Long Geek Poems
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January 24th, 2023 Hair washing heralds huge happening
Hark….the herald angels sing, and twitter
for mass communication
mediums stop the presses
when I, a regular schlemiel
take shampoo to mine matted mass mop
(no less than once a week)
of straggly follicles, and commence
to dispense with the heady eco system
viz rare crop of flora and fauna
(some rank as endangered species)
rub and band together
to scratch envy of
flaky key neigh bring ponytails
and create quite an niche,
and where also can be found
lousy knit wit vendors ready to scalp
and give shaft to razor sharp purveyors,
who mane lee scout out available
head and shoulder room to nap
without a stir, tub bed down
(praying Holy Scott no wash out
nor Harris mint occurs),
or burrow vis a vis,
where subcutaneous porous droplet size
watership down pieces
of prime residence found
counting one mister comb lee
bald bold faced realtor
amidst competing rival
bulb buss Edward scissorhands
(with knot to heavy a price toupee)
affianced to rapunzel,
whom he sheared split ends
as her barber of civil,
one dapper dander ruff dude to offer
lice cent shuss insects a tonsured
cut above other stylish habitués
preferring to fraternize,
glad-hand, and hobnob
amidst a cluster of big wigs
housed by yours truly - Samson
in gleaming puffy pompadour
pads tightly secured
with the best dreadlocks,
which harum-scarum
green barrettes serve
as first line of rinse able defense
IdentityGuard (with franchisee
Bob O Link averse to split hairs, but fierce
as a Mohawk and ring leader
to protect any curl of mine)
waving away intruders,
who if insist tubby persistent
and tangle with fate
cannot expect camaraderie
from buzz cutting crew i.e. the fuzz
to give expletive filled lathering,
severe shame poo wing subjugation
plus an up braiding experience),
and teach stragglers
they will suffer
a real perm in hint bang up job
if they brazenly brush
against brylcreem of the crop
rooted as rightful heirs
(hairs) of tousled doo mane,
thus concludes my tail.
Postscript: Yours truly
an aging long haired
seventh generation pencil neck geek
finds ultra joy when
volunteering for kitchen duty,
hence imagine the hypothetical picture
portraying Geico caveman
mimicking pseudo dawn of humanity.
Courtesy the mighty Amazon successful deliverance reported...
Regarding unexpected Gadshill gift
(as if delivered from Magi)
tamper proof wrapped,
thus an obligation goads me
to communicate following
trademarked™ poetically apt
reasonable rhyme capped
with feeble airborne attempt,
no matter arms waved futilely,
madly, and ridiculously flapped
fortunately I eluded being kidnapped
by men in white coats
spellbound and rapt
before arriving at 20965 Young Avenue
Bend, Oregon 97703-8461
without energy being zapped.
The abovementioned transmission to whit
hesitantly, yet immediately, wisely scuttled
cuz analogous to Icarus, a free spirit
ignoring Daedalus warning soaring
too close to the sun
earning stronger epithet than "you nit"
true to adolescent hubris,
the son blithely ignoring
his father as a hypocrite,
but honest to goodness truthfulness
of above line entails
caution and discretion I readily admit.
Just now, I sample
Navitas Organics blueberry
hemp power snack(s)
wondering how many chewy squares
yours truly needs to consume
before me noggin
goes wickety wickety wack,
but... just maybe amply ingested
cubed plant based superfood
could allow, enable and
provide me means to take flight,
whereby off gray carpeted tarmac
goes Matthew Scott Harris.
So best be on the lookout okey doke
for one nondescript buzzfeeding bloke
long haired pencil necked geek fella,
who juiced awoke
and suddenly found himself at Trader Joe's
(with a twenty dollar gift card)
among garden variety generic folk
such as special people spanning Costco calendar,
who sport and trumpet surnames such as
Dunning, Harris, McGeehan no joke,
yet amidst madding crowd there could be
spy versus spy donning dagger and cloak.
anyway hoop fully thee above laughter did evoke,
perhaps e'en yar own literary juices
I didst unwittingly stoke.
