming hair of men and women,
while simultaneously rents
sing preoccupied to access
excel lent glue, which caricatured outlook
devoid of common sense
I held said goofy looking doll
appeared contrived of household padding material,
and short scraps from circus tents
of yarn for do whit yourself based artisans
into trash bin of history project went.

Even than orange ranked as the new black
charming plaything sophistication did lack
plus batteries not required
to hear voice activated track.

This (think) abhor ridge gin null snippets
red + yellow colored strands
atop kepi twas pseudo hair,
sans manufactured eunuchs
adorned head lands
with avast capita lone linkedin
fingerhut dishabille curls,
could easily construct trolling grandstands
a similar facsimile re: globular molded,
incorporated, glommed,
fragile Ostrich egg shape
contrived head (vis a vis Plaster of Paris
overcovering NON GMO gluten free
partially hydrogenated brands
inflated balloon) to affect trademark
globular fuzzy noggin dry as Acklands.

The simple plain plaything included
a fitbit lifesaver size plastic ring
said small circular loop perfect “O”pening
to get jammed below first knuckle the King
Kong of index finger affixed to a short string
(when pulled to extent tub buckle did bring
taut tether) activated
moon face fixed bug eyed ping
pong blank stare to utter garbled syllables
asper one who nipped viz suckle something.

Despite the drabness, homeliness,
lacquered painted trapped
xyst Yarmulke cheap flatness,
I loved ragged slapped
around, and still iconic schlepped treasure
(uber voiceless with rapt
zealous application bridging elementary
functioning gizmo), initiating mapped
jabbering lock lipped absolute zero prattling.

Sometimes well worn action hero lapped
exhilaration, (got tossed in the air, booted
as football, succor silently accepted flapped
sear sucker punches from robed buck
after favorite fictitious "brother" chapped
accompanied my scrawny body
at bath time) to adapt.

Nonetheless, this adored
billed idol kept me secure,
especially on rare occasions
that found this contemplative lad, a lore
ring dutiful, fun loving kid
under the weather, or hospitalized for
minor adenoids removal,
which entailed post surgical recovery
swallowing quite a chore.

Oh yes, this non gendered plaything
nondescript featureless
sewn seams showed zero differentiation,
no matter to tell this August, cherished, fondled
kiddie piece de resistance lacked ****** identity.

Absent reproductive organs
(eh, nada so significant omission)
cuz, this seemingly resistant
quirky plaything, who unfairly re
ceived punishing physical
indiscriminate treatment, yet still
connection omnipotent bond existed
as if goofy guise happened
to be extended part of mine kempf.

Upon reflection, asper
childhood memento (nary a clue
what triggered remembrance
of things past yesterday comprised
true value), an aha moment awoke
to attempt to cap cha vague
essence about pretend friend designed in 1955,
and based on a concept by Mattel co-founder
Elliot Handler.

The character “Matty”
derived from the name Mattel.

The nom de plume a concatenation of sorts
derived after founders,
Harold Mattson and Elliot Handler.

A brainstorm session
yielded concurrence viz the hybrid name
of Matt + El (short for Elliot).
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
-
                                         Y      H
                                             卐
                                         W     H

                 and if the ✡
           was turned sideways?

              an open book,
                         and a rug?

to mind the fact that
   the schematic is not exactly
balanced:

                              rugby

       H                                                   H

Y, or coordination focus
                                (0, 0) genesis
or perhaps: the unfolding
         lotus into a body
   hanging on a crucifix?
        perhaps too st. andrew's X,
    and perhaps the T
                                 shaped foetal
pose before the mob & state...
                         a bowing flamingo...

         W, or the cosine graph...

vowel catcher on one side,
           laughter generator on the other,
but jesus christ
           never explained
the intricacies of this
                  four dimensional form...
i guess much simpler
              to give it a: father, status...

         yet no one is really addressing
the emergence of
            the nag hammadi library...
st. thomas loved to write
about chinese whispers
           between cult figure-head
                            and the disciples...

my namesake that ended up
                        preaching in Ethiopia...
and having learned
   nothing more than
     ******* up to Ethiopia's king's
daughter...
                 sank into a blood bath...

            yet the current "miracles
of *st. thomas' gospel
...
                 and between an identity,
and abstracting grammatical
conventions?
                
                       sure,
  give me a ******* yarmulke
  and i'll show you a bowl of soup
from a sheered goat,
     and i'll give you back a tonsure
with a bald scalp...

                   afloat on
the surface of the dead sea /
   semites, and their subtle vowel
applications to consonants...

    how about
                           the ching
         c                          f              ?
         a                          r              n
         m                        o              w
          e            ­ p         m             o
                         u                         d

the "brothers" chet, bet & shin...

