Today, I Mourn slain Beatle John Lennon

assassinated at 10:50 PM,

on December 8, 1980

forty four years later to date

outside The Dakota Apartment,

(also known as the Dakota Apartments),

located at 1 West 72nd Street

in New York City, U.S.

After Mark David Chapman

unloaded five bullets in the back

with a .38 special revolver,

that son of a gun got his quarryman

and became eligible for parole

in 2000 after serving only 20 years

since said murderer felled legend:

he pulled the trigger of his firearm

at point blank range

brutally killing the most successful

singer/songwriter in history,

(whose collaboration with Paul McCartney)

bestowed double fantasy

and rendered instant karma

echoing his oft repeated refrain

across the universe

for the benefit of Mister Kite

"All we are saying is give peace a chance,"

a lyric from the song

"Give Peace a Chance"

by the late John Lennon and Yoko Ono,

which song when released in 1969

became an anthem

for the anti-war movement,

nevertheless even after

exactly three score years

since the Fab Four,

became famous in 1964

after their appearance

on The Ed Sullivan Show,

which elapsed time

seems like yesterday

to this day tripper (me)

who happened to be

just a beastie boy.

Upon hearing in utter disbelief over the telly

On December 8, 1980,

the breaking news videre licet

regarding the murder

of John Lennon, a member of the Beatles,

outside his New York City apartment building,

I felt numb standing stock still

in the kitchen

(within childhood home of mine)

at 324 Level Road,

and nearly found myself asphyxiating

as if trapped within a yellow submarine

buried within briny deep

courtesy stone(d) temple pilot.

Yours truly stormed out of the house

analogous to a stormtrooper

heading into the thick of battle

experienced being dazed and confused

espying a Led Zeppelin

in the front yard

after getting a closer look

I quickly realized parked guests

came from an alien nation,

which immediately prompted me

to avail myself to be abducted

courtesy unidentified anomalous phenomena

bidding goodbye to father and mother

quietly pleading... dear prudence

escaping the helter skelter amidst humanity

here, there and everywhere

wistfully envisioning a utopia

like dreamers do

able, eager, ready and willing

to embark upon a magical mystery tour

this fool on the hill,

a veritable nowhere man

feeling like nobody's child

psyching myself to be free as a bird

yearning to adopt fearlessness

after froggy went a courtin

jump/kick starting

far out and groovy kismet

to become a paperback writer

renown on par with aforementioned

famous British balladeer

but before taking fateful step

into dark shadows

hiding the outer limits

of the twilight zone,

I dashed off a short note

to family and friends,

and subsequently flagged down letterman

also asking please mister postman

to inform kith and kin

NOT to summon search party,

cuz yours truly hopes to frolic

amidst strawberry fields forever.