The itty bitty city kitty
She thought she was the best
She thought she was so witty;
Much better than the rest.

The itty bitty city kitty
Begged to be put to the test
That’s the reason for this ditty
She felt there was no contest.

The itty bitty kitty
Runs home to her nest.
She hates the nitty gritty;
Her voice loudly expressed.

The itty bitty kitty
Will always request
Travis Tritt and Conway Twitty
For her country music zest.

The little bitty kitty
In the cold she wears a vest.
She never learned to knitty
Though we’d have been impressed.

The itty bitty kitty
Takes scorn as just a jest.
She doesn’t need your pity.
She’s on a kitty quest.

The little bitty kitty
Likes her covers messed.
It kind of makes her giddy.
Likes her comfort best.

Just mahogany and horsehide glue,
machine heads and a ***** or two.
Plywood top, solid sides and back,
bone and fake ivory, ebony, and shellac.

Steel and bronze wire, to make her ring.
A well placed sound hole to let her sing.
But for love or money I played here every week,
for 30 years she has earned my keep.

Four star restaurants, or beer soaked bars,
or serenading a lover under summer night stars.
A joyous birthday, sad funeral of a friend,
she's always been there, on one I can depend.

Drunken'- Dancin' New Years Eve bashes,
barbequed sun baked poolside splashes.
St. Valentine's Day love songs, wine and roses,
or a smoky old blues club that never closes.

A nursing home sing along on St. Patty's day,
a hurricane party till we all got blown away.
Christmas carols by soft candlelight,
I've played this guitar most every night.

From Florida to Canada, Vegas to NYC,
from Frank Sinatra, to Conway Twitty.
Zeppelin to Bach, JT to Pink Floyd,
anything to keep me from being employed.

One night in Nashville Greg Allman played on her,
And asked me to join him, oh what an honor.
We make people happy, we bring them together,
when I play on her I am as light as a feather.

Some fell in love, and got married from our tunes,
some nights we're alone on sugar beach dunes.
She's filled up my tip jar, and filled up my heart.
Because of this guitar my life got its start.

I've sat up with her all night, when she was sick,
changed strings a million times, broken many a pick.
Caressed her, strummed her, as she dashed my fears,
cussed her and ****** her, as she tasted my tears.

With her I wooed my lover, until she married me.
She has been my addiction, and she has set me free.
They applaud for me, but she's really the star.
I know it's just wood and wire, but she's my guitar.
###====(==O==== )###====(==O==== ) ###====(==O==== )

*For my Takamine "Lawsuit" I bought in Nashville in 1982.

If it wasn't for country music
If it did not belong to country music, there would be no music today.
The sounds of the good old country are what sad music.
the sounds of hank william, johnny cash, tex ritter, conway twitty.
Even elves sang country.
Rap would not manage without the upbeat sound of what is country.
The stars of today they love that old sound but some do not see.
Country music will never die.

I got my converse on
My hair slicked back
My blue jeans cuffed
A brand new tat
I'm just a rockabilly boy

Conway Twitty playing in my head
Got me singing along to Maybe Baby
Feeling too **** good
Just right, on a Saturday night
I'm just a rockabilly boy

I wanna get my baby on the dancing floor
Then back to my bed for a little more
We can do monkey
We can do the twist
I'm just a rockabilly boy

My eyes gaze over the table of food through the company and off into the distance beyond the mildew on the walls.

I would feel more comfortable collecting the cobwebs from this basement ceiling.

Instead, I try hard to seem interested in what others are saying while avoiding eye contact, and -

BANG!! It's time to eat. The moment I've been most waiting for. Now I can concentrate on the food and do what I really came for.

Never eat and run though. It's time to act interested in the others once more.

Karaoke. Who doesn't love an overly enthusiastic host hoisting a microphone in their face?

Thanks for the food but I don't feel like singing a Kenny Rogers song or a whoever the **** song of some twit whose been in the top 40 within the past 5 years, or 20 for that matter.

Thank Jupiter they are distracted. Now is my chance to slip out quietly. I make it out the door and find out that someone parked behind me.

what else do you got in that cd case? Any Conway Twitty by chance? Oh really. **** it, I'm next

If you were me,
you would be making the world a better place.

