The American Revolution describes the process whereby one George was replaced by another
Though Jack has climbed his beanstalk,
Saint George his dragon slain,
Gulch-Mammon lives on happily
And myriad is his train
His belly is enormous,
Yet full it ne'er will be.
The moment luncheon's over,
It's time to start high-tea.
Gulch-Mammon's teeth are millstones
Whose grindings rarely cease.
His slightest indigestion
Is menace to our peace.
And every time he sneezes,
Things worsen, though they're bad,
And every time he belches,
The Richter Scale goes mad.
Perchance he bored with eating,
He starts to smoke and fume.
You'll always know his whereabouts.
Just watch out for his plume.
His home is just palatial,
For gold is everywhere.
His rest-room seat is golden,
A thing most choice and rare.
No one knows for certain,
The income that he draws.
Whatever you are making,
It's vastly more than yours.
There on his vast plantations,
Some kine are thin, some fat,
And many laws and statutes
Did little to change that.
Are Jack and George just sleeping,
Or are they in his pay?
Whoso may know the answer
Seems disinclined to say.
Categories:
grindings, corruption, power, society,
Form: Burlesque
Culinary resonations my senses please
Blowtorch trimming the tapering of cheese
Cremated lactations dance on the fan’s breeze
Crab forks impaling young peas
Lightly dusting salt of the seas
Grindings of exotic teas
Marinades my taste buds tease
Categories:
grindings, food
Form: Monorhyme
Egg shells, potato peels,
Fruit scraps from meals,
Coffee grindings—
From this…food springs.
06-24-78
Categories:
grindings, food, nature, science,
Form: Verse