alternately titled give one targeted scapegoat a break,

an unquenchable thirst for moolah before I wake

from nightmare of computer hackers.

I tread upon the oblate spheroid

along the edge of night glistening

like a blade runner wielding a knife.

Dark shadows hoover

from the outer limits of the twilight zone

illuminating one bisel mashugana naked ape

alienated and lost in space.

An invisible umbilical cord

tethers yours truly to planet earth,

whereat sorry excuse for a human

symbiotically uber twittering

exhibiting more information about me

than you dear reader wanted to know,

a nameless anonymous poet

pantomiming living social

linkedin to webbed wide world

a fool on the hill

analogous to buzzfeeding

as a prairie home companion wannabe

and poet of Perkiomen Valley,

who writes free verse

frequently bordering

(while housed in a noble barn)

glommed on the side of melancholy.

Now I take nine prescription medications

to keep in check anxiety, dysthymia,

obsessive/compulsive disorder,

and palmar hyperhidrosis

(excessive sweating of palms)

where baseline difficulty coping

with ordinary life demands

such as joining the woke

work a day world in general

signaling to those who begat me

to marvel at ingenuity of their sole son

evincing capability

to reap what he did sow

regarding maintaining

impressive curriculum vitae

versus his poor track record

peppered with barely

passing lousy grades

and reflecting deliberate intention to fail

aborting native potential

to succeed with flying colors

wishing scores of decades later

to retry and live vicariously

thru elements of style

exhibited by "star student"

the first born daughter

between himself and wife.

The married status of mine

one once upon a time mattress

(early in our

pre-marital months long honeymoon phase)

connubial bliss now fraught

with emotional and financial hardship,

and yours truly (me)

still afflicted with monetary woes

exacerbated courtesy

electronic highwayman/woman,

who virtually robbed and pillaged

my checking and savings accounts

(by hook and crook incorporating Zelle),

thus spurring a short spiel fostering

a Caucasian, sexgenarian,

and Unitarian Democrat

to please supplement

very meager cashed out resources of mine,

whose modus operandi to supplicate

with cents and sensibility,

and pride without prejudice

indicative of my modest demeanor.

originally written May 31st, 202_

humorously, posthumously,

and tempestuously expressing woes

from the top of my talking head

to gnarly nails of

(this little piggy fame) toes

in sore need and want

of a podiatrist I suppose,

which keratin structures

at the end of plates

of meaty ten digits

topping off little feet

dextrous enough to type poetry and prose

and play violin highs and lows,

but only the shadow knows

that one among

common prickly Joe's

alternately titled re: double entendre

the red, white and blue

diminutive soldier (when

squeezed like a toy gun

cocked and primed

to fire off load)

then gets flaccid like a slimy hose

does double duty

in tandem with magic wand,

lifelike snaky entity

that actually grows

particularly necessary when

burst of fiery secretion flows

intense spray powerful enough

to pulverize knees and elbows

subsequently witnessing

yours truly to doze

an ideal time to take

a naked lunch break

at petticoat junction

to figuratively close

itty bitty teensy weensy

of cross between humpback sperm whale

analogous to miniscule Moby Dick

regarding how prurient introduction

to reasonable rhyme blows.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack

atypical/unusual fond memory -

argh, a sudden nostalgia attack

many... countless years gone back

livingsocial at 324 Level Road,

elapsed good times,

I can never buyback

prominent Gambone family builders

demolished complex edifice

currently repurposed mansion

manse sin courtesy

vinyl city as Stella's Way

boyhood address above,

never seen since transformed

into latter place name, which property

originally christened Glen Elm,

(within national registries)

yours truly can easily callback

detailed information searching internet

if mine eyes espied absent estate...

slack jawed stare would repeatedly

sow sadness weighing me heart

heavy as coalsack

accompanying sorrow with

attendant flood of tears,

would make an immediate comeback

impossible mission to stopper

feeble, futile and lame counterattack

where sentimental reverie would

carry me far away to Old Virginny,

for no particular rhyme nor reason.

e'en attempting to write

recollections might trigger

tsunami imminent domain

grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,

while chomping on crackerjack

when I had real teeth.

