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Personal Note:
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Poem
Today, I Mourn slain Beatle John Lennon
assassinated at 10:50 PM,
on December 8, 1980
forty four years later to date
outside The Dakota Apartment,
(also known as the Dakota Apartments),
located at 1 West 72nd Street
in New York City, U.S.

After Mark David Chapman
unloaded five bullets in the back
with a .38 special revolver,
that son of a gun got his quarryman
and became eligible for parole
in 2000 after serving only 20 years
since said murderer felled legend:
he pulled the trigger of his firearm
at point blank range
brutally killing the most successful
singer/songwriter in history,

(whose collaboration with Paul McCartney)
bestowed double fantasy
and rendered instant karma
echoing his oft repeated refrain
across the universe
for the benefit of Mister Kite
"All we are saying is give peace a chance,"
a lyric from the song
"Give Peace a Chance"
by the late John Lennon and Yoko Ono,
which song when released in 1969

became an anthem
for the anti-war movement,
nevertheless even after
exactly three score years
since the Fab Four,
became famous in 1964
after their appearance
on The Ed Sullivan Show,
which elapsed time
seems like yesterday
to this day tripper (me)
who happened to be 
just a beastie boy.

Upon hearing in utter disbelief over the telly
On December 8, 1980,
the breaking news videre licet
regarding the murder
of John Lennon, a member of the Beatles,
outside his New York City apartment building,
I felt numb standing stock still
in the kitchen
(within childhood home of mine)
at 324 Level Road,
and nearly found myself asphyxiating
as if trapped within a yellow submarine
buried within briny deep
courtesy stone(d) temple pilot.

Yours truly stormed out of the house
analogous to a stormtrooper
heading into the thick of battle
experienced being dazed and confused
espying a Led Zeppelin
in the front yard
after getting a closer look
I quickly realized parked guests
came from an alien nation,
which immediately prompted me
to avail myself to be abducted
courtesy unidentified anomalous phenomena

bidding goodbye to father and mother
quietly pleading... dear prudence
escaping the helter skelter amidst humanity
here, there and everywhere
wistfully envisioning a utopia
like dreamers do
able, eager, ready and willing
to embark upon a magical mystery tour
this fool on the hill,
a veritable nowhere man

feeling like nobody's child
psyching myself to be free as a bird
yearning to adopt fearlessness
after froggy went a courtin
jump/kick starting
far out and groovy kismet
to become a paperback writer
renown on par with aforementioned
famous British balladeer
but before taking fateful step

into dark shadows
hiding the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
I dashed off a short note
to family and friends,
and subsequently flagged down letterman
also asking please mister postman
to inform kith and kin
NOT to summon search party,
cuz yours truly hopes to frolic
amidst strawberry fields forever.
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