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Though the heyday and stellar popularity didst long since wane, I still enjoy listening to select song titles (to many for listing here along this virtual boulevard of broken dream) of this iconic Punk Rock band unique rapid fire machine gun punctuated trademark style still induces goosebumps IF only because my eldest daughter (Eden Liat) used to be a rabid fan.
She even voluntarily recruited this papa (and asked me in her coy, diminutive, earnestly irresistible purring kitty cat demeanor if yours truly could taxi herself, and one or more best buddies, (whom she keeps in regular communication to this green day) to the the theatrical performance “American Idiot” being shown on Broadway.
Unsure at the present status of this three (?) member all male musician troupe (with a moderate sized following at the zenith of their renown i.e. with quite a motley crue of groupies to boot), nonetheless at the height of fame and fortune experienced by said trio, a spurious whim spurred this middle aged chap to jot down his feelings of unbridled affinity toward said talented three person creative young men within a poetic format (left unmodified only if there appeared a typographical error, or an ambiguous awkward outdated word arrangement) will be appended below.
Billie Joe Armstrong, Mike Dirnt, and Tre Cool
which trio known (the world wide web over)
as the band Green Day composed lyrics and melodies
this listener did imbibe analogous to downing musical fuel
no matter lead singer supposedly never graduated from high school,
yet raw bits of primal utterance approximated talent galore,
which excessive indulgence with amber liquids of the dogs
or flagrant downing consciousness expanding material
filled the airwaves of soundstage and/or studio
with snapping, popping, and crackling
rhythmic synchronicity evoking images
of warm from a Yule tide burning log.
I (a common, easy going, generic kid)
spent childhood years practicing the piano,
which tickling the ivory (way before
realization brought to my attention,
how elephants illegally poached and slaughtered),
for shear sporting whim pounded the keys with vigor and vim
speculated at how dissimilar mine fate,
would possibly be if dedication sustained
to be a self driven task master while mollycoddling the baby grand,
perchance me billfold and financial accounts
would not be extremely paltry and slim
reflected then and now, on one of those “what if...could a,
should a would a...” hypothetical queries
and wonders if Robert Frost enshrined and rim
mem bored viz signature ruminating about “The Road Not Taken”
might fancy himself joining a seminary
(rather peculiar though from an atheist) obeying behavioral edicts
(with no discipline required from “religious fathers”proper and prim,
hence baring the habit as nun in a convent chances negligible to him
i.e. me, yet...all those mewing kitties will more closely match anthem
but un-natural suppression sans animal, carnal, feral...predilections
finds thoughts quickly being dismissed, cuz of such restrained celibacy codas,
and even preferring to be dangling
(literally), and holding on for dear life
from a rather straggly limb
even clinging with diminishing strength
resorting to contriving a rip public kin battle Hymn
knowing likelihood for immediate salvation grim
er ring, and fading outlook Whatsapp eared dim
getting anxious, and minimally cautiously optimistic
that When September Ends piercing
me flesh with pellets of cold rain
grip upon the slippery bark will induce
greater anguish emotional pain
unsure if mine demise will be a cometh,
as grim reaper doth gain
another mortal, whose life cut short
will induce a gaping hole within thy family chain.