Like puss in boots, the Missus

axed me to enliven herself

regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback

to... party hardy times,

the major drawback

x amount of time elapsed

summoning special occasions

(surgeon general's warning

such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset,

where perilous flashback

will moost likely

violently grip cerebral cortex

analogous to suckerpunch puny chap (me)

knocked unconscious courtesy

searingly robust fullback,

nevertheless impossible mission

to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,

and hoop fully succeed tamping tears

strong suggestion

as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin

known within these neck of woods

as storied Paul Bunyan

also alias Philanderer,

(especially among superficially

prim and proper, but

actually prurient women folk),

whose services regarding payback

best abide, adhere, and afford

to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack

with severe scoliosis,

nonetheless quite self evident

his outsize implement,

(ye need not axe further questions)

extinguishing problematic residue

iterated further within

mine playful ramble

herewith to enliven

anecdote ever further,

I inject humorous tidbit

just gimme moment

to unload and reach

into psychological

metaphorical knapsack

particularly blue's clue

slimy hose from days of yore, my keepsake

to forcibly remove dingleberries

birthed courtesy emergency pit stop

without means and ways to clean derriere,

a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy

yours truly subsequently secured

more powerful giant accouterment),

while clinging for dear life

perched atop ledger

or edger domain of clawfoot bathtub,

(ah how convenient and timely

smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)

and lemme figuratively

continue closing pathetic riffraff

(apropos of nothing) rifling around

mostly strewn with random tchotchkes

and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack

such as ahh... look here hocked wares,

acquired ready to receive paddywhack

giving doggerel bonafied chops.

awash with intermittent amnesia.

Scant number of minutes elapsed...

before I forgot whether yours truly

took another dose of glycopyrrolate

ingested as a palliative prescription

medication addressing the issue of

palmar hyperhidrosis -- excessive

perspiration of palms of hands, an

unpleasant physiological symptoms

afflicting me more than three fourths

of my threescore and six years or

more specifically sixty six orbits

alive to the sound of music

debilitating, hobbling, loosing

a torrent of water dripping

(think Murchison Falls -

After crossing the gorge,

the water pours down

falling freely 45m below

creating a strong water spray

on which the rainbow is formed)

off the ventral side, id est anterior

(front) surface of the hand

an uncontrollable exudation

of wet sometimes saturated

issuance wren during

physical contact (particularly

a handshake) quite aggravating

and part of the reason

(without rhyme), I shied away

filling out applications,

a major self conscious

legendary characteristic

of my being at least

as far back as when

yours truly a poor student

at Methacton High School

creating a great disruption

when quizes or major midterms

or final examinations occurred

witnessing dog awful dilemma

when using pen(cil) and paper,

because the royal pain in the arse

sopping wet diaphoresis

significantly like duh impacted

satisfactory writing without the ink

or graphite turning into liquid,

yet never did I

(an extremely shy youth)

tell teacher (if young and female

generated flushed and hot sensations

finding me to blush),

but even if the pedagogue

a male never did mine tongue

wag to plead if I could retake the test

teasing out qualifications or knowledge

(ofttimes memorized strictly

for those minutes

of absolute zero noise),

when intense concentration

attempted to bring

to the fore of the mind

(essentially a mission impossible

even for the likes of ace actors,

who made their debut

when original "Mission: Impossible"

television series and made for silver screen

(countless decades later)

"Mission: Impossible - starring macho

and adroit Top Gun globetrotter,)

to weed out unsavory malefactors,

and Cruise’s (he

of Risky Business endless fame)

endearing, one-man crusade

to get butts back in movie theater seats

in spite of executives trying

to sell the industry out to streaming

the none-too-subtle subtext

of 2023’s delightful

“Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning”

also included a cameo appearance

of nondescript appearance

with his trademark characteristic

of longish wavy hair

giving him cachet as self anointed

free verse writing Poet

of Penn Valley, Pennsylvania

playing a well known woolgatherer

who recently returned from zzz land,

where dreams made

but rarely REMembered.

A book suggestion by Debra Duff (deblrduff@gmail.com), who facilitates Different Kind of Book Club, which usually meets thethird or fourth Thursday each month.

Four female siblings and the debut appearance of a love child male offspring of Violet (the second eldest starting with the oldest sister, or third youngest from Gracie, the baby of the family) parade before the reader courtesy helpful flashbacks courtesy the author Claire Lombardo, which retrospective modus operandi endeared the fictitious progeny of Marilyn and David Sorenson to me, an instant fan of said believable family. I vicariously experienced gamut of emotions elicited courtesy each character, when one or more affected by strange encounters of the third, fourth, fifth, et cetera kind.