Or thinking about making the world a better place.

Someday, after you learn being me makes you
*******.
Really, dead center on the spects, carazy smart
seri-al-owzly simple minded
regarding pre-literal ideas that few, if any

besides you, me now, ever literally take for granted,
for God's sake.
Right, that's some good to be done-

set that blasphemin', God-blamin', goofball free.

If you were me,
you would be hoping nothing you are thinking
is really doing what you are thinking. But it did.

You ever been in an angel bar? I know where some are,
if I were you,
I'd take the dole and hang out widimall day. They are
here to serve. It's in their contract, and they love

leading expeditions into the unknown unknowns, ain't
never been this far before.
Okeh. That did it. Conway Twitty, I could not
have guessed...

Serious poetry, Nietzschean twit. Is laughable.

If you were me,
you would know this is in the cycle. This is whatchamightcall,
the way home, the short version-cut.

Say, Elvis, say south.
Say, Little Richard, say south.
Say, Jerry Lee Lewis, say south.

Say, BB King, say south.
Say,  David and Jimmy, Ruffin says south.
Heck most of the Classic Five was southern born.

The message is within the history of these southern born artists.
Where all mention above is still highly praised?
Alabama, Georgia, and Kentucky too created a feeling still bringing news.

Wilson Picket aka the Wicked one.
Jame Brown and Jean Terrell heritage are within the southern region.

If you don't know nothing comes from the south without gaining your attention.
Did I mention Dolly Parton"
Conway Twitty aka Harold Jenkins and Porter Waggoner.

Something within the spiritual birth.
Check the history of Chess Records blues artist.

By the way even Berry Gordy.

Give me your hand and let me lead you to the floor.
We're love dancing to whatever song is on?

Maybe some Sinatra, Martin or Tony Bennett.
Maybe Paul Simon or James Taylor and Carly Simon.

It doesn't matter, when we're love dancing.

Oh, you're shocked.
Maybe amazed to see the one you love acting this way.
But sometimes, things should be a surprised changed.

Play me some Paul, John, George and even Ringo.
It doesn't matter, as long as you dance along.

Let me slowly spin you aware.
As Mel Tillis or Conway Twitty belts out a song.
Throw in some Loretta Lynn or Lynn Anderson.

Whatever your choice for pure pleasure?

Maybe Marvin Gaye or Al Green or Barry White.
Just realize with them singing things might affect the night.

Play some Howlin' Wolf or Muddy Waters or some Rolling Stones.
Just realize in truth, we need know music to groove ourselves on.
Whisper to me.
And I whisper to you.

We be making more music when the morning comes.

As I open the gates of heaven. I listen to the sweet music of Johnny cash.
As I board the train, as he sings the orange blossom special.
I take the train for the stage. Where there stood Patty page.
She was singing loud and strong.Beyond the clouds, the sky is always blue.
So true to hear.
As we traveled down the tracks. I have a sound that I member so well.
As Conway Twitty sang Hello darling
As we approached the end of the trail.
I heard the King Hank Williams Sr himself singing to God I saw the light.
As i left the train i could hear them all sing,
I walk the floors of heaven.
Do you still hear them sing

He was a
taller and
much thinner
black bearded
roommate
in the place
I went
when I could not face
reality.
He snorted,
coughed, and hacked
while I tried to sleep.
Someone once
told me
that he didn’t shower
because beneath his beard
and sweat stained Tee
there were some
painful burns.
I do not know his name.
Still,  I hope he found
some semblance of peace
that even I have
yet to claim.

Older man
in the same facility
fifty to sixty something,
walking with a slight
spinal curve
and wearing his
cleanly pressed black button up shirt
along with his folded at the seams
to tight blue jeans,
seams normal enough,
but I hear him sing
Conway Twitty’s
“That’s My Job”
constantly.
Somebody told me
when he was younger
he watched his father
plant his face
on a cold metal rail
and let a train
smash out
his brains.

