Harnie and Dinnie re: Main My imaginary boyhood friends


Now captain and master of mine domain - ahoy
as an introverted rah king and roe ling slip of a boy
I suddenly remember (after approximately LV) years
make believe friends named Harnie and Dinnie,
who kept me company without being cloy
hing in nature
helped eclipse agonizing growing pains did destroy
every day existence, when in free falling throes
sans difficult academic employ
forever grousing helplessly feeling alienated as a Unitarian goy
now suddenly awake with self-entertainment
provided by invisible figment
of my over active imagination,
that if such behavior exhibited as a gent
(i.e. talking, kibitzing, and carousing
with non existent entities) me private Clark Kent
brother (where art thou), would be avoided
as if possessed by devilish plague viz spent
sense and sensibility, which haint no reason to suffer
as if guilty of committed a punishing crime,
nonetheless, nobody knew mine boyhood cavorting,
fielding, or inviting many a time
these mentally contrived personas,
who never bullied, degraded amiss
nor foisted hi-jacked limited bliss
always available and totally tubularly
aware how utter childhood ends’ duress
did possess a vice grip upon spunk,
that seeped out mien psyche on private express
train, this spilling, telling and unveiling such hint
how self-entertainment, this life of a then whippersnapper I con fess
aware from reveling in role of fatherhood,
how one or both daughters never did guess
how laudatory he applauded kickass magical playmates,
especially the second born cherished dearie
peopled her struggle to make friends –
similar to myself more or less
and ruminate how critical such creative thinking,
would be cause to tag a grown up as a mental mess
also attuned that concocting a gallimaufry, hallucinatory,
and illusory companion would further oh press
an adulthood fraught with emotional, physical
and spiritual setbacks galore
most definitely inducing unwelcome stares from strangers –
akin to Igor
(the story book hunchback),
a legendary figure whose steadfast lore
lesson learned only late in life, when pride without prejudice more
than during yesteryear buoys this papa,
who whiz indigent and rather poor.



This poem is about: 
My family


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