Long Fits and starts Poems
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and intuitive paramour, whence swooning swain first experienced anew
an alien emotional lightness of being
within mine hardened carapace did brew
a propensity to surmise, intuit, and detect a romantic joyful dew
drop similar to lovers in dustbin of historical annals
dipped ‘ere farewell flew
common as the air we breathe,
this new found muse sic cull passion grew
yet handled with kid gloves,
which lacked the means to nurture and hue
a novel interpersonal ecstasy, which with fits and starts knew
tony yen physics manifested into a mutual attraction
despite any self-admission new
to this chap, whose skills sans intimacy infantile
and as a result inadvertently caused grief
to a gal (who valiantly christened her vehicle Ruby)
hoping to stride down the pew
which outcome thwarted,
now tis much more sands of mine life time
funneled down the hourglass shaped queue
without any rhyme nor reason find this bard **** to rue
how a golden opportunity indiscriminately
lost a flickr and sentiments now
akin to culinary Michelin patshke stew
rather futile to ruminate
the long lapsed travails that tripped a true
lee darling dame, whose take on the matter,
this poet would cherish a view
yet….nary a clue exists
if any possibility to revisit that denouement recalling
the awkward fits and starts
before embers of warm reciprocity kindled
reciprocal an ambition to court, jest and indubitably woo
to buzzfeed flip ant lee, and shutterfly at greased lightening speed
back to that contra dance at Summit Presbyterian Church
at the cross roads of Green and Westview Avenues.
the buildings gray stood grand and tall
the proudest prize of man's bright call
none dared to think that one might fall
thus glist'ning in the sun -
the perfect morning sun …
from cherished ground each tower rose
with strength and structure, grandiose
and steady through what nature blows
designer minds had wrought -
their best, or so we thought …
but some small men with missing parts
brought caliphates with fits and starts
their twisted aims from twisted hearts
would make examples, clear -
the things we held, so dear …
there wields no sharper blade or knife
than those which can't thus value life
oh deep that wound of careless strife
cut by an empty soul -
an empty, barren soul …
they flew that morn from foreign lands
these rotten souls, with hateful hands
with peopled planes at their commands
and hate their only cause -
a beast with deadly claws …
one at-a-time straight 'head they flew
'midst cloudless skies and vault of blue
they stabbed their evil arrows through
the hearts of all mankind -
death's rattle left behind …
those towers melted, crumpled ... fell
and brought a grief no one could quell
there on the news, straight out of hell
that horror lay unfurled -
the weeping of a world …
two decades gone, the wounds remain
those birthed from promise gone insane
lost catafalques, like tears through rain
that make no earthly sense -
death smirks as God relents …
please, teach our wee ones how it was
that heav'n did damn such twisted cause
to burn such bright and wondrous Oz
with fire's heinous flash -
turned wonder into ash …
how can it be that monsters, thus
now wear a mask that looks like us?
how can we learn, again, to trust?
still, from those ashes, then -
the grandest dreams of men ...
through hope … will rise again.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
Silliness coupled with much humdrum
drains creative energy from the minds of children.
Bored kids, raised by televisions, make warped decisions.
Viewed daily by the hour, murder becomes ordinary.
The wild lunacy of far too many people
causes vulgarity to erupt at an early age.
Integrity is not taught by crude interjections.
Reality: kids mimic adults without perception.
Elegance is foreign; brutality, common.
In modern childhood decorum is misunderstood
as mere rules and likewise humility is worthless
Laxity reigns with sporadic parental harshness.
Today’s children have a mentality and morality
that would rattle our great-grandparents’ false teeth.
Our children are wiser than their peers of yesteryears,
re: street-smarts, fits and starts and body parts.
Swath of pristine tractless snow white landscape...
tell tale sign where
winter storm Demi left her mark.
Beautiful and bountiful visual scene
(seldom seen around
tri-state geographic area
for quite a few years,
where temperate global warming
spelled unseasonably warm winters)
trumps the inauguration
for breathtaking view.
Immaculate conception birthed
awesome aesthetic spectacular
blinding heavenly creation.
I feel humbled
as an infinitesimal know nothing
wrought into existence
courtesy billions of years
evolutionary fits and starts,
and will exit stage door left
barely impacting the cosmic schema.