Farther back
when I was barely seven
I knew a sweet long haired man
who wore a dress
and pushed
an empty stroller.
He could have been
transgender then,
but I did not have
the experience to know
or desire to classify
or judge him.
Twenty years later
with seventy-five miles
between me and that city
I met a stranger
who came from there.
Jokingly to prove
I was from the same place,
I mentioned that man.
She gave me a name
that I had never asked for,
told me that he
was a veteran
from one of those
horrible wars,
and that Jet
had died a while ago.

I knew an angry lady,
violent, frustrated,
face curled in rage
because she hated
some unexplained pain.
She taught me
to love music
but despite the sweet
and safe melodies
of those old time songs
we both used to move to
I can still feel
the fear, and swollen skin,
the loneliness, and hurt
that she buried within.
She was as I am now
living but broken.

Locked into each other's arms
Passion burning in the pit of my stomach
We slow danced to Conway Twitty
As we stared into each other's eyes
I’ve never felt so secure
As our hearts wandered past the sea
Now all I know all need is to be with you
To touch you, talk to you
Stare into those deep meaningful brown eyes
And know that so much happier times are coming

When, I cut on my music to play?
It is that old style country sounds.
Nothing these country rock style artists with the rock guitars know.

In my truck
I might be listening to Buck(Buck Owens)
Or Conway (Conway Twitty)
I just believe that style and sound was so pretty.

Then, if I am at home?
It might be Johnny (Cash)
Or those original brothers -(Statlers)
Nothing against these rock style country stars. (with the roc guitars)

Give me Lynn(Loretta) or (Anderson).
I might throw in Tammy (Wynette)
And that lady with those pretty eyes called Barbara Mandrell

Then, who can't listen to Willie?
No last name needed.
Yes, I'm old-style country and guess I always be.

And I have nothing to hide just like Charley Pride.
Okay, I might have a taste for a little George Strait and Allan Jackson.
They remind me of that old style country passion.

despite me chronological age being one naught naught
as an impractical joker
to da liver me from being dirt poor,  
especially when bitterly cold draught
howls and rattles mine lovely bones
despite a lifetime
weathering supercalifragilisticexpialidocious genes
that no amount of money could buy nor bought.

The following epistemological foray
yielded the Mattspeak gibberish,
set in Times New Roman
as twelve font before your eyes
the net result knowledge acquired to date
and subsumed within
at  original instance of writing
sixty plus shades of gray
living and practicing
being interpersonally social
cause for me
(once upon a time
as an extremely introverted lad,  
and essentially totally withdrawn),
thus now being extroverted
self congratulatory cause for hip... hip...
hip... replacement surgery hooray
immediately afterwards prancing
and dancing around with the stars  
ignoring egregious bupkis
issuing out the mouths of those
from the rat pack set who inveigh
against this boyish looking centenarian
still spry enough to skip up the jetway
prior to thugs nearly
beating the sh*t out of me
(as an uppity person of color) courtesy the KKK,
who now know better not to tangle
with the likes of me adroit enough
to knock every bully
hankering to start a melee.

No quest chin, I defy conformity and thwart
hat field bald apropos abilities
with scads of literary antics to best
buy thee interest whoever doth reed
and vet suitable candidates, and community chest
o' mine heaves with anticipation wonder,
ring how purveyor donning figurative Crampons,
(that trumpet each dicey icy echo wing
step of mein kampf) rivals Everest
to scale (albeit without rich hard gear equipment
'cept a perceptive noggin)
egg shaped permanent neck listed guest
as company to share lite snack or drink,
what suits yar harvest,
and course interjections
of good humor, cuz wittiness and jest
kin download a lightness
of being, and gentle byte size
comical banter an electronic
binary boffo, buffoonery bytes lest
head honcho all business evident
by desk pinterest ting nest
ill suited for spontaneity streaming
one-liners, that could be a pest
ambition of him/her aiming
to game dialogue nabbing quest
of productive money in side pocket,
where prestidigitation trick
up sleeve also rest
viz electron nick kewl back aid
AC/DC jumper linkedin acid test
and...well no animals harmed
in writing courtesy baby boomer wise guy
of persiflage noir lived
(as a self hired spy for espionage
approximately ***** dozen miles
didst indeed drive dirt cheap
regarding inception of these words)
**** sitter ably west
of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
would (if some fluke offered
this worm men eye sir ha job) exclaim
ming (while astride his high Trojan Horse),
a muffled, mumbled, and muted zest.

