Long Brandon Poems
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Raw bits of heavenly tasty healing power...
Sown by Norwegian bachelor farmer
in tandem with baked powder milk biscuits
courtesy your guardian angel
(otherwise known as Matthew Scott)
Writes to his dearly beloved precious offspring
(today March 25th, 2021)
in summer re: a shayne maydel darling daughter
prostrated by grief evincing figurative bite marks
indicative being smitten (now unrequited love).
Ever since her young heartthrob
unexpectedly rent asunder
fledgling relationship,
his heart felt initial zeal squelched,
when prized progeny voiced ecstasy
toward him, an attractive lad
regarding company hungrily sought
once breached a bond
subsequently rent asunder
impossible mission
to bridge formidable chasm.
Aeons of sorrowful tears shed,
wherein our hereditary blood and flesh
weeps profuse grievousness
whereby papa
(feeling helpless thousands of miles away)
wonders how much more time will elapse
before aforementioned lass
exhibits freedom from melancholic affliction.
Scant amount of time
actually constitutes
longevity of amorousness
between Shana Punim
and he who caught fancy
of same quite sensitive
twenty two year old young woman,
nevertheless an ordinarily
indomitable female spirit
reduced to inconsolable grief
similar to when Zayda
(her paternal grandfather)
passed away inching up on six months ago.
The width, depth, and breadth amidst
every cell comprising
one generic body well nigh
manifested as yours truly (me)
doth also plaintively cry
nsync with sad mood
(analogous to when
said loved one didst die),
cuz filial linkedin connection
automatically triggers chain reaction,
who helped beget
referenced youngest adult child of mine.
Naivete and innocence
pitched hither and yon
to and fro, where male testosterone won
out against moral scruples
(read marital covenant I violated),
where temptation appropriated from son
of the Boyce Brandon
and later Harriet Harris,
who willingly and wantonly
surrendered himself to concupiscence
thus receiving just desserts
being privy forced to experience hurt,
(albeit vicariously)
heaped upon Shana without question.
Good news came my way today February 21, 2021 courtesy late father
Papa - purportedly named
after paternal grandmother
Sadie, her mom's Yiddish name
Basia Brana (or Brandla),
she took two B letters and
found American boys' names
that kind of echoed
her mother's names in letters
and sounds too: Boyce Brandon).
Conversation with eldest sibling
apprised me of entitlement
heading this endeavor with poetic ring,
plus she (same sister) emailed
specifics, a financial life raft
I will devotedly and blessedly cling.
Gratuity his (General Electric)
life insurance policy
totaling $37,063.00
divided three ways
bequeathed to yours truly
and my two non-twisted sisters.
Aforementioned dollar figure
divided three ways equals
12,354.3333333,
which tidy sum
could help me
alleviate outstanding
credit card debt.
Upon acquiring allotted dividend
tattered credit history I will mend
eldest daughter would commend
no rhyme nor reason accrual twist
of fate unfortunately happened
impossible mission to comprehend
how yours truly became deadened
abominable hand to mouth existence
turned scofflaw criminally hardened
not really but makes for good legend.
Figurative dark shadow ameliorate
I must, cuz unpaid charges create
unnecessary uneasiness and emasculate
like invisible fetters tellingly generate
principal abuzz with interest initiate
tingling goosebumps think back,
when Iraq invaded Kuwait.
Whatever portion remains after bank
receives their due, inherited windfall
(lemme please me earnest and frank)
metaphorically teetering on pull lank
lesson learned while marriage doth tank
hence joint account activated between
yours truly and wife crocheting machine
eventually a future blanket methinks green
backs could be pocketed, especially
since legal tender equals slim pickings,
which hoop fully Spartan existence lean
years can be supplanted with obscene
wealth (cryptic words) hinting
play philanthropist so the missus
and her consort can live splendid
like king and queen,
else we may consider enlisting
contraband to acquire
laundered moolah crisp and clean.
Two weeks ago snow turned
trees into beautiful chandeliers,
and at night they glittered...
not broken by the howling wind.
" We finally got a break from the bitter cold...
being slammed by winter is everybody's demise;
rejoice that on the ghostly trees the ice is melting.
Brandon thrillingly shouts, " It feels like spring!"
His mom turned to him him saying, " It's ice
slowly melting, tonight cuddle up...do as told! "
Yesterday eyebrows froze, it seemed Finland;
breath emitted vapors, kids rode ice skates and laughed
braving the brutal weather with warm hats and gloves;.
their mom came out to warn them of dangers,
but they ignored her and got frostbite on fingers:
they rushed into the warm house screaming aloud.