Memories accumulated across
six plus decades astride oblate spheroid
upon sixty plus shades of gray matter
sights and sounds transiently,
yet indelible impressions lasted a lifetime
eventually taken to the grave,
(or rather more eco-friendly crematorium),
which lovely bones once reduced to ashes
will leave nary a trace videre licet,
where joys and sorrows
dwelt within mine temple mount
unbeknownst to humanity
unless one attests to spiritus mundi
housing each and every personal record
that livingsocial (and more often
as an egalitarian, latitudinarian, proletarian,
solitudinarian, and unitarian) did emboss,
though uneventful existence,
would find any incorporeal passerby to gloss
tittering at reputation as spindleshanks
no doubt resulting
where chromosomes and genes
of interspecie breeding did intercross,
yet leaving some lucky *****sapiens
descendents of simian forebears
with eye catching physical characteristics
cases in point Heidi Kloss
or the waifish
former supermodel Kate Moss
testimony that either the former
or latter pleasing specimens
fortified with raw bits,
(and maybe even smattering
Norwegian bachelor farmers
big strapping men's bloodline
rumored heifer and angus outcross),
whose claim to eternal fame popularized,
and brought them renown fame
linkedin to "aphrodisiac hidden oomph"
of powder milk biscuits) sic erat scriptum.
In dribs and drabs, in fits and starts,
the elders slowly congregate;
in the common room of the seniors' home,
they patiently sit and wait.
Some are wheeled in, some simply shuffle
in orderly fashion, without kerfuffle.
They've all been told
there's "gonna be a show"
put off by some "young people"
who (chances are) they don't know.
Many are quite alert and very aware
delighted to be together
and to have an experience to share.
Others come in a different mental state,
in their own little worlds,
seemingly uncerebral
yet dignified, quiet, sedate.
The entertainers have already arrived, in fact,
and as soon as the seniors come in
they start to interact,
exchanging pleasantries with hellos,
how-do-you-dos and "what're-ya-ats!";
smiles and handshakes easily given
with banter and casual chit-chat.
The nurses and attendants smile,
noting the connectivity,
and across the room faces brighten
at the growing sense of fun and festivity.
A happy mood pervades the place
as the singers smile and sing;
their voices effortlessly fill the air,
easy, relaxed, warm, soothing.
Lots of "old" songs are played and sung:
"Country Roads", "Danny Boy",
"Kiss an Angel Good Morning".
"If you know the words, please sing along!"
and so many of them do, with voices soft or strong.
But what sets this show apart
is the interaction
between singers and seniors;
their reaction and sense of satisfaction
of a diversion from the mundane,
a vivid and vibrant distraction.
And those with minds in altered states
are aroused from their lethargy,
hearing the music and sensing joy,
perhaps remembering when they felt such ecstasy.
Often, the singers will reach out to touch and hold a hand.
Elderly eyes light up and smiles show they understand.
A few of the more able-bodied are invited to dance,
a reminder of the long-ago days of youth and romance.
After an hour or so, the concert reaches its conclusion
with applause and cheers, compliments said in profusion.
The Sunshine Singers are pleased with a job well done.
The seniors and staff feel delight and satisfaction;
and everyone is enveloped in a warm glow:
the simple joy that comes from human connection.
Whirr! Clank! Buzz! Clunk!
The gears of my brain seize up,
No longer meshing.
No inspirations, no images appear.
No lofty thoughts, ideas
Tumbling over each other waiting
To be brought to life.
No stream of poetic impulses flourishes,
No silver verbs or round nouns
Slipping into space and place.
Just rusty fits and starts
That produce only empty noise.
Where in my mind is the slipped cog,
That word, the missing tooth,
The slippery oil of sibilant syllables
To lubricate the machinery?
Perhaps here, by diligence
I can search and find the missing part.
I’ll sit and write and write and write
Whatever comes to mind.
Words, words, words, words
That might break free the rusty wheels
And release syllabic oil to restore
That free-wheeling flow
Of passion, wonderment, and awe.
That play of script
That once poured forth so strong
From easy mesh of imagination
With its sister, reality.
So gears, set to your work.
Turn together in perfect sync
To change my dusty prose to poetry.
I didn’t ask for help.
Yet someone heard
my inward crying voice
without a word.
“When the student is ready
a teacher will appear”
somehow it seems these teachers
pop up everywhere.
Their words were subtle
pointed darts
that caused me endless
fits, and starts.
There was no Hallelujah Chorus
no heraldry of trumpets din
just a presence in my life
every now and then.
I never asked for help
yet somehow they saw my need
and placed within my heart
an ever growing seed.
They cut the bindings loose
freed me from my tethers
drifted slowly through my life
without ruffling my feathers.