She reminded mi of Liz thou prettier than Liz
She was engrossed in her smart phone... me relaxed
next to her chat chatting business... i could tell shes engrossed
not in her smart chats.... but in my chat with my buddy Sam
her enthusiasm keeps rising unable to hold it any more she joins
Albeit i an offhand sort of way.... Cynthia is in a quest
same as i... in our academic deans office at the varsity
Cynthia is on an errand.. she needs authentication of sorts
Her she is on an errand.. but going by looks i guess she is fun
fun to be with.. and now i do know fun to talk with am so wired
so outgoing is she...the guys at college call it the 'it' factor
it means the different between being labeled charming or...
outgoing, snob, geek, smart or simply amazing.. am not being
judgmental... and am not into labeling but into connecting..
connecting with... and Cynthia is already so connected
Delightful... a carelessly used word by them con artist
but am not interested in a con game but in the lady...
she isn't snobbish... as i do now have the precious number
if love were religion she and i followers.. we would fly on wings
delivered to the city of pleasure.. for keeping ideals of the faith
Of love and morals.. i guess well have to find out but am betting
betting on my mortal name and by the spark of flames in her eyes...
shes fun to be with and your's am not the type to be snobbish.. especially
especially when am dealing with such a pretty girl its till and until.. i know her
we part me thinking... that our encounter is.. for its the predestined path....
lewis nyaga
mku.. 1847hrs
a dedication to Cynthia
...When we heard of his loss we took it hard,
at first it was very hard to believe,
and it made me double my efforts to
moderate my own debauchery.
But within a year it all began again,
this time with Bomber, our hammer on the drums,
he was always something of a wild man,
and ever sober could be somewhat...dumb.
I know it sounds awful to talk like that
since I always really liked the guy,
but he was a man who lived for the moment,
and difn't reflect on things deep inside.
He also spent cash on powerful cars,
and one day after a big drinking glut,
he got in his Porsche and managed to wrap
his car around an old-growth chestnut.
Bomber somehow survived the big crash,
but would soon face long imprisonment,
the groupie in the passenger seat
took the brunt of it, died in an instant.
Bomber has never forgiven himself
for taking away someone's daughter,
they say he still cries, serving twenty years
in jail for vehicular manslaughter.
Now the band was back to Riff and myself,
hired sessions hands to fill in the gaps,
even decided it was best to go clean,
just to avoid these destructive traps.
But the damage had already been done,
two years later Riff didn't feel well,
the doctor confirmed he had H.I.V.,
and he quit touring, to conserve his health.
Now before you ask, he's doing okay,
today's drugs really knock down the disease,
the doctors all say he'll live forty years,
which is about what I expect for me.
Maybe he got it from dirty needles,
he dabbled in the hard drugs, he did,
but more likely he got it from a groupie,
hell, he has two out-of-wedlock kids!
Riff has always liked chasing the trail,
I think it goes back to his high school days,
before stardom he'd just been a band geek,
too awkward to ever get a date.
When famous he overcompensated,
he was always slipping off with a girl,
and when he received the diagnosis
it altered pretty much his entire world.
He went out and found those two children,
raises then now as a stay-at-home dad,
want them to have a good family life
and I a cannot blame the man for that.
He did built a home recording studio,
still writes and plays on all the albums,
but he'll never strut the stage with guitar,
I guess that phase of his life is now done...
CONCLUDES IN PART III
Lift me higher than the clouds
I’m shoved into dark shrouds
We blend like coffee and Boba
I haven’t seen any flaw
In you…in you…deep in you
I’m missing my other shoe
We woke up in each other’s embrace
I still have mercy and His grace
It all happened at 3 AM
It all happened at 3 AM
I wear you
I smell you
I snuggle you
I taste you
What else d’you expect?