    ש & ב , ח

   or what later became the mother
that's the:
                                        
                                  מֵתיָם
double negative meaning golden years
joie de vivre of married life unknown
during our sputtering rancorous courtship
when skirting within danger zone
witnessed countless ruptures
courtesy selfish wordsmith,
who authored these words.

Circa ~ late spring/ early summer 1978
twas at behest of Harriet Harris,
thus due credit mother dearest
who tried, to bribe, coax, exhort...
(protracted effort not all in vain),
cuz her second of three progeny,
and sole son i.e. (me) to
commingle, frolic, immerse myself
quintessentially ushering yawping zeal,
cuz general disposition courtesy yours truly
heavily trended toward solitude,
limiting interpersonal opportunities
minus those crafted,
videre licet overactive imagination (mine).

I took immediate affinity
(think duck adapting to water)
to milieu of contra dancing
and soon became popular with the gals,
surprising myself how enjoyable
untrammeled pinteresting linkedin hoopla
delivered je ne sais quois joie de vivre,
(the most fun one could experience
without taking off their clothes),
me no exhibitionist by a far cry!

How fitting and proper
to state we (thyself and spouse)
met (for reel) and jiggered mine johnson
at Thursday night contra dance
Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19119
(initially held at Church
of Saint Martin-in-the-Fields,
Saint Martins Lane, Chestnut Hill,
Philadelphia, PA 19118
scads of years past
(actually more'n deux times deuce
score earth's orbitz around
or quattuor decades ago),
whereby the missus claims,
she espied (yours truly
then as) young lad
(bookworm type fella)
with boyish good looks
and golden locks
emblematic of Samson,
who would be envious (ha).

At four foot eleven Delilah,
the petite prospective missus
(plus her waist length brunette tresses)
ball of fire stood out amidst
madding crowd drew attention (mine),
yet she vociferously, vigorously,
and vehemently still claims
initial awkward overtures
ascribed to Zison assertiveness.

Yours truly, he blatantly admits pranced as novitiate
devoid of interpersonal finesse and polish to whit,
a mere neophyte in a nutshell
hankering to sow wild oats that's zit.

Whereby our relationship got off to
(how shoal I say) rocky start
gallivanting with thee lass,
who would eventually
take me (grudgingly - ha)
as her respective lifelong sweetheart.

Unbeknownst to yours truly,
pent up unleashed testosterone
experienced disquieting alarm
adequately adept equipped with strong arm,
I tapped into secrete Lucky charm,
(albeit surreal environment
cavorting amidst madding crowd)
helped cultivate feral latent impotent
animal husbandry to farm
long fallow fresh unadulterated field

jabbering innocent blather,
brazenness embarrassingly proliferated,
but provocative behavior
smote ego (mine)
not with irrecoverable harm,
analogous to angry bees didst
adequately buzzfeeding naiveté
beehive ving like metaphorical swarm
(smartly stinging me) think freshly cooked
cockles and muscles clammy and warm.

I eventually acquired figurative ropes
regarding dating game
basic primal version
(at that time apps unnecessary)
nevertheless, call of the wild
thee woke former slumbering
beastie boy needed receptive body to tame,
he thus availed himself as lame
crash test dummy
feebly acquired social skills
bungled how to romance a capricious dame
readied himself to aim.

Aye celebrate thy life partner
with balance and swing
proffering courtesy turn
exhibiting gratitude occasionally
while with linkedin elbows turn a circle
punctuating spontaneity with do-si-do.