At first the novel presented elegiac turns of phrases (which found yours truly, i.e. me) first adjusting cognitive comprehension, and quickly envying adroit skill of the author, (whose creative flair for bounteous sentences found the writer of these words spellbound), and ofttimes induced a re-read of one or more pages.

The flourishing prose (as well as explicit language laced throughout the novel) appealed to my affinity with words as the adroit author pulled out all the stops to expound upon the aura, charisma, and enigma not only of the persona of each major and minor antagonist and protagonist, but also the milieu within which each person throve or struggled with their trials and tribulations.

Much to my unexpected surprise the fleshed out parents (Marilyn and David Sorenson - who exhibited emotional and financial strength) fantastically presented as real people, whereat this sexagenarian imagined he could have relished such crème de la crème parents, whose maturation since their twoscore plus year long marriage evoked healthy coping skills no matter their four daughters lifestyles hardly mirrored such resilient marital relationship, one undergirded with lifelong love for each other, and neither father nor mother got ensnared into a parent trap ending with a resounding divorce.

Matter of fact, a blossoming, flourishing, and verbally nurturing murmuring vocalizations hints of an extramarital relationship involving the easy to forgive breadwinner, a Doctor drawn into a potential sexual liaison with his co-worker severely tested the mettle of the attractive and affectionate wife. Actually both the husband and wife exhibited (I figuratively tip my hat and heartily applaud the authenticity of characterizations from an overactive imagination videre licet the author), whereby genuine feelings of adoration arose within mine breast.

Perhaps after the first fifty pages, and most definitely about one quarter into the novel (with an element of style and believability) suddenly found thyself infatuated with sentiment, I could feel palpable tears of sorrow and joy rarely engendered among countless books these myopic eyes of mine perused. Nothing else mattered in my real life (even crafting poems - a favorite avocation of mine) except to turn one page after another intent to be privy and brought into the intimacy even as empty nesting quinquagenarians.

Realistic biographies incorporated of each family member (as additional offspring subsequently begot from fecund mindset of Claire Lombardo), I too empathized as first to last born Wendy, Violet, Liza and Grace respectively made their storied directorial touted debut, and felt a twinge to likewise be fruitful and multiply, despite the advanced age of deep in the throes of menopause wife thus rendering spouse well past the age of reproduction, plus the way past peak prime time player of dry yet good humored husband also known as Matthew Scott Harris.

Early in the narration the Irish twin (and second progeny) rankled about a baby she gave up for adoption, and actually tracked down the foster mom and unwittingly interacted with fifteen year old Jonah, a veritable stranger toward birth mother Violet, whom the former (I infer) must possess intimations of said young woman linkedin with his existence one significant issue kept as a secret between those two bound by less than a year age difference manage to contrive a fiction that nevertheless unexpectedly comes back as a positive course of events, whereat unconditional love brightens hope of suspicious lad identified early in this paragraph.

In summary, I felt concerned for the welfare of each significant player solely existent within the outer limits of the twilight zone (as actual existential nihilism can resemble), and even secondary characters linkedin to primary affable folks, whose tragedy and comedy of errors wonted by undivided attention, and though the progeny cast of four appealing girls afflicted with strife, a sincere sadness and grief pitched my soul to and fro, hither and yon, and even a nostalgia enveloped this married solitudinarian, who hankers for his own innocent boyhood free and clear of mental health and monetary challenges.

The high score of ten when

The Most Fun We Ever Had

read from cover to cover,

now I feel a yen

to access excellent crafts

woman ship of Claire Lombardo

to tap into the zeitgeist and zen

of fabricated persons

that sprang from her nimble mind and pen.

Vultures swooped overhead

and preyed on my vulnerabilities

forcing me to carrion camping

as fine young cannibals

sharpened their knives

and licked their lips

while eyeing me as their naked lunch

bound and gagged

as a huge cauldron bubbled

awaiting yours truly as human sacrifice

preparatory to be boiled alive

shorn of clothes

embarrassingly in the buff

with me pot bellied gut

and spindleshanks for legs

presenting a poor excuse

and laughing stock of Homo sapiens

lowering my head in resignation

as a die hard atheist

putting sudden conviction

in an all knowing divine creator

who reassuringly winked nonverbally

a handy dandy blue's clue

meaning just wing it

relying on atavistic survival instinct

playing possum to thwart rat fink.