I crawl on you like an insect
What else d’you expect?
I dream of you
I suckle you
I think of you
I stick to you
My eyes are weeping
Deepening in my ruins
My mouth is dripping
Thrown away in a billion bins
I find myself inspired when you are around
You are brilliant…sky from ground…
If I were yours, I’d be happy as hell
If I were yours, I’d get outta my shell
Listenin’ to iheartradio on fleek
Actin’ like a drunk, foolish geek
And this all happens 3 AM
And this all happens 3 AM
What’s wrong with me?
Laughing out loud at 3 AM
Drunk off of happiness
Drunk off of joyfulness
Free like a sun-shining sea
Let me go because I’m a seagull in the sky
Because…I can’t go on with you – a burden I can’t deny
I used to love someone like you
I used to love someone like you
I can’t recall now
Somehow,
You made me sink in my daydream all over again
I deserve paradise
Making love to you in ecstasy
I roll the dainty dice
Vogueish design got me wondering:
What if I was famous and rich?
You’re my trend and you got me pondering:
Why do I feel like a wrecked game glitch?
Demolishing destruction in a minute’s time
Constructive chit-chatter is what I need
I need a friend by my side…I’m an almost rhyme
I have humility at least, not your greed
Why all this writing at 3 AM?
Because I’m that awesome, who gives?
Why can’t it be at 3 PM?
Because it wouldn’t be as effective…
You tell me you like root beer float
Whatever floats your demented boat
I’ll be wearing my 1980’s, fuzzy coat
Sorry, honey, I don’t vote…I don’t vote
At 3 AM…at 3 AM…
But, I do vote for poetry at 3 PM
This will blow your mind -
My Breakfast Potato - mmmm
Culinary skills!
Memories of you
Is like microwaving food -
Jam-packed with sweet carbs...
Threw butter in pan...
It sizzles...in yellow bliss!
Future food doused too
Baked some potatoes
I am a creative cook
Geek from head to toe
Sprinkled it with eggs
Lotsah cheese and lotsah spice
Then, topped with sour cream
I did the cookin'
I broke both legs, making it -
Father in trainin'
Washed pans, stove-ready
Made eggs to perfection - RAD
A nat'ral cook - mmmm!
Breathe in and breathe out
Get ready for bizarre plates -
Spread butter on toast!
It's time to dine fine
Expect the unexpected -
Clean slate on platter
I'm scorching in flame
I'm a burnt potato...true...
Turning to ash...lame...
Creativity
Is required to make delish! (A delicious dish)
This hobby thrills...all... (Meaning we like cooking or we like tasting food)
Men get lairy and repeat this bull
"know that I know a lot of people"
an empty threat of purest simple
tells of the fact they're a weak fool
and blokes repeat this line every week
cus they cant beat you up they're a geek
they know nutters mad men and some freaks
cus they can't beat you up they're too weak
In reality it's somewhat witless
when a man can't handle his own business
personalities shouldn't make hitlists
thinking it's a beating they'll witness
because when I think you're out of place mate
I stand square and speak straight to the face
then without wait hastily demonstrate
my way of putting you back in your place
Brother,you were a human torch
in a melanchonic orbit
of undefined wars
Now you are a pentagram star
mystical and magical
Pouring light and love
from a happier place
from behind heaven doors
Not so distant though worlds afar.
Through each verse and every stanza
you are.
Like Tolkien,your middle earth
was always the unknown,
Your soul has found its home.
A sculptor of word
A weaved tapestry of artistry
A collage of emotions,a performer
A treasure of memories
Our souperstar.
An archaic poet,a self-professed geek
A rhymer you are
playing on our heart strings
with a honey toned acoustic guitar.
Must ve'been an optical illusion
I saw you getting near
I 'm sure I've heard your laughter
sweet echoing my ear;
But I know it cannot be ,
Through faith We face reality.
