Poem -

Ghost of Harriet Harris doth not countenance monetary largesse

Ghost of Harriet Harris doth not countenance monetary largesse

After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.

Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.

Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,

(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,

remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband

generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.

Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
damned how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor

without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.

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Katina Woodruff...

There is a lot of emotion within the poem, sadness, anger, frustration and a longing to reconnect in certain areas. Was Harriet your mom? 

I became a little lost with the metaphors. When I can understand the words that 
you incorporate, I'll get the full gist of the poem. For now, all I can say is good work fellow 
poet. You encourage us (dyslexics) to open the dictionary and pull out the words so we 
can keep up with the story. 

I have a dictionary at my desk now, thank you Matthew for including words 
that I have never saw before. It has helped me to stretch my vocabular brain a bit. 

Way to go! 
Keep up the fantastic writing.