Trifolium Pollinated Courtesy Bombus Poem by Matthew Harris

Before landscapers mow swaths
across undulating waves of clover
(the father/daughter team
usually cut grass every Tuesday)
bumblebees alight from one to another flower.

Meanwhile, I lie splayed
mid morning June 28th,2022
with stomach upon natural carpeting
quietly basking espying Robins
oblivious to presence of yours truly
pleasantly distracted unable to concentrate
reading latest issue of Mother Jones.

Revered quintessential pitch perfect...
omnipresent natural muse
idyllic and pacific temperature
sprawling within sundry
schema encompassing sundry biota
at Highland Manor Apartments)
with nary any other resident nor human
hypothetically I experience
webbed wide world
imagining domain singularly mine.

Splendiferous sunlight bathed
sol barenaked lady alas and alack
leavening kernels harkening
civilizations bajillion millenniums back
before mechanization punctuated
courtesy opposable thumb
hominids forged, molded, usurped...
mother lode carte blanche
yielding resounding click and clack
blithely extracting resources

disregarding warnings regarding drawback
Capitalism paradigm wrought
Homo sapiens witnessed vanquishing
close calls with extinction
nevertheless man/womankind came roaring
full steam ahead stronger analogously
think one who trudges thru thick forests
zigzagging across rudely cleared switchback
already disappeared without a trace
what animal, (perhaps
protohuman) no tell tale track.

Blessed balm of solar warmth permeated
one primate seduced asleep
albeit 245+ months into twenty first century,
where proliferation courtesy since
first Industrial Revolution
circa about 1760 to sometime
between 1820 and 1840,
when bruising bouncer(s) maintained
law and order within barkeep
saloons in colloquial jargon cheap

trick availed supertramp goo goo dolls
guiding drunken proletariat recesses deep
makeshift private booth disproportionate
money forked over cuz
crowded house needed upkeep
occasionally respectable fellow
(an average Joe just Biden time
in tandem with his imaginary veep
enriched coffers, whereby generous money
found vent to all purdy girls to weep.

Daydreaming, and inebriate on air
I taste a liquor never brewed* beware...
potential plagiarism avoided
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) gave clear
signal, though she dwelt (still does)
with dead souls - poor dear
mine non deliberated reference to said poet
spontaneously sprung into logophile engineer

her brief life, yet...
impacted American and English literature
triumphant and devoid of fear
harmonious, prodigious, and voluminous
hand deftly wrought skads of poems
within her noggin cogs and appropriate gear
smoothly meshed only a humble folk like her
muffled modest gaiety only she could hear.
-------------------------------------------------------
*I taste a liquor never brewed (214)
Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,

From inns of molten blue.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun.