Long Mein Poems
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( bassey voice intro's).....signorina, signorina,
is he hypergamy
no, no,
he loves me
he really really loves me
oh signorina,
oh signorina
might i spend my
days loving you
( the malo).....honey, darling, sweetie
love me tomorrow
love me tonight
sweet heart
my darling lady
my signorina
love me tomorrow
(femalo).....no,no,no!
take your rags and leave
i have separated us
now you can leave
( malo).....no,no,no
my darling
i beg ye my lover
i love you now
if we stay together
(musical blurr)
ha, say ye oh lover
might we find reason
to love
then say my lover
find friends who love us
in love
we need one another
we want to be together
let no one separate us
say you'll leave me never
my love
my love
my lover
we are right for each other
love me my lady
say you'll love me forever
Clay clamours to potter man:
Too proud, today ye pound me,
A day will one day dawn, when
I’d smother the mortal thee.
__________________________________
mati kahe kumhar se, tu kya raunde moye,
ek din aisa ayega mein raundungi toye.
The wheel of life turns round and round. One day it goes upward and then downward turns. Good and bad tidings alternate. It helps if one bears this in mind. A potter man was preparing his clay for his wheel by crushing it under his feet to smoothen it into a uniform lump. The clay seems to tell him: Today you are stomping me under your feet, but wait, a day is going to come when you would die and get buried under soil. Then, you too would be treated the same way.
Planting seeds of life - growing self awareness...
(Subtitled: kudos beloved Amelie Beth)
Dilly gents gal lore spellbinding
metaphorically exhuming, ferreting, gleaning...
insightful handy dandy blues clues
unearthing treasure trove motherlode,
(and father lode) eye opening discover re:
visa vis our family of origin ancestry.
Painstaking efforts undertaken
courtesy thee i.e. eldest sister
(age difference between her and yours truly
thirteen months and twelve days)
ye (figuratively) dug deep
within plethora of genealogical database
mine insight piqued
following genetic revelations.
Raw bits (nuggets - comstock
rivalling wealth of Croesus
sowed countless generations ago)
enlightened this protoplasmic broth heir,
(a biological composite dada
elicited factoids ginning
humongous, illustrious, judicious...
awareness, that allows, enables provides...
knowledge linking me deoxynucleic acid
with forebears, whose good n plenti
inherited characteristics, desires
(under the elms), mannerisms,
predilections, quirks, urges,
yearnings, et cetera contra dance,
flickr, golong, kindle, shutterfly...
within mine contemplative,
intuitive, reflective...soul asylum
explaining, informing, liberating...
natural inquisitiveness percolating within,
not necessarily to excuse
deleterious, egregious, infamous...
(hyperbole for poetic impact)
behavior (mine), nonetheless
delighting, educating, fascinating...
assimilating, bridging, semen ting
heritage invariably jumpstarting
dormant desire to acquire
increased comprehension whereby,
I experience surge to learn
greater familiarity affecting
heightened awareness, where
countless questions once incubated
regarding spiritual communion,
where lovely bones of mein kampf
feel linkedin with spirits
of thee dead ancestors.
Hence awesome accomplishment
piecing together (with assistance from relatives)
once puzzling enigma shrouding
past lives (not sainted)
comprising Harris family of origin.
Though joyousness impaled,
albeit skewered over poker hot coals
courtesy roaring fiery
molten psychological magma
kindling sparks incinerate
nonetheless inchoate coalescence
asserts, damned feeble endeavor
fostering, glomming, harking
futile hellbent fixation manifests
imperceptible yearning inclination
atavistic aspiration toward archangel
fleetingly overrides pathos
prevalent within pathetic psyche
regarding mental health
linkedin to mein kampf
oft times erratically spiraling
courtesy grievous gravitational heaviness
simultaneously tripping hair trigger
well targeted landmines cratering
impacting cerebral spheres
out of the blue er...