July 25th marks wedding anniversary
delineating, demarcating, denoting,
where the missus supposedly
filched mine bachelorhood,
whereby justice of the peace
Judge Henry Schireson,
(who still maintains an office
925 Montgomery Avenue, Suite 100
Narberth, Pennsylvania 19072-1913)
accommodated us as we became newlyweds
pledging our troth that hot July twenty fifth,
I try to recollect any vestige
constituting distinguishing,
under_scoring outstanding details
sifting thru hazy memories of past.
Today references when more' n force gore
and seven years ago
tha youngest daughter of
William and Sylvia Zison
found her lifetime beau (zoe)
pea ping over a paperback
(at present aye got nada clue of the title),
unbeknownst to him,
he would be
doing lifetime penance as a husband
and father, no longer

able to keep his head underground
like an ostrich or emu
foisted into marriage
when flagellated cell
didst ova whelm,
and subsequently flue
max, a panic prone
pencil necked geek
soon to learn goo
goo gaga, and brushing up
on Horton Hears a Hoo

learning to swaddle
airtight as an igloo
though a devout atheist gentile,
he attests genealogical lineage
linkedin many a Jew
but unfortunately only
scant details this groom knew,
hence he fabricated
while flushing in the loo,
which sketchy family tree
did include roomy, loony,

goofy, and cookey
offshoots, (essentially deadwood
pruning hooks never took down),
hence weak human DNA stock
freely germinating cow
wards less bright than
cloven hoofed bovines moo
ching and sometimes
tasting ****** Semitic brew,
especially espying bear naked lady
even yours truly

hollered yabba dabba doo
tasting verboten fruit
predestined to sire daughters
after enjoying despacito
while playing flugelhorn spitting
sputtering semantic glue
whereby biological totally
tubular fates loosed full bore
obligatory, yet paternal loving chore
foisting dada track detour
invoking fatherly delight

as fate found me to explore
the joys and sorrows
engaging das mister Harris
chieftain, sans family of four
attending, diapering, and pampering galore
which necessary task
aye could, nor would
be able to ignore
from which pier rill us
infant sea bay bee
launched jarring

insightful growing pains
attendant 'pon requisite
summer re: autotomy offspring,
when tears streamed
down cheeks as more
declarations of independence
meant nudging flight while pouring
heartfelt love shorering, and anchoring,
viz Harris blackstrap -
molasses survival skills,

thence giving progeny Thor
row lee - wharf fare
levying my best ******
gluten and MSG free
emotional bulwark whar
renting channeling concurrently bolstering
your preponderent swell alcove
harboring shipshape bon voyage.

Expediting distilled
when in the quarts of hue man ovens
this neptune salad days
steps outside summit Presbyterian Church -
and Westview Streets
near Weavers Way,
where yarn not gonna believe,
our traditional Jewish
wedding vows as merely imagined
courtesy fictitious Norwegian Jewish
bachelor farmer wannabe

so please pardon perfectly praiseworthy
precise preferential prevarication
page turning suspense
filled vaulted sepulchral air
ushering the veiled spouse to be
while afar off trumpets did blare
(arranged by
well known matchmaker Harriet Kuritsky)
creating the ambiance
analogous to a renaissance faire
yet contrasted in that this bachelor

and other men related to me
segregated with females and males
at a set distance away
i.e. not physically near
dictated by mandates
of Hebrew coda
stemming from Moses biological tree
which, separate quarters
ample enough to spare
until the proper toll of the bell would peal
accompanied by unified yippee!
After Rabbi Boyce officiated
for the groom and bride,
the crowd exalted with cheers
of L’Chaim with chutzpah
oompah sizzling and hot.

Klezmer musicians played schmaltz
which accompanied hoopla
as couples did waltz.
All the while family, friends and relatives
blessed the new groom and bride
although highly orthodox,
the men removed respective skullcap
more commonly known as yarmulke
some plain others dyed
women and children broke out
in traditional dance and song
while other did clap
exemplifying Yahweh to deliver mazal tov
and shalom as spiritual guide
to the pronounced husband and wife
who pledged their troth in a snap.
Toward conclusion
of typical Jewish wedding,
a full goblet of kosher red wine
got tossed in the air
this (in conjunction
with crush of emptied wine glass
sacred apex rite
of passage communicated a sign
and marshaled the crowd
to begin a local Jerusalem exodus
symbolic and clear.
As the newlyweds blissfully
and radiantly strolled arm in arm
and exited the Synagogue,
the euphoric and excited crowd
did house tossed handfuls
of uncle Ben’s unconverted libertarian rice
grown from norwegian bachelor farmers
on nearby organic whole foods farm
a chauffeur waited
to shuttle newlyweds to honeymoon location
passersby waved and bowed
and local fire department
rang a false alarm.

— The End —