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This accidental arsonist sparked following matchless anecdote

I attribute being a grown mad scientist
linkedin with tacit approval of parents
(both long gone to the smoky afterlife),
and donned wizard trumpeting magic spells
while dark and stormy night
(one week before Halloween),
which usher nostalgic memories
encapsulated within the following poem
initially drafted quite some years ago.

Both parents possessed pedigreed panache
(but especially my father – renown Chemist
B.B. Harris and to slightly lesser extent
late culinary cuisine queen Harmit Harms
Kuritsky - gal whose troth thy then still

Novel Refuge

Locked within the pages of a book
I find sanctuary, a quiet nook,
Where I often retreat and find
the kindest heart, the vilest mind.

Whenever I just feel like getting away
From the rigors of life on any day,
I step through the portals of a book
Into a fantasy world and take a look:

At the mythical realm of unicorns,
Dragons, mermaids, seductive sirens;
At the dreams, adventures and magic,
Or life and death’s purpose and logic;

Folktales of love, miracles, covenants,
Of knights, heroes and revenants,
Of saints, demigods and mystics,

Ode on Ys Bay Cathedral

Ys Bay is hard to access from the north
   as hefty headlands guard its pebbly beach,
but turn a boat to east and voyage forth
   and Breton’s coast is easier to reach;
the waters mirror colours of the sky
   and movements too, as cloudscapes drift and dance
      while Sun and Moon both travel on their ways
and gulls and terns and petrels wheel and fly
   above the sea as though in turning trance,
      a submerged city gleaming in their gaze.

Twice told toilet tale – a cheeky execrable gross fable

which poetic product best be affixed
with hashtag STINKY label.

As a young whippersnapper
and one precocious lad to boot,
I discovered common combustible materials
found in the bathroom.

At opportune times,
I blithely tinkered with dangerous chemicals
that could (but never did)
explode into one humongous
fiery maelstrom and
bloom (re: annihilate)
this lad to smithereens.

Window kept open to avoid
un--necessary nor accidental asphyxiation.
After clearing defecation deep within,
the recesses of my bowels,

Welcome Home

When I met the tall and still youthful Vietnam war veteran, my shyness showed, my dry throat tightened when he softly spoke the words,"It never goes away," All these humanity destroying wars never cease, soldier's names, faces, etched all over Americana, Their love letters sent home engraved on America's soul, not always given a hero's welcome homecoming. Their nightmares flashing as they wake up sweating in their sheets in the dark, screaming for respite from still hearing the firefight, still seeing the VC, and hearing the life breaths leaving mortally wounded brothers, descending into the
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