He be dashing off (riding
in a white horse open sleigh)
driven by a Quisp and Quake
eating pop slop served
courtesy ancestor ova Decembrist
quite horridly and harried styled,
and swiftly tailored Russian revolutionary,
who in December 1825 - got ******
flew led zeppelin
(with limited posse sub billet tee),
an unsuccessful revolt
against Tsar Nicholas I
grabbing his righteous left wrist,
whence leaders (including
this nebulous genealogical firecracker)
executed, and later regarded as martyrs by the Left.

Pixar could nada pay enough
for this trainer of apple chomping antz
so I wonder if any chance
hello kitty whisker of employment
thru contrived virtual toy story
qua ratatouille poetic brew
could materialize into likely chance
such an idea generates me
to shrek out with excitement
and doo *** ping
hip-hop improvisational thespian dance
just in case a glimmer of some prospect exists
for this self anointed bard who dislikes formality
presents posse sub billet tee say technical skills,
which I hope to enhance,
hence this chap offers following poetic expression,
nada common and did not german ate in France
to take a glance
so help this intuitive **** sapiens
overcoming Bing a deep pull lore able
bass kit case to enhance
sharpen mental acuity like lance,
which byte size bit torrent humor
might cause ye to soil pants
misinterpreting mishmash as raves and rants
even part time income would buoy
ma Petsmart gull livers travelers sans positive stance
with subtle intent to place me as worth hiring,
to sway au currant series electronic charge
ideally affect hypnotic trance
in effort for consideration to ad-vance.

I betcha never read a pseudo cover letter reply
like iambic pentameter electronic wire
from boyish looking blood muggle father up in years,
(whose nonpareil courage
to face Voldemort never does tire)
and two grown doll ling daughters,
would consider him worthy hire
less so to rake in gobs of money,
but satiate nearly unquenchable hunger and thirst
for bits of computer fields, and pad family big bird nest
while watering stream of consciousness babbling
brook - bass adder know how to acquire.

This faux cover letter of sorts conveys itty bitty
raw bits minuscule Orbitz size actual work experience
(from this papa who lived
northwest of Philadelphia city,
when these keystrokes
initially impressed alphanumeric characters)
nonetheless, I hanker
(NOT to be confused with HACKER -
divergent words differ by juiced
one letter prompts following ditty)
computer troubleshooting
(and making) abilities of mine
thine appetite to comprehend,
aye ascribe BuzzFeed ding nitty gritty
nebulous on par with secret life of Walter Mitty,
whom destiny protected and took pity
merely meant to be silly
boot hoop fully entertaining
as a gig from the late Conway Twitty,
yet also attempt to be witty.

No matter how many miles by car
(actually your company might be
within dead man walking distance),
this opportunity would be considered nod da to far
hoop ping responding
in rhyme considered creatively healthy
though garbled endeavor to explicate
duly cause for overlooking role
to enter inside open sesame a jar
communicate modest casual fashion trying knot to mar
ma duke king chances dressing
dishabille prove hike kin use acumen
interest, language skills and technologically spar
using graphical user interface programs
to get unstuck from virtual feathery tar.

Iambic pentameter doth not constitute traditional
standard genre for a debtor
I see no reason with rhyme
why non-conformist modus operandi
cannot serve mode to communicate pursuit
as computer repair technician and letterman go getter,
which honest to goodness confession
hopefully affects against
other respondents at least a bit better.

This pure breed mud half blood muggle prince
bona fide seeker for challenging income
does reckon following poetic way
not necessarily follows formalities
to reply as most would readily say,
yet why adhere to conformity,
whereby paradigm frowns on creative er ray
which atypical modus operandi
to reply positive job I pray
even if outcome offering interest turns out to be nay
perhaps because mien hometown
since these words written
about tree doze zen
leafy miles north West
of Philadelphia frito band eat toe lay.

LivingSocial within southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
the general domain since birth
resume may (quite slim
as jail grub gruel) may show dearth
yet hie decided to resort with verse a tile tactic
induce sing byte size mirth
of requisite (sought after) technical expertise,
I do possess the attributes well worth.

