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April 9th, 2021 birthday poem for dearly departed papa

Elysian fields embraced dada's soul

which rocketed into aerospace

(courtesy General Electric satellite)

just a tad more'n six months ago,

nevertheless melancholy

still plucks mine heart strings.

 

Mine psyche still situated awry

placid countenance of yours truly doth belie

residual sadness easily prompted

can easily trigger me to cry

linkedin when grim reaper gloated

October 7th, 2020

ye did somewhat peacefully die

though methinks immortality

I did briefly espy,

 

when miracles of modern medicine

tried, but could not

stave off mortality nor fortify

depredations of aging concerning

one wunderkind whose accomplishments

laudatory when a young handsome guy,

whose intelligence scored high

native talent aptitude tests did imply.

 

The late Boyce Brandon Harris

exhibited prolific talents at young age

aside being scholastically gifted,

acquiring graduate degree

courtesy Columbia University,

freshly minted mechanical engineer

(he admirably ranked within

uppermost percentile academically),

I hashtag thy mine deceased father

(a polymath - jack-of-all-trades),

who possessed (née excelled)

at diverse creative abilities.

 

Aside from being schooled

as mechanical engineer,

(which courses in mathematics and science

he passed with flying colors)

his mind genetically bequeathed

to craft almost anything under the sun

evidenced first by yours truly,

the second offspring and sole son

who ofttimes felt intimidated

at being in presence

of said Renaissance man.

 

Handicrafts included

expending blood, sweat, and tears

to craft multitude of projects;

i. building me Flintstone (foot powered)
car with wooden license plate.

ii. making playhouse for all three
of us - his progeny.
iii. amassing wood pile(s),

to stoke wood burning stoves

iv. designing Zayda trail for Teddy and Ruff
(two doggone mixed breed Border Collies

rescued courtesy youngest sister

at her Jacobsburg, Penna work site)

v. constructing sauna in cellar,

 

vi. etching, detailing (ala fresco),

vii. plus trimming living room ceiling,

viii. shingling (while fiddling) on the roof,

ix. tiling the kitchen floor,

x. building a cistern for brethren,

xi. wood paneling many rooms,

xii. building custom made toy chest,

xiii. stringing up lights to increase visibility

driveway lit like Christmas tree after dark,

xiv. partly assembled a kayak,

xv. retooling - enhancing porch

(formerly slate covered),

where Morris dancers performed

at wedding for eldest sister.

 

Unlike him who did beget me

I experienced cognitive challenges

that beset one painfully shy

and severely introverted male

more to the point

as a lad and mediocre student to boot

promotion to next highest grade

occurred just by the skin of my teeth,

which may help to explain

why I wear dentures,

oh... these choppers worn for about

one sixth of mein kampf livingsocial.

 

A sense of inadequacy prevailed,

when absolute zero self esteem

strikingly and suddenly manifested

in tandem when parents moved

their young tender family within

Lower Providence School District,

but into a larger house

(initial summer estate constituted

about one hundred acres of woodland -

named Glen Elm

think Winnie the Pooh -

house at Pooh corner -).

 

Not quite two score plus ten years

spent livingsocial at 324 Level Road

(above mentioned abode alluded),

and twas there majority

mine existential highs and lows,

where nadir of mein kampf transpired,

I emotionally hit rock bottom

upon onset of prepubescence

yet major event triggering

mine major depression

set in motion,

when parents chose February 28th, 1968

to move out of shoddily constructed domicile

located on Lantern Lane.

 

As shared with Renee Cardone

(the therapist whose virtual sessions

linkedin courtesy Doxy.me portal -

similar to Zoom),

that aforementioned date

marked a turning point

after which time, I floundered

experiencing irrevocable mental health issues

punctuating my psychological equilibrium

with chronic distress,

though I forgive father and mother

who unwittingly made decision to move.

 

 

Comments1

  • L. B. Mek

    biography inked with eloquence of a devotee's, worded brevity for a treasured life
    with love dripping unfiltered and proud, from each line
    a dedication birthing a smile - somewhere: bursting, with pride!..
    just a great read, thank you for sharing dear poet
    I'm sorry for your loss
    'by keeping our love pulsing bright
    within each treasured memory
    we insure their legacies
    remain a shining beacon of solace
    as they, would have wanted it to be'



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