rather fifty plus shades of gray
egregiously, demonically, catastrophically
blasting aching dormant sentimentality
good times with mine
then adoring little girls
sentimentality mythologized
instantaneously vaporized
i.e. hotmail kamikaze outlaws
indistinguishable from in laws
deep seated bombardiers
devastatingly explode
housed deeply within
subterranean nooks and crannies
loosed blade runners
likened figurative windmills spin
madly maxed out
ache'n throb exhausts me
frenzied furious fitbits,
while archenemies incessantly lob
hand grenades pepper spray
senselessly, shamelessly, spectacularly
strafing third eye blind
quickly, nee instantaneously pulverize
incinerating insight into bajillion little pieces
also vaporizing sanity
into smithereens
futile writing relief,
a weathered vane effort
undermined attempts
to accrue spiritual succor
analogous to volcanic bombs
raining nsync with deadly earthquake
forlorn hope for salvation nil!
A Warped Tree
Today, when not arguing with Walter the Jew
on Facebook or Twitter
the ambiance in the house was surprisingly calm since I got a key to my study in peace to read my latest collection
and found, at times, the poems had an internal rhyme and were little stories
The pity is, I have to write without a publisher and
can't afford to hire one, those I dare to ask run a thousand miles, one of them a poor man, is a lecturer in Udevalla
Last year, I visited a crooked tree so shy its roots curled in bashfulness, and its leaves took an autumnal color. I wanted to know if there was a way for me to help get her more gracious and straight
She took offense and said she was 105.
I felt like pointing out the tree by the drive into our village -an olive tree-is so old there is a possibility Jesus sat under it reporting protest notes to
the priests in the service of the Roman church
One day the came, the uncouth people from the traffic division chopped down ancient history and threw the remains down a drain.
Angrily, I protested to my doctor about the vandals
with my fist hit the table so hard a stethoscope fell to the floor, and then the porter came,
and I was made to leave.
When I came to Portugal, the natural thing was to study and learn the language, but at the time I was wrapped up learning English
The Portuguese language is superbly fitted to Fado
but as a "lingo" for conversation, I fail, but
I knew enough to get married.
The Norwegian vocality sounds like a Dane
trying to talk Swedish and is like wet cement being poured down a ditch dug by Lusitanos, spitting tobacco.
Ach, mein lieber Gott, I have lost many
friends in the last sixty years.
THANKSGIVING LEFTOVERS
Thanksgiving has now come and gone,
But we’ve still got turkey by the pound,
So the question now becomes,
What leftover recipes can be found?
We can have turkey tetrazzini,
Turkey chili with lots of beanies,
Turkey chow mein,
Turkey with whole grains,
Cause we’re not thrilled by more turkey plain.
Turkey stacked on white bread, lots of mayo,
Turkey quite spicy doused with lots of Old Bay,
Pasta with turkey spaghetti sauce,
Turkey on a salad gently tossed,
And let’s not forget some turkey jerky.
Ben Franklin pushed the turkey for our national bird,
Cause turkey provided sustenance, that’s what he heard.
But he didn’t face the problem that confronts us today,
How do we make so much leftover turkey go away?
Turkey is quite versatile, Help us eat a pile,
Eat the neck, munch the gizzard,
So much white meat, it’s a turkey blizzard.
And let’s not forget the turkey liver,
That’s the part Grandma says to give her.
Our turkey didn’t fly the coop,
That’s why we’ll enjoy turkey noodle soup,
Turkey in the straw, turkey cole slaw,
Take my advice, try turkey fried rice,
Turkey pot pie, Got to give it a try.
How many days can one turkey last,
If we don’t get rid of these leftovers fast,
Then we’ll have turkey coming out our ears,
And we’ll eat turkey for a couple years.
Oh, no, I just remembered, Christmas is coming soon,
We can’t eat another turkey or we’re gonna swoon.
Guess instead we’ll serve ham, leg of lamb with mint jam, can of spam,
A dozen clams, with a side of yams and crackers of graham.