If you might allow me to boast
blithely use iambic pentameter to coast
maybe opportunity to eradicate
re: exorcise binary elusive ghost
offer bytes of helpful information from pc host
with brio and confidence, I respond to post.

So...without further ado I will slightly brag
to tell ability conduct ding understand DOS
no longer necessary
to abort, cancel, and restart
mission to program one's way thru virtual crag
manage common passé system utilities
(back in the day,
when technology cradled
analogous to baby during their infancy)
such as scan disk and defrag
installed, resolved dsl issues, performed
scan-disk and troubleshooting glitches
viz yule eyes basic
removal of DOS files, installation
and/or removal of hardware
likewise uninstalling software, running registry sweeps
in an attempt to remove bugs and errors
cause zing machine to cough and gag,
which invariably abends processes as downloading,
sending, uploading, et cetera to lag
gently goading an overloaded old nag,
who if an aged horse versus actual human,
would warrant sweat wicked off brow with rag
and if chance smiles on further consideration
like happy pup his/her tail will wag.

Oh...and by the way
(gnome hatter a no...no and taboo topic de jure),
I would accept a starting
and/or negotiable salary as starting wage
in an effort to support self proclaimed sage,
whose role can double up as court jester, joker, or page
hopeful poetic synopsis offers favorable gauge
in tandem enriching fount
of knowledge (initially
courtesy COMPAQ PRESARIO)
as revolutionary in 1999 as yours truly
more valuable than fine spun gold at advanced age.

Y'all might think this reply balderdash and rot
which may matter bo diddly squat
no matter I herald from royalty with salient strengths
as being a prestigious scott
butta ma sta harris
does not smoke *****,
nor drink from a chamber ***
and student of establishment he is not
one to boast about knick knack
paddy whack…to craft a bon mot,
yet moxie by maxima proxy this poet doth got
might elicit salient characteristics similar to a humanoid bot
and, oh by the way,
I lived in montgomery county, Pennsylvania
some year’s quite a-lot.

Good day from: harmless, hapless, handless mad man Matthew Harris.

As subtle obvious from the above burst
this non quit ting chap doth tick and cursed
with avidity, cupidity, electricity durst
to flout conformity, and will when a Hearst
coffin dost bear me away,
lest cremation mine ashes get dis pursed
aspiring to wax poetic fur better or wurst.

In Love With Words

Carte blanche,
this scrivener bandies, exercises,
and indulges inexplicable gravitas
drooling, extolling, and fielding greatness,
frothing handily, indubitably jinxed,
linkedin as some lingual philanderer,
which oral *******,
this sensate being suckles figuratively das *****
sans mother tongue i.e. english language
unbeknownst to this cobbler,
dabbler and fiddler (on the roof) with rhetoric,
why those twenty six letters constituting
sole lingua franca known to him,
admittedly beheld captivate, fascinated,
genuflecting, highhandedly
inflated educated cerebral cortex
aflame with fiery passion
asper language affianced to himself,
liberal minded radiant, redolent and rudimentary scribe,
who would book chartered flight per voluminous Goddess
to the ends of the Earth demonstrating,
hallucinating and punctuating affinity,
cupidity energetically gravitating ingratiation
knowingly manumission only pleases queen rhetoric,
she thrives unequivocally
viz usually warbling xeroxed yapping
zestfully, amorously and beatifically,
charming dame, entrances fixation, germinating hypnosis,
idyllically juicing kinetic love
mister nonestablishmentarian obliquely producing
quintessential rhapsodies, sonnets, rhyme less threnody
uber veneration towards prosaic radiant, redolent romantic
in tryst ting worthily winsome weaver
doth frigate gently heaves illustrious, joyous, kindness
livingsocial, merrily opportunistically profligate
overlooking many averse trait
viz zit ting this absolute zero
nasty and short brute, cheating discrete envoy,
fantasizing glorious hedonistic insurmountable jazzed ken,
when, even as a haploid male or female germ cell
able to unite with another of the opposite ***
engendered genetically inherent kickstarter mature oldster
quacking sociological product tete a tete paramour the prose
Dot com follower tis reason aye wrote this poem.