Daylight Savings Time Ends November 5th 2023 Means
Daylight Savings Time Ends – November 5th 2023 means...
discombobulated, harried, and lobotomized
state of body, mind, and spirit triage.
Onset of dark shadows signalling edge of night
occurs earlier as the world turns
beckoning, hinting, robbing passage
regarding days of our lives,
where the young and the restless,
plus the bold and the beautiful
exhibit variations on a theme
titled one life to live.
Within my figurative neck of woods
boughs bend forming roods,
where all across the United States
except Arizona and Hawaii
troubadoors festooned nsync
with generational matriarchs
wearing hoods remaining incognito
as identity guard of their broods
mare uncannily decked, and
tricked out as an old man,
usually in a white robe,
having a white beard,
and carrying a scythe
signify turning the clock one hour
at 2:00 AM eastern standard time,
hence birthing following
reasonable ridiculous rhyme.
Hour hands clock get set 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 watching Monty Python's flying circus
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,
nevertheless mein kampf
cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling
black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and boring into
quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement
for emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining seven sea –
gram ma mother earth glum,
where live yik yak
viewed thru Tik Tok wired vanguard
trulia tried optimism to hum
nevertheless, swallowed (Old Rotten Gotham)
sliding down into behavioral sink
analogous to cremated ashes of late mother
once boxed, but long since scattered into eternity
like talcum powder went – me mum
bling bloviation, once worth
matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary confusion,
where existence not peachy keen plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset,
when athwart Jane Pilots' rum
man strait ting and bickering
with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans
defiantly, haughtily and laughably thumb
ming nose, where
body, mind & soul Weeknd
viz a bully did cower,
hence (principal at Methacton
Junior High School) Mister Clock,
who got hijacked
3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax
and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable
Whitsuntide as sour
grapes of wrath
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
bottled up cosmic genie good Lord
and Taylor (swift) lock step
as das joint mill on the floss hoard
sucker punched the band
Reo SpeedWagon 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.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
|