After threescore and six bountiful years,

I learned the wicked wiles of Homo sapiens

as a much quicker picker upper,

now than earlier in my life

as the fickle finger of fate veered

yours truly hither and yon, to and fro

necessitating me to apply

razor sharp wit as potent,

(albeit sometimes brittle) spears

particularly after a delayed reaction welled up

analogous to waves that rock

plowing whitecaps into piers.

As a diminutive boy

passive role of scapegoat

granted bullies carte blanche permission

to threaten me with verbal taunts

and stop just a hair's breadth short

beating the sh*t out of one scared lad,

who subdued submissively, subserviently

suddenly and deftly

adopted fetal position

as mortal blow poised to strike,

I hurriedly and subsequently

dropped down on all fours,

where miming panting

bonafide doggone friggin human

praying for immediate salvation.

Intimidation of badass nasty brute

heaped insult upon injury

whereby string of expletives

hurled like blackened barbs

to additional disproportionate

trademark attributes of mine

aside from being rather diminutive in size

(easily squashed courtesy

incredible hulk sporting outsize glute)

mine existence could be extinguished

and snuffed out

videre licet runt of the mill

without anyone giving a hoot

mama and papa would say

"forget the ransom cuz

he ain't worth the loot"

momentarily imagining myself

as a radical righteous leftist

being raised by a deaf mute

resembling a Doctor Zeus character

while attending regal affair

in my honor

as musicians and leader of the band

trumpeted the clarion call

initiating pomp and circumstances

as zeppelin size conductor led

electric light orchestra

donning a zoot suit.

Invisible battle scars

worn like well earned

emotional tattoos

pierced armor of soul asylum,

nevertheless gifted me

how to feign being a lunatic,

when intimidated not to crater

like totally tubular offloading,

jettisoning superfluous ballast

dumping cumbersome

Jerry Springer like baggage

analogous to primordial

third rock from the sun

birthing when the Moon formed

from a giant impact event

involving the Earth

and a Mars-sized celestial body

named Theia around 4.5 billion years ago.

This collision ejected

a massive amount of debris into space,

which then coalesced to form the Moon

regarded as the most widely accepted theory,

known as the giant impact hypothesis.

Which lame excuse I exclaimed,

when my dear old mom asked

rather told me in her scolding voice

to tidy up my bedroom,

cuz this son of a gun

intuited neatening (organizing)

one infinitesimal corner of the cosmos,

(a veritable pinpoint of nothingness -

our house at blank address)

hence an excellent reason

as lamely iterated above

not to straighten up

my sleeping quarters,

or... rather lesser portion

of bedroom yours truly

then shared with my younger sister,

when writer of these words

just a diminutive lad,

who wished and envied himself

to be the diminutive little boy

(analogous to Jack Wild in Oliver)

at Baker Park day camp

named Stuart (or spelled Stewart) Gillett.

I did literally shortchange

natural born propensity

to witness maximum development

of body, mind, and spirit

when psyche whipsawed

by the vagaries of social anxiety,

panic attacks,

and obsessive compulsive disorder

(psychological maladies shortlisted

to spare the reader his/her tolerance

to endure umpteenth regurgitation

of boyhood, adolescent

and emerging adult mental health ills)

attempting to stave off bidding adieu

to a childhood's end mourned,

no matter fictitiously envisioned

formative years idyll reveries

analogous to present prevarication

being a Norwegian bachelor farmer

in Lake Woebegone,

where cessation of degradation

courtesy intubation, supported jollification

think (Potemkin Village)

bolstering façade and charade

of a faux gone existence.

Hypothetical arbitrary

definition of methodization

exemplified by eldest sister

(when as an an ace student

during convincingly

feigned rapt chores,

where the order of the day

pitted shushed obedient kids

subjected to elementary

my dear Watson pedagogical blather),

nevertheless she displayed

immaculate artistic renderings

courtesy the device

used during every grade

whether at primary,

junior and senior high school

to project images onto a screen,

where a teacher

would place transparent sheets

with written information,

called an overhead projector.

