I haint retracting casting myself, nor worming against being raffish ratfish

This subdued wordsmith

doth not rack his brains to coon fess appeal

toward one household pop starlet.

 

He blithely, nonchalantly, and willingly

add mitts audiological enjoyment, sans the lithe

hot feline Taylor Swift - I might be

the only baby boomer bummer mwm,

who admires this talented singer/songwriter,

yet owns NO (absolute zero)

aspirations beyond composing poems or prose
toward divine dame.

 

A questionable attempt to stitch together –

analogous to knot sew swift a tailor,

this scribe sought to create a poem
(crafted countless years ago)

from her then song titles spanning

the letter “A” to the letter “H.”

 

Despite never setting eyes

(AND MOST Definitely NOT PAWS),

this grateful dead corpse of a skeleton

(essentially lovely bare bones),

when alive I found one gal powerhouse,

(asper the title of this informal homage)

genuinely fashioned, entirely

dutifully composed, benevolently addressed

as an attraction among

the wonders of the

world wide web, confidently enduring,

gracefully immensely known,

mainly not overly prone to quibble

regarding her less outstanding

musical and lyrical confections.

 

This doggone muttering pooch

bow wows against

nattering nabobs of negativism

able, eager, ready, and willing

bugaboos countering, dispelling, excoriating...

courtesy unsustained denunciations

against latent natural born talents

of aforementioned musician,

whereby pulp magazines make mincemeat

hammering, nailing, and wrenching

storied accomplishments

never yanking off the top of list

of solo women musical artists

who sold the most number one albums.

Before the advent vis a vis

crafting this literary challenge

incorporating a poetic endeavor

predicated on prolific tunes

comprising audiophile of Taylor Swift,

(and thus a prescript interim),
as iterated above,

a whim took hold to string

her partial song playlist

(quite substantial even up to

BUT NOT including the letter “I”).

 

This scribe dabbled, hocked, and limned

what evolved into a semi satisfactory effort,

to articulate, copacetic, enigmatic, generic,

ironic, kinetic, magnetic, opportunistic,

quixotic, scholastic, ultra democratic,

holistic yik yak paddy whack

give this bard a bon bon.

 

Adieu admit to elaborating, jovially,

and openly leave readers second guessing,

(what might easily be labeled,

misconstrued, and nullified as gobbledygook),

asper how mashup song titles

got figuratively slapped together

as a feebly note worthy attempt

to put down sew sew pontoon

swiftly tailored literary bridges

in an effort to connect a cumbersome,

fulsome, and irksome pseudo

straight forward itemized songs

sung by said seductive singular sylph..

 

Thee Mademoiselle found,

or made a place in the world for yourself

aching like a boy out in left field

pining to catch that high fly

there ain't nothing 'bout you,

(nor Brooks and Dunn) I can attest

even if hypothetically,

we spent eons at an all night diner,

where culinary staff knew thee all too well

and perhaps all you wanted

(shared with Michelle Branch)

perhaps positing the rhetorical question –

am I ready for love?

 

With an American boy

or a bosom best buddy

re: best friend forever with an American girl

if someone got cross, tis beneficial

(in this one republic) to apologize

regardless, whom ye choose as a confidante,

the following refrain plays in your mind

baby don't you break my heart slow

(at least according to Vonda Shepard)

memories no doubt arise,

when thee hapt to be a baby girl

 

thoughts unspool back to December

beautiful eyes peered

at a fractured reflection

before the love story

would begin again,

while ebbing, and flowing with my baby

recalling Bette Davis' eye

(taking visual delight

fantastic world tour live)

reminding self how better off

the choice made

 

tis much better than revenge

but umpteen times bother I will

asper boys and love

combustible mix – nonetheless

always reminding myself to breathe

deep, cuz being breathless

likened to a taste of death,

(I admit better than Ezra)

learning how to act points back

asper being brought up that way

lessons oft learned getting busted.

 

Oh...and by the way can I go with you?

 

Can you feel the love tonight?

 

Discern ache kin to sand castles crumbling?

 

Such granular, or solid state matter

doth forced to change

attested to by chaperone dads,

who dressed as Santa Claus invoked

that Christmas must be something more

especially, Christmases,

when you were mine

ah...closest to a cowboy

as “sigh” ever got

or tasting Gunstock rattlesnake pulverized,

 

yet countenance goose

(and found you under the care of Chet Atkins

at the make believe medical center)

shivered flesh against cold as you

though desiring thee to come back...he here

no doubt prone

to announce crazier requests asked

even crazier (as demonstrated

by flash mob generated

by Hannah Montana, one live wire)

 

if able to glean my sentiments...

cross my heart

aware as an adult feeling

the life source of daddy

or mommy, while hinting

with a stone temple piloted cold stare

double dare you to move

(or switchfoot), one to another

das feet – planted within

pitch dark blue Tennessee

 

dwelling with thoughts

of ma dear Digdan

or writing an imaginary letter

starting...”dear John”

ample melancholy maudlin material

to completely bind a diary of me

yes concert cavorting circumstances

avoidable, though didn't they

make chase like butterflies,

and don't they hate me for loving you?

 

So please don't tell me you want to,

when I don't want to anymore

argh, yet impossibly unshakable

the recurring thought don't you

act indiscriminately

as when down came the rain,

washed the spied her out

following suit (wet)

drenching yea...one drama queen

with chin amen along pearl

(jammed) harbor drive

(in conjunction with alan jackson)

presaging Jiving drops of Jupiter

(train chugging, clacking, clattering

railing gestalt of alien nation),

 

and all of a sudden like how odd though...

thinking about eighth grade graduate,

when lifetime seemed enchanted

now everything has changed

eyes open (“hunger games”)

maketh me – fall back on you

instant messaging you –

fall into me fearless,

though only fifteen

and how against pyrotechnics,

you find your way back home

on the fourth of July

perhaps led by a zeppelin sized firefly

ah, I ask myself who is the foolish one?

 

Me for you forever & always

(a platinum edition)

for girl at home

(donned in deluxe edition)

going bananas

in reference to Amazing Gracie

swaggering, and immune

to gunpowder & lead,

(whose leading lady Miranda Lambert)

whatsapp penned left her looking haunted

heartbreaker – (my words –

like the late Tom Petty)

about her, but unsure

if our thoughts aligned

 

anyway, here you go again (Dolly Parton)

a hero heroine

so...I clamor to yell out “hey soul sister”

and hey Stephen

along the boulevard of broken dreams,

this ribbon highway don't care

about trumpeting his lies

nor desecrating holy ground

honey baby, yes ye in the mom jeans,

I feel hopelessly devoted to you

(as didst Olivia Newton)

instinctively keen how to save a life

bobbing buoyantly amidst the fray.