©8/10/2018
for New Rhyming Poems On Angels Poetry Contest
(okay, yukon axe me whatsapp pinning,
though beep pre spired, cuz mess sigh key
threads experience didst rub burr raw
as if spun as a micro spindle.)
Woolworth (Penneys on
the Dollar Store) Sears electronic,
dynamic and atomic weight
cumulative decades of suppressed
crackle, snap,
and pop, triggering
psychotic sans tete a tete
legal tender visa vis
bit coin block
chain payback daily
quotidian fits and starts
trigger torrential spate
impinging ability to relish potential
existential joie de vivre
finding me (I rate)
analogous to suffocating
unbearable pressure, yours truly
doth eek quate
to Metallica Mega-death
accessing, hammering, and pinpointing
(excel lent lee powerfully)
every square inch
of mine pate
strewing, sparking fiery
fingerhut sized explosions,
and slamming incessant
psychological torture akin to
a pernicious hidebound mate
and as of this date
November 20th two thousand eight
scored entrenched occupation
of my fifty plus
shades of gray matter
becoming more agonizing of late,
where suicidal ideation,
where repressed self hate
sprung from cumulative
(albeit cloudy with
a chance of at least one
meatball i.e. me) psyche subject
to verbal whipping (yours truly),
the gloating mean
bullies didst denigrate,
without doubt half life of
Matthew Scott Harris
aint at all great,
yet to some degree, this saturated
scorpion poisoned, mauled
and jackknifed fate
in some measure
duet hoo war ton internalized
emotions griffins
hound, feast, and delight
(more so ravenously
throve) on Hawaii,
and seamy to Maui
didst successfully, (particularly
throughout earlier decades)
emasculate, under estimate,
now (in retrospect) execrate
at invisible monster
on par with beastie boy
Doctor Frankenstein didst create
only upon death doom
he part wretchedness
will hoop fully abate.
("Multiculturalism Merit Badge", 2010, original oil)
It is the nature of man to seek unity,
Unity in a family, clan and tribe
Unity with Nature and God.
A unified field of consilience
Between the disciplines of knowledge
Fuels everything it is to be human and alive.
On every level we seek and crave unity,
Because it feels so good to connect
And so bad to be isolated.
Maybe it’s merely a projection of our social roots
But it forms and flavors our cosmologies
And our developed ideals in ideologies.
So it is only natural we not only want to get along
But to be equals and share equally, even when
As individuals we really want it our way.
The tension of cooperation and competition
Deep within our divided nature
Guarantees it will never be what everyone wants.
And so life goes on, stumbling forward
In fits and starts, by tooth and nail,
And testy truces of compromise.
Again and again the dreamers dream
Can’t we all just get along in love and peace
And if you won’t, then well, we have the guillotine….
The trouble is, as much as we may wish,
And dream of being equal, we aren’t and haven’t,
Since evolving past the stage of amoeba.
And still we dream, if only we could find a way
To breed and train for conformity,
Knowing in our hearts we can’t and still survive.
So life goes on, leaving the dreaming to youth
Secure in their ivory towers
Hoping one day they raise a family of their own.
And in the learning of self reliance
Realize equality is not an ideal of the living
But one for the dead, tallied as just more bodies.
Life is worth living after all
Even more so when we do it on Life’s terms
And not merely our own.
The nature of man is to seek unity
In how we live and think and dream
Because that is our true nature.
(5/10/26)
If progress is the transformation of oppression,
And the human condition one of
Primordial oppression - due to the inherent limits of our physical, emotional and mental nature -
Then human progress has been with us all along,
Albeit in very human fits and starts.
So progress is liberty
And liberty, inherently progressive.
But that’s not the progress being pushed today.
The progress of 21st century America
Is one of greater authority,
Lesser autonomy,
As an all-knowing Nanny State
So compassionately helps us less knowing.
What is real progress?
Freedom, from the master/slave dynamic
Which has been the human lot from the beginning.
What is being done in the name of progress today?
The relationship of master and slave cemented
In not just custom and law,
But personal habits and ideals.
Thou shalt obey what your master tells you,
It’s in your DNA after all to follow the shepherd
For the greater good of the herd.
It doesn’t matter that the shepherd has changed,
It’s the nature of all religion.
Thou shalt obey,
Because obedience is next to godliness,
Especially the godliness of Marx’s
Anointed disciples, the masters
Of not only their destiny
But increasingly every slave’s as well.
Thou shalt obey,
Because some things - collective wellbeing,
Social justice, environmental stewardship -
Require individual sacrifice
For the greater security of the herd
And of course, the enshrined status of the master.
(9/4/26)