These projectors often referred to as OPs,

according to an article

on Larry Cuban's blog.

They were also sometimes

informally called a "Belshazzar".

Since the universe

abhorred the apotheosis

of parochial law and order

as epitomized

by aforementioned eldest sibling's

buzzfeeding with extremely

neat and groovy note-taking,

and hence succeeded

as a straight A student

completing dozen

dirty deeds done dirt cheap

thru first to twelfth grade

with flying colors,

who as a nature lover to boot

shunned killing live specimens

from a young age

and ingeniously fantastic star student

got the lion's share

born sympathetic and empathetic

toward all creatures great and small,

(whose insect collection project

assignment for seventh grade -

where she pinned

dead critters to styrofoam board

and accompanied with drawings

with her exquisite left hand

validated her artistic penchant

that southpaws gifted

with predilection toward phenomenal

exact printing and drawing

preceding me by approximately

thirteen plus months prior

to my scrawny debut

in the webbed wide world,

where yours truly ranked

as most convenient scapegoat

where utter chaos reigned supreme

as evidenced and exemplified

by illegible chicken scratch

and deplorable messiness

to assigned hurt locker of mine.

I can hold out for upcoming mental health therapy until Wednesday at 1:00 p.m.

Yes, and you (like I) will probably presume me deservedly cursed for flagrante delicto years ago.

After I experienced the following catastrophe (written in my freestyle poetry), you won't be surprised that taking an overdose of one or more of the nine prescription medications became a very appealing exit from aggravating travails.

"Hell hath no fury

like a Matthew Scott Harris

fleeced, milked, and scammed"

affected double whammy debacle

worse than being bamboozled

by dreaded dybbuk,

and ransacked, targeted,

and zapped me monetary resources

analogous to wearing a bullseye on my back

eviscerated checking and savings accounts

leaving yours truly

without cents or sensibility.

I always prided myself without prejudice,

yet feel nothing

but red hot poker enmity

towards him/her

who robbed me blind

courtesy willy nilly

pocketing meager pocket change

(but now yours truly

closer to being penniless)

no matter Citizens Bank

vowed, pledged, and held

unswerving oath vis a vis

"FDIC insured" an FDIC-insured bank,

which means that deposits

in all types of Citizens Bank accounts

insured by the FDIC, dollar for dollar,

up to $250,000 per person.

This insurance covers

a wide range of accounts,

including checking, savings,

money market, and certificates of deposit.

According to Citizens Bank,

they are proud to be a part

of the FDIC's deposit insurance system.

A sting operation

already set in motion

hopefully nabs

and prosecutes guilty perpetrators,

whose criminal intent

hopefully finds them behind bars

where they get roughened up

by nasty short and brutish prison thugs.

Two separate incidents

of outright theft occurred

along dark shadows

while merrily ambling along

the information superhighway

(where life, liberty

and the pursuit of happiness)

like a dream oblivious

and unbeknownst to me

entering the outer limits

of the twilight zone,

where robberies occurred,

in one case scenario,

an unsuspecting individual

acquired a new debit card

meant for the missus

so she could access

our joint checking account,

which nonchalant activation

and subsequent withdrawal of money

blithely undertaken by unknown person(s),

similar and maybe identical individual

who utilized Zelle (case scenario two)

to access savings account,

no doubt experienced joie de vivre.

Along the edge of night,

I arose to said rude awakening

on May sixteenth

two thousand and twenty five

discovering visa vis

that scrawny money tree of mine

figuratively shaken until...

mine bark turned into a whimper,

whereat this doggone word wrangler

found himself

handed a sentence of destitution.

A new checking

and savings accounts created

as a precautionary measure

to stymie future sinister motives

of stealthy badass antagonists,

and also User Identification

and password changed

to thwart nefarious nincompoops.

