Off fish hill Daylight saving time 2025

min(no) newt effect on me.

As part and parcel of terpsichorean repertoire,

one whirling dervish
flaps his wings at the speed of sound.

With twenty three hours

Sunday March 9th, 2025
essentially 2:00:00 to 2:59:59
does not exist
in the night of the switch
(back to the house of Pooh Corner)

not only in Pennsylvania
(but as well as
across the United States)
will begin at 2:00 AM,
(thus dear reader ye moost
stay awake two hours into)
Sunday, March ninth
originally implemented over
one hundred years ago,
in 1918 during World War I
to help conserve fuel and power
and extend the workday
where countless nations
did lyft the bulk of production
after supporting a wartime economy.

Working during the sunlight hours
meant burning less fuel,
and the ability to work
later into the day

and moost likely will impact

min-née-ute effect on me
a run of the mill on the Floss
amazingly gracefully aging

long haired pencil necked geek,

who welcomes increased photons
while sunbathing within his alcove
just outside the bedroom window.

Just moments ago,
I dusk hoovered a dawning realization

which arose within the noggin
of this sol son begat

from when ma late mother most fecund
but twenty years ago May 5^th, 2025
hook hot whisked away courtesy grim reaper,

and then, (when following portion of poem written)

nonagenarian widower father of mine,

who sat bolt upright in bed
uttering apostrophic comment
before succombing to catastrophic
congestive heart failure,
when this sole son visited him on his deathbed
boot merely the painful revelation
never to talk to the man
who, how he learned me fist bumping

suddenly recalled for no particular
rhyme nor reason
when dee clocks hour hand moved ahead

remembered by dat

dog gone refrain

spring ahead, and fall back,

this unemployed chap

doth down play eclat

courtesy Father Time
experiencing malignant coup d'etat,
attests that his quotidian schedule
of being a faux lounge lizard minimally affected

while being holed up here

in Highland Manor named flat

barely roomy enough

for thyself, the Missus,

and buzzfeed ding fruit flies

each fuzz beating insect
approximately the size of a gnat

a minor nuisance, though tolerable

within this appealing habitat,

where minor inconvenient truth experienced
while earthling in the balance
between living social versus being homeless

by this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania resident
cuz as a recipient

of social security disability,
(which Trump's wrecking ball may obliterate)

social anxiety – and more accurately
schizoid personality disorder
psychological qualifier
that didst get linkedin with receiving
unearned income int to pay rent,
which fixed (unearned) income budgeted

and predominantly allocated to costs

of living money basic necessities spent,
hence no need to arise

bright tailed and bushy eyed,

a freedom akin

to festive folks camped out in a tent,
which exemption immunizes

this doodle ling middle aged

muddle brained chap
subjecting unsuspecting readers
to his inane raving and ranting

affiliated with early morning drivers,

who angrily, frenetically,

and splenetically rant and vent

thus, the tendency, piquancy, and lunacy

to twitter for the Yardbirds,
and keep company

with night owls, who went

a hooting for all the world wide web

to hear, whence straw dawgs Bach,

the exact number of hours, yer oblivious

to the tight rigorous mortised schedule

manned by Mister Clock,

essentially foisting on bread winners,

an abstract artificial construct spurring

madcap commuters to scurry in the rat race,

lest tardiness could cost

more than ham iz zone whole paycheck

(to ap pier with permanent dock

hue ment aye shun),

an unwonted blot add hock
king worry about getting canned - laughter

i.e. on permanent furlough,

perhaps forced into a life of crime,

yet if caught...

courtesy strapping jock
drags me, a wimpy wordsmith
wasting away in a jail cell,
a veritable teenage wasteland
surprised to hear the knock
of the princess warden

as she turns tumblers within the lock,
mein future fate in her fingers

if let free and clear,
to hire myself as a robot,
with artificial intelligence
greater than any mortal man or woman;
one redeeming factor,

would offer opportunity to mock
management, and more pertinently

mandate to rock
and roll to the incessant muted,
yet devastatingly loud tick tock.