It's past supper time, and they are huddled
on the sofa talking about the fun they had;
school is closed tomorrow, a huge storm predicts more snowy days,
but mom reads their thoughts admoning," Keep your room clean, boys! "
Virility Imperiled Manhood Emasculated (mine)
No sense of accomplishment prevails to date
analogous to kudzu... inadequacy runs rampant
recurring theme extant within poetic endeavors,
and often discussed with assigned therapist (one
among many girls named Stephanie Dodds) do
GOOGLE search and see for yourself – similar
curiosity got the better of me, whose christened
name (Matthew Scott Harris), not unique to yours
truly, a poem, which theme pertaining to aforesaid
first, middle, and last namesake already written by
none other other than this scrivener) impacted self
esteem less so than inchoate nascently, pervasively
rampantly,... thrashing unleashed upon impression
hubble early (perhaps even in utero) formative days
of milne eeyore whinnying pooh wrenching, ruing
jackknifing...unsmiling, lamenting childhood's end
upon cusp debilitating psychological tragedy, where
whatsapp pining within me present mindset lodged
nexus, sans linkedin destructive buzzfeeding apathy
mired potential vitality (crying evinced powerful
lungs) quickly succumbing against brutish, nasty,
yet not short reign of innate oppression, fixation
abnegation with dereliction, asper self preservation
engendering feeble gesticulation harkening incipient
personhood crowdsourcing courtesy condemnation
damning existential insignificance motif possibly
adopted comparing not fancy free and footloose
demeanor toward none other than Boyce Brandon
Harris, thee papa, jack of all trades, (many taught
thru his own quick learning penchant), numberless
abilities + storied vocation - mechanical engineer
equalled one smart polymath strengths constantly
reiterated by mother (dearest long since deceased)
agog how papa excelled at most every endeavor,
i.e. vocational career at General Electric (aerospace
engineer) in conjunction with bajillion avocations,
hence finding his sole son (second of three progeny)
when only yeah high (a scrawny, skinny, spunky...
little boy) internalizing heaping accolades bestowed
strong, not so dark, modestly handsome biological
paternal parent with (rocking) round the clock timely
adulation, which praise papa similarly received soon
after blessed birth April ninth ninety twenty nine.
Short and sweet, Brandon
I see you have your 'game on'
'Don't demonize the rioters,' you say
Well, why should we bother
When YOU, sir, are the DEVIL ~ all of Chicago pays
__________________________________________
'Teen Takeover' of Downtown Chicago Saturday night
(April 16), resulted in two people shot, dozens injured,
and widespread property damage. Visitors to Chicago
had to be herded back to their hotels. And what does
Brandon Johnson, the 'Mayor-Elect,' choose to say?
'Do not demonize those who took part in the violence
and mayhem...' How about a blanket condemnation of
these criminal youth, chump?! Don't you realize they're
testing you, and you just flunked the first test?!
Circa February 28th, 1968 - The Former Leiper Estate
Soon after our family settled
into the sprawling estate
named "Glen Elm" approximate
half century old from date
mentioned in title, said treasure
rosy Gypsy foretold fate
Harriet Harris, (daughter
of Antebellum Rebecca great
Kuritsky - Brooklyn transplanted
Southern Belle), create
head "FAKE" story, whereby
former did absquatulate
with jack of all trades (Boyce
Brandon Harris) too late
above named ramshackle
mansion, they remained mate
to each other til death did
thee mum part, congratulate
sans, her high school chums
felt envious - girls did rate
papa (now octogenarian widower)
most handsome (master) bait,
whose smarts earning advanced
degree applying his pate
as mechanical engineer for
General Electric did satiate
penchant solving complex
mathematical equations tete
a tete for super intelligent
entrepreneurial fella alleviate
head real passion rehabilitating
derelict property, allocate
ting leisure time resuscitating
neglected homes ameliorate
head procreative itch practically
rebuilding this did animate
dad's profuse true calling
spending hours fame did anticipate
(though papa quite modest,
and other people gushed appreciate
ting self taught revitalizing
unseen hidden gem and to articulate
unique artistic flair himself
as taskmaster masterpieces intimate
ting creations nobody, but
himself could imagine brilliance pate
drew forth unbelievable
enhancements doppelganger did berate
rarely could family, friends,
strangers...do more than capitulate
with ceaseless praise always
adding final touches to captivate
most flattering aura, charisma,
karma (credit) perfectly calibrate
head aesthetic qualities even
shabbiest building communicate
ting magic touch of, who plied
blood, sweat and tears culminate
ting in unbelievable transformation
particularly, how to designate
ideal amount of appeal to abode
came to screeching halt dissipate
head after mum passed, and papa's
raw talent earned thru educate
ting himself, no amount of inborn
inherent blueprints did illustrate
native bent, BUT no new life could
resurrect demise of his queen soulmate!