Hopefully I can recoup

considerable lost money

and nevertheless will brace myself

to accept a fate worse than death.

like the infinite vista

upon the midwestern plain

farther than the eyes of mine

(an ascetic and copacetic

shortsighted father of two grown

twenty something daughters)

can no longer see,

since sockets severely seared

staring at the hypnotic screen

blindsided courtesy the magnificent 7

(a group of seven

major technology companies

that consistently outperformed

the overall stock market,

particularly in recent years)

severed mine "ocular orbs,"

leaving a comfortably numbskull

bonafide USDA approved

nondescript puny skeleton

once sported a sexagenarian

sliding seventy inches

down into the behavioral sink

dwarfed by teeming masses

of dead people,

(who once possessed a sixth sense)

sporting telltale signs of misery

somnambulance courtesy prolonged insomnia

a sorry escape for a Dreamcatcher

standing under the dome (more so

wobbling on spindle shanks

awaiting Rita Hayworth

and Shawshank redemption),

though I never flinch

head and shoulders above me,

where their vestigial swallowed tail

(shriveled and atrophied coccyx

resembling dessicated wild asparagus),

the bony husk, the body, the firestarter

illustrating emotionally tattooed

generic common John Doe

among skeletal husks

of emaciated humans

wolfishly fighting over scraps

confusing yours truly (me)

as some tasty morsel

with weathered gristle

remains of the day

from a freshly fielded kill

concentration camp victim

mostly bleached lovely bones

charred courtesy bonfire of the vanities

the aftermath of cannibals

partying after experiencing reefer madness

strongly resembling animated

stoned temple pilots

base sic lee emulating 10,000 maniacs

frolicking with more'n one

barenaked lady supertramp wannabe

turning her cheap trick

ohm my dog after getting a charge

quaffing electric kool aid acid test

gifted me with aforementioned hallucinations

to escape the cares and concerns

of an uncertain future,

hence I never wanna venture out

nor can yours truly (me)

break free and clear of this cell

tethered with omnipotent cables

of human bondage

approximating as a quasi umbilical cord

housed in Apartment b44

analogous to be encapsulated

and livingsocial as if born again

within pseudo makeshift uterus

no longer experiencing desperation

to venture outside

into the webbed wide world

because I feel safe and sound

ensconced under the covers

away from the coming fury

where opposing armies never call retreat

meanwhile the cursor blinks

as the writer of these words sits stupefied

yawning chasms that could swallow a Mack truck

despite just arising

from a siesta moments ago

dead set to let thought unspool

analogous to a meandering river

baffling the casual observer

why a more direct route

from mountaintop to base

did not manifest destiny

"a riddle wrapped in a mystery

inside an enigma"

which origins of the phrase

can be traced back to a statement

made by Winston Churchill

in 1939 regarding the Soviet Union.

(on a rainy May thirteenth

two thousand and twenty five)

as a balm against ennui

becoming engrossed, immersed,

and lost in space of orrery

regarding the universe created courtesy

Nora Roberts well crafted novel Montana Sky

perusing said realistic fiction

as if inebriated

with one hundred proof liquor

experiencing drunken stupor

merely from evocatively written story

and subsequently

envying such craftsmanship

incorporating her gushing wellspring

plentifully populated

with seat of the pants suspense

interwoven with the tapestry

of love and delight

in the valley of dark shadows

where the edge of night

(awash with creatures

conjured from an overactive imagination)

creeps into the realm

bordered by outer limits of the twilight zone

buzzfeeding insatiable

appetite for consumption

of one bookworm hellbent

on appeasing his voracious hunger

mental comfort analogous

to buffet of food omnipresent

for a famished homeless person,

which unfortunate soul

could be yours truly linkedin

to a lifetime of poor planning

and lack of sticktoitiveness

toward reasonable goals

abandoning ambition ousted

with faith no more

devoid of self confidence

by long entrenched apathy

taking root kudzu like way back

during blissful boyhood,

when yours truly

deferred to those

who begat him as his boatswain de jure

and panicking

when he clocked eighteen years

around the nearest star

totally unable and unready

to be master of his domain

witnessed courtesy

as he hopscotched

from one college to another

without rhyme nor reason

and giving up on himself

before testing his short lived

quizzical excitement pursuing

for example setting sights

on bachelor of science degree

at Temple University

as a Geology major

disbelieving I possessed the smarts

to comprehend chemistry or physics,

and rather than applying

figurative button nose to grindstone

yours truly (me) impulsively withdrew

repeated the above refrain

approximately half a dozen times,

and only recently discovering

vis a vis unbridled joy

imbibing countless author's claim to fame

boosting his literacy,

which plunge into

webbed wide world of imagination

did ensure temporary alleviation of learning

not so much to impress anybody,

but more so engaged

in near futile attempt

to appease hungry bibliophile

christened Matthew Scott Harris,

I simultaneously sought escape

from cares and concerns

of an uncertain world

where the great unknown

akin to a vast dangerfield*

peopled with brutish,

nasty and short imps of the pervert

unsuspecting poe whet tick justice

awaiting within pit and the pendulum.

