I share one of my earlier attempts at cerebral entertainment.
I share one of my earlier attempt at cerebral entertainment.
Folie Ă deux
("shared madness," or "madness for two").
I suffer in silence, though not alone
kvetching old curmudgeon (me)
(once upon a time, a promising
long haired pencil necked geek)
buzzfeeding off life's miniseries
of unedited miseries in tandem
with ideal counterpart ofttimes
easily mistaken for a clone
Matthew Scott Harris
(hunkered down inÂ
mostly bucolic Schwenksville, Pennsylvania)
unable to function without her
(zee wife for nearly me half life),Â
he doth espouse as integral
to resolve calculus of his existence
plus attributes wizardly
powers within (yours truly)
derived, high fived, and thrived courtesy
(think symbiotic),
quietly riotously quintessentially,
nevertheless beloved hen pecking crone,
we carrion and cavort
(our respective wings
beating at the speed of sound)
generating humming drone
beehive ving amorously
exhibiting unchoreographed tableaux
long practiced routine
equilibrium intermittently punctuated
with dynamic pantomime tour de force
communion words superfluous
since telepathic communication
predominates the unspoken wavelength
long established modus operandi
since... before pledging our troth,
while each ourselves in utero
womb during fait accompli
vis a vis masterly carded
and gamely matched
think arranged embryonic marriage,
thus marital covenant
essentially linkedin since conception
both of us coaxed when livingsocial
no longer being tethered to umbilical cord
as lifelong playmates
forging compatible association,
now a gratuitous nod to our long since
dearly departed mothers
unbeknownst to them
how like firmly attached barnacles
each handily, snugly, and warmly fit
(esse mitten hand over fist gal love)
vicariously experienced reciprocal
trials and tribulations
whatever fate visited head of the other
permanently anchoring
nsync out rolling - rock of Gibraltar
across metaphorical stormy seas
trying against all odds
to weather strongest
emotional/psychological tempests
wallowing, née drowning in despair
at aging body, fading senses,
and thinning hair
which last named
akin to Samson
bolsters mein kampf
since... infancy, whose
counterpart betraying me like Delilah
wishing and threatening
(albeit jestingly) to lop off golden locks
each hair reed stranded longfellow
woolworth more'n fine spun gold!
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Comments
Samson, may Delilah be good to you! B
though invisible and indivisible, we (you and i) can bridge at lightspeed the virtual gulph easily traverserved thru cyberspace no matter each of us happily married, nor doth this wordsmith aim to ascend the crest of verboten physical realm since the acquaintanceship with thee cherished more than fine spun gold, and me thinks our reciprocity fragile since only a smattering of correspondences transpired between us, yet yours truly (me) feels cautiously optimistic a mutual (of omaha) benefit can accrue if ye receptive to befriend an absolute beautiful charming gal, who will hopefully unconditionally accept a Poet With Mental Illness, whereby he showcases the following off kilter reason rhyme for no reason.
The Joy of Bing Skits zoid
When just a whippersnapper of a little boy
Me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed
For doctor removal of adenoid
less to prevent their only son from being coy
Than fear of said male heir
to the carnival throne becoming an android
A less than agreeable likelihood,
especially in tandem with predilection of goy
This fateful outcome
unfazed this now green giant,
Not the least bit annoyed as captain crunch
(before childhood end)
Beckoned yours truly with “A HOY”
Horrified that parents would be
blithe to steer their son clear to avoid
Psychotic outcome to deliver obliviousness
thus bringing inner joy
So, they sent their peculiar male progeny
Believing he to be residue of Pink Floyd
Who found himself evicted desperately
in sore need of gainful imp ploy
So he began therapy in orifice
er office of maudlin Sigmund Freud
Who bore a striking resemblance
to a wooden pecked prickly shaped toy
This mental analysis delved into past – outcome
I felt less than overjoyed
despite boss be addressed
As Oedipus wrecks
and pay verbal homage that did cloy
Dredging layered past devoid
Of love, yet flush with fallacious
prevaricated abuse
from monster Lloyd Lavinsky,
A male lore demon of a grade school bully
forsooth sanity he destroyed.
I think it wasn’t easy for you, Matthew. I hope the hands of time  be gentle on you. Acceptance?Â
Only the ignorant fail to accept. I am very lucky, or should I say, fortunate. But I am just life’s random. There  is no such “I am special”. Everyone is here, in this journey we call life, by pure random. Of course you know that.Â
Don’t worry about the silly ones.Â