Our God himself descended
To his word We adhere
He held you a bit closer
and wiped away each tear,
He raised you to his land
with a loving hand,
We'll miss you dear friend,
But We understand...
Till we meet again
Alive in our hearts you stand.
Till then,Protect Us dear Chan.
.
A Tribute
for you Chan Hurst
The Archaic Poet .
Fly with the Angels.
Ofttimes yours truly assiduously tries to adlib,
but blubbers like a landlubber
at sea treading water donned with bib
(that doubles as yellow
spongy bobbing life jacket)
furiously doing doggy paddle
riding the next tidal wave
hoop fully washing me ashore to crib
if need be to dig an underwater channel
painstakingly slow drabs and drib.
The English language I simply adore
though offtimes methinks waxing eloquent
affects listeners as yours truly a bore
in record time flapping waxed lips
beholds one gordian
tongue tied knot major chore,
whereby I wanna bolt out figurative door
feeling deplorable and stuck
analogous to Eeyore.
Ache 'n to launch into a monologue
or chime into ongoing dialogue
me noggin off times generates brain fog
mental state mimicking one,
who quaffed an over abundance of grog,
which for this teetotaler would constitute
a mere thimble full of drink,
perhaps rum enhanced eggnog
just one sip and boing I go
topsy turvy as if a felled log
hit me over the head
rendering me unconscious.
Thus wood explain mine altered state
though unsightly gash on pate
battle scar leveled playing field
with the missus, 't other significant primate
supplementing and complementing
one aging long haired
pencil (vane ya) necked geek
being caged, yet free
to roam within human zoo
both, (née all) of us captive
on carousel of time
nsync with every other *****sapien
begot to participate in circle game.
All superfluous joking aside,
I strive to groom conversation,
whereby uninterrupted flow of words
(versus fumfering, hemming, hawing,
stammering, stuttering...), thine
general oral feedback paradigmatic guide
ever diligent to think
before I speak with pride
else I heep discourtesy
upon myself and chide
yours truly with harsh rebukes,
which maybe tantamount
going off the mountainside
plummeting into the abyss
engenders an unpleasant
metaphoric roller coaster ride,
and if crash test dummy doth survive -
upon gibbet he will be tried
punishment broadcast world wide
for flagrant horrendous verbal
egregiousness (waywardness) he belied.
How boot a mud pie for the birthday girl?
(yes, that would be the snoozing missus,
hook lames to need mooch beauty sleep),
hence who might not arise for bajillion years.
Thou me noggin forced to remember
how me heart used to ache
asper in no help
to relieve anticipatory anxiety
doth suddenly find this
(24/7 day tripper sleeper) wide awake,
now mine dearest beloved,
ye need not break
these lovely bones remembering,
if yaw completed lix piddle orbitz
axing age iz fatalistic rhetorical question,
finding yours truly escorted to lake
chock full of fierce
allidiles or crocogators,
now worm eye gonna
get the most perfect Earth friendly cake,
rather than dastardly duck
that husbandly role i.e. man drake,
thus what better way
this stormy July sixth, 2019
to express moony times,
aye did pastimes forsake
feigning, pretending, trumpeting
loving thee tubby "FAKE,"
now...haim twice the man
I used tubby - formerly rake
hush long haired pencil necked geek
though in face of adversity still meek,
yet every now and again
rare instances flashes peek
a boo analogous to happy
go lucky boyhood doth sneak
out from down underground
self long suppressed
many times multiplied
by 52 times 7 days a week,
thus by gosh by golly
fingers quickly tap dance
akin to celebrating holly
day hootin n hollerin like jolly
roger, who pirated some loot
unlike captives feeling melancholy,
or akin to cracker offered
than immediately retracted from Polly
nonetheless, she might suggest some idea
worth parroting, thus I lob and volley
poetic pitch to thee anonymous reader
unbeknownst to me if got pie in the sky idea
how to appease wife, one costly human feeder
who gobbles everything in her wake
not affixed down with mortise
and tenon made of cedar.