When the narrative won't fit your point of view
Fake it
When nothing is going like you want it to
Make it
When your popularity comes crashing down
the whole world knows your a phony clown
time to turn their minds around
what better could it be
than to start World War Three
and your elite friends make big money
the young disabled and die
the heartbreak of nations cry
Hoping in polls you rise
Keep repeating the lies
Media has chosen you
now you must follow through
Give them ratings in bloody news
it is the least you can do
after all they stole an election for you
Democracy dies
all lies lies lies
repeat lies
Hope dies
deaths rise
why
why
why
Let's Go Brandon!
Greetings from Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
today March 1st, 2021
I dashed (off the enclosed poem) yay
while safely secured within
white horse open sleigh
after reading following
pray lemme know if ye uttered oy vey.
Profound insights divulged
during our most recent family zoom
Approximately seven hundred
and fifty four months since exiting womb,
yours truly (sole son
of late Boyce Brandon -
yes she named him
after paternal grandmother
Sadie, her mom's Yiddish name
Basia Brana or Brandla)
me currently ensconced within unit B44
analogous to catacomb
amid Highland Manor Apartments
I dwell - our livingsocial hole in the wall
among grateful dead residents
facility likened to metaphorical tomb
each stone individually moved one at a time
courtesy hearty and hale archeologists
resident to *Qom
(a city in northwestern Iran -
place of pilgrimage for Shiite Muslims)
to imbibe on spiritual succor
and become comfortably numb
acquiring appropriate trailing appellation,
yes a USDA, FDA, B Corp... and
Pink Floyd approved nom de plume,
which feeble poetic brainstorm
begat within mine
sixty plus shades of gray matter,
which exhaustive mental effort
induced silent but deadly ka-boom
one Matthew Scott Harris
rent asunder vaporized to smithereens,
hence each his personal possessions
cherished as prized heirloom
no trace left behind
regarding pulverized lovely bones,
nevertheless burnt offerings
specialists did painstakingly exhume
where Ashkenazi temple will bloom.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*My humblest apology for lame rhyme
with previous word similar to crypt
yours truly deserted and he gypped
thee while crawling
across Sahara during nighttime
dehydration subsequently
found me tight lipped
I called Uber, but could not get a lyft.
Today I learned, once more, the lesson of loss.
Today I learned of a brother gone.
Tonight I pay my respects, in what words I can muster;
forever he is one of us.
I didn’t know him for all too long,
and never got all that close,
when it really comes down to it;
yet he was family to me.
He was a religious man, and one
that always had a huge grin on his face.
Without fail, he tried to make the rest of us
get along when arguments arose among friends.
He was the first one at my side
when my mother's mother passed away.
He volunteered as a firefighter, before all of this –
he had the strength to offer himself up
both to fight fire when he could,
and get in firefights if he had to.
I remember one day, late last year,
when he came to us and he wished
to lead us in saluting the half-masted flag
on the eleventh of September.
These were his words, on that day:
“In honor and remembrance of all the victims of the 9/11 attacks.
Class BCE 31-13 stood in formation saluting the American flag
in remembrance of everyone who … was associated
with what happened 12 years ago.
May we never forget what went on today
and that we will keep our country safe.
Honoring those who’ve passed before us.
We will stand our ground,
fight for our country
and fight to sustain our freedom.
For our friends, family, and strangers.
Oorah and Semper Fidelis to all.”
To follow something like that, all I can say is this:
almost nobody sees themselves as heroes,
and we never think we’ll get to meet
those who truly are.
We rarely see them as heroes either,
while we still could say our thanks;
it isn’t until they’re beyond our reach
that we realize exactly who has been taken away.
I count myself lucky to have known him.
For what they're going through,
I want to send my best to his first family;
and I'm glad I could be a part of his second.
I don't have his faith, and could not say for sure
if he'll ever read these words;
but I hope he knows exactly how much
a hero will be missed.
Brandon is a curious child
His mother observed him and smiled
with pride and doting affection
as he gazed at his reflection.
From the first moment he would wake
he'd ask, "Can we go to the lake?"
She couldn't bear to tell him, "No,"
so to the shore, off they would go.
Croaking frogs made Brandon giggle
and swimming tadpoles that wiggle.
Beneath cottonwoods on the banks
She prayed to God, giving Him thanks.
They shared laughter and fish stories
He picked for her, morning glories
and when his eyes began to close,
She held her son in sweet repose.
Precious memories of these days
would shine brightly as a fire's blaze
Her heart would e'er fondly recall
These enchanted moments of Fall.
October 4, 2021
rhyme me rhyme me Contest
Picture #3 checked with RZ
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