* "Dangerfield" is a surname of Norman origin, meaning "settlement of danger" or "village of danger". It is a habitational name, meaning it originated from a place name in northern France. The name combines the Old Norse personal name "Ásgeirr" (from "áss" meaning god and "geirr" meaning spear) with the Old French "ville" meaning settlement or village. The "d" in "Dangerfield" is a fused preposition meaning "of" or "from."

honored at freedom fête

of course in my dreams

where Tony the Tiger

roars Matthew Scott Harris

ranks as one hip cat gr-r-eat

showcasing adroitness

with ability to turn a phrase

evident if we could arrange a tête-à-tête

where immortality doth wait.

Pacifist bard of Perkiomen Valley

regaled at Alpine Fellowship conclave

regarding erosion of Democratic rights grave

alarming usurpation of power - Republicans

each and every one a nasty and brutish knave

intent to pronounce decree sentencing

every Homo sapien to pave

(courtesy their lovely bones)

back breaking laborious bloody path

trumpeting, signaling and attesting slave

versus master linkedin relationship

essentially scuttling emancipation proclamation

lifetime of human bondage

forced to pledge flag of servitude

amidst wreckage broken souls

washed away courtesy totalitarian wave.

Foreclosure on purported inalienable rights

life, liberty and pursuit of happiness

though hard won freedoms crimped

foregone conclusion demanding

fealty and loyalty to sovereignty

therefore necessitates electorate

to stage coup d'état

and overthrow autocrat

ideally thru peaceful modus operandi.

Though aforementioned verses hypothetical,

mine overactive imagination

can easily envision governmental,

née societal debacle

witnessing yours truly,

an extremely shy

Norwegian bachelor wannabe

gobbling up ample powder milk biscuits

to acquire courage to protest

(no matter the temperature

seasonably pitch perfect May tenth

two thousand and twenty five)

and stand firm against

one unnamed political party

aiming to upend voting rights,

thus disenfranchising

most economically vulnerable people

(predominantly) persons of color

to cast their vote for representation.

Absolute zero chance for change

unless even those risk averse

(such as one garden variety wordsmith)

to protest without resorting to violence

and staking a claim to denounce

opposition against exercising

freedom for citizens

to elect eligible candidate.

I too would join aspiring bravehearts

(each of us participants

tightly grasping an amulet),

not looking for fame nor fortune,

only martyrdom and sainthood ha,

nevertheless able, eager, and ready

to risk life and limb in an effort to preserve

(even at expense getting into a jam)

principle figurative bulwark buttressing

buzzfeeding land of milk and honey myth.

Throughout American history

many patriots as well

as indigenous tribes bled,

the latter viciously tracked down

nsync with ominous dread,

no matter how fast they fled

taking refuge courtesy

sympathetic abolitionists,

who silently motioned

at (hiding) in hogshead

wherein close proximity

slave catchers hope

upon silent footsteps they tread

to steal back their overworked

and demeaned hashtagged chattel.

Outspoken voices helped spur

Emancipation Proclamation and

subsequent manumission

diametrically opposed to bedrock

attitudes, ideologies, prejudices...

kept in check by scare tactics

thus disallowing formerly shackled

to experience full fledged freedom,

whether enjoying opportunities

available to the leisure class

or exploring inherent potential

to amass learning

and become financially successful,

which suppression of free will,

(within parameters of self expression -

artistic, literary, musical et alia)

gives credence to notion of white privilege

automatic guilt linkedin with skin color.

Each generation of oppressed,

especially those who break the color barrier

subjected with bigotry

(ofttimes subtle mistreatment)

challenging well earned freedom

rightfully bequeathed from forebears labor.

The ghosts of Africans

who suffered pre colonial rule

(namely European exploitation)

robbed of their national identity

will forever haunt the offspring,

whose forefathers/mothers

brutally desecrated haven housing

rightful autochthonous

men, women and children

buzzfeeding and livingsocial within

their own Lake Wobegone.