Anything but turkey!
timid, meek, and demure (effeminate) me,
essentially ruled the roost
regarding Harris household
sole son characterized vis a vis
presented passive resistant
outward nonestablishmentarian mold
worst case scenario
would witness Matthew Scott Harris
spending longevity old and feeble minded
at 324 Level Road
outliving parents, pets
(comprising inordinate
number of dust bunnies) and siblings
(an older and younger sister),
the latter whose globetrotting exploits I envied,
nevertheless outlived anyone polled
even Methuselah, where mein kampf
blissful, fanciful, nouveau poet
nearly long forgotten boyhood charade,
facade inlaid masquerade
crumbled like broken scaffold
attaining centenarian years old -
faintly maintaining umbilical stronghold
considerably surpassing mommy dearest,
born November 13th, nineteen thirty five,
yet moments before her passing
she barely audibly apologized
for occasions she did reprimand and scold
retaliated against grim reaper,
he whisked her diseased riddled body away
after completing seventy plus orbits, all told.
I experienced interminable
relentlessly psyche burning acrid
tormenting, teasing, and talking funny
bullying vulnerability compounded amid
courtesy of split uvula set me apart
alien as a Druid livingsocial
during latter half of twentieth
and first two decades of twenty first century
rather a speech pathologist
informed legal biological guardians
regarding Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic
minor congenital defect when
attending sixth grade at
Henry Kline Boyer Elementary
i.e., submucous cleft palate, aforesaid
whereby every day akin getting scorched
by some "NON FAKE" ironclad grid
me, this twangy nasal kid
my undersized and socially
withdrawn demeanor contributing
to existence tumultuous and turbid.
A Warped Tree
Today, when not arguing with Walter the Jew on Facebook
the ambiance in the house was surprisingly calm since
I got a key to my study in peace to read my latest collection
and found, at times, the poems had an internal rhyme and
were little stories
The pity is that I have to write without a publisher
can't afford to hire one; those I dare to ask run a thousand miles
one of them, a poor man, is a lecturer at Udevalla
Last year, I visited a crooked tree so shy its roots curled
in bashfulness, and its leaves took an autumnal color
I wanted to know if there was a way for me to help get
her more gracious and straight
She took offense and said she was 105.
I felt like pointing out the tree by the drive into our village -
an olive tree is so old there is a possibility
Jesus sat under it, writing protest notes to the priests
in the service of the Roman church
One day the came, the uncouth people from the traffic division
chopped down ancient history and threw the remains
down a drain
Angrily, I protested to my doctor about the vandals
with my fist hit the table so hard a stethoscope fell to the floor
then the porter came, and I was made to leave.
When I came to Portugal, the natural thing was to study
and learn the language, but at the time, I was wrapped up
learning English
The Portuguese language is superbly fitted to Fado, but as a "lingo" for conversation, I failed,
I knew enough to get married.
The Norwegian vocality sounds like a Dane trying to talk Swedish
and is like wet cement being poured down a ditch dug by Lusitanos
spitting tobacco.
Ach, mein lieber Gott, I have lost many friends in the last sixty years.
Can old thoughts of hurt that we shun
Cancel life’s gifts wonder and fun?
If anger must stay
Within brain’s array
Do we run with pain in the sun?
To digest bad memory’s lunch
Chop stick therapies help us munch
And chew on old pain
So our bad chow mein
Will taste sweet like a Nestle’s crunch
Although it seems weird and so strange
If current behavior we change
Old things we found bad
No longer seem sad
As memories do rearrange
Thought patterns that left our mood scarred
That colored the present as marred
Yield to a changed script
Where wounds from the crypt
Appear like a kind greeting card
Forgiveness is really for us
It adds onto life like a plus
Anger’s not treasure
But cancels pleasure
And deports good times on a bus
Hour hands clock back sixty minutes of Autumn
Round about this same of month every year, what a bum
er, and inconvenient truth diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over
sans yesteryear doth drum
a sensation of jet lag (with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme, nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as hoe hum
fortunate, this chronological seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kempf cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and booring into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea – gram ma mother earth glum
where live yikyak wired vanguard trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down behavioral sink went – me mum
bling bloviation, once worth matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset, when athwart pilot rum
man strait ting and bickering with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans defiantly thumb
ming nose, where body, mind & soul weeknd viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock, who got high-jacked 3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs, which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace, resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis space/time continuum did devour.
Black hole event horizon indeed kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched the band wagon of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted to oppose this minute accord.