Long Catch 22 Poems
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Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf.
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’
He spoke good English—
A foreign language, though;
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r':
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response:
"Why, I have them everyday!"
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.
His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide,
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.
Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth—
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!
Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!
But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.
Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!
But once some workers gathered
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now,
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!
Now, when this narrative ended,
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!
***
Knowing of evil and doing evil are two different things Knowledge applied with the right judgment is wisdom Cutting teeth on forbidden fruit is one thing transiently eating from the same tree Ignorance of the law is no excuse nor is the knowledge of the law It will not make you any wiser or add another day to your life wisdom of this world is foolishness to God catching men in their own craftiness be not wise in your own eyes no man can keep his own soul alive Hold that in mind as long as you can
Each poem’s a web that I hang (time-smoked adage
that swirls in the sky) and dream seasons rare eyes!
With no thought of entrapment or hope of ingesting,
rhyme longs more to bless you, verse whispers, “Hello.”
Heart’s a door I crack open, not yearning for new friends
(though some are OK), but in faith, where faults too
(my aired laundry), serves Waylaid, integrity dearer
than platitudes floated that barely mask sin.
My hope’s some will see life’s reflection (not presage,
taste sugar glazed donuts, hear soft lullabies),
feel in spirit less lonely, grok I’m not protesting
God’s judgment at all! Still, it’d be a low blow
to lose Grace (I can’t work for), catch Hell (on free weekends).
Religion first-authored life’s “Catch - Twenty-Two?” (1)
How can ‘Word of God’ be a fresh ‘Truth’ to each hearer
and stay ‘Word of God?’ Is ‘Grace’ all and ‘Faith’ spin?
Are poems groked better than Bible in man’s hands?
Fools try to sell Scripture; there’s honor in that?
Are priests practiced deceivers who break the meek’s kneecap
or servants who look more for truth in blessed lives?
Let us question like children, delight in God’s purview
that floats light as stones when they bounce on time’s lake.
Our God’s Truth is still true though we don’t understand it;
we live in Love’s aspect, find joy in His smile.
Let Ringers walk home or be grist, plate for God’s guile!
To pitch by ‘just’ rules can put me in a snit!
But I’m fonder of Grace now than cat batting snowflake,
no strikes, balls, or fouls called, and no I O U!
Still, I lean towards a title and draft my incentives
for pitchers mean little when muse is on tap.
And if chewing’s your pleasure, then chomp on this format.
A Christian’s the one who won’t bunt God’s commands!
Brian Johnston
Poet’s Notes:
This last stanza was fun. I was not a big baseball fan though (except for ‘workup’ in grade school).
(1) ‘Catch-22’ is the title of a famous book by Joseph Heller. The title suggests: You can’t be insane enough to be excused from doing what needs doing if you’re intelligent enough to know that those already doing it are nuts!
Why does the heart get all the credit for love?
By so-called affairs of the heart,
that most storied of organs is not unduly inconvenienced.
It beats,
now faster, now slower,
that is all, its task ever unvaried.
But the brain.
The brain is swarmed
by a scream of consciousness,
the amount of work that lands on its desk
swollen by an epidemic of incoming data
as body-wide receptors caffeinated by intimations of love
report frequent sightings of
unexampled beauty followed by euphoric contacts.
Every signal, real or illusory, is taken into custody and interrogated
to determine its authenticity or duplicity.
Every word is a code that needs to be deciphered with a
clear-eyed detachment it can no longer muster.
Every look is transferred to the left side
for facial-contextual-inferential analysis but often hijacked by the right
for the purpose of aesthetic appreciation.
Every scent is identified and catalogued with
a perfumer's olfactory precision.
There are hints to catch,
spats to be postmortemed,
crucial dates to be inoculated against amnesia,
preferences to be recorded, compared, grafted,
model answers to catch-22 questions drafted,
declarations of adoring allegiance crafted.
The subject’s mind is apparently required to be read,
two sets of past, present, future to be crossbred,
blindness to other females pled.
There are virtues to exaggerate to divine proportions,
flaws to modify to virtues with willful distortions,
desires to mollify by counseling patience,
thoughts to be felt,
feelings to be thought,
vertigo to be fought.
Still the to-do list grows,
the repairing of an attention that no longer spans,
the mistaking of what happens to millions of others daily
as a unique personal miracle,
the confusing of being loved with being special,
the projecting of an untested passion into an eternity,
the steadying of feet that has taken to walking on air,
the murdering of ballads meant to be trilled,
and the admonishing
of that nonchalantly speeding heart
to be still.
An Addict's War
By Jess McClintock
We survive in the dark shadows of night
Trying to run from our internal curse
Hiding our pain with the
smoke that blocks out the light
Falling deeper in darkness feeling better for now while making it worse
Not realizing at first that this puddle is what will cause us to drown
Drawn in by the numbness that masks the hidden inner beast
Fools for thinking we could break free getting high with these chains still dragging us down
Seeking to regain control of our scattered minds and from the torturous emotions find temporary relief
From the glass to the puddle and from that puddle into smoke
This addiction takes over and in its haze we become lost and confused
Days turn to weeks then months into years losing time itself toke after toke
It becomes what seems to be the only thing left preventing this internal explosion and without it we will lose
This battle we have inside ourselves its not a fair fight but more of a catch 22
Inhaling the smoke to hold the grip on sanity yet still going crazy with or without the smoky haze
Becoming increasingly insane with growing self hatred and rage is the problem us addicts face day after day
Broken fragments of ourselves regardless of how much we do to ignore these internal scars
You cant outrun yourself. No matter where you go, there is where you still are
On this broken path of self destruction with nothing left but ourselves to lose
In the end it doesn't matter we are all just broken people no matter which path in life we choose
Free to make the choice but no one is free of the consequences of those choices
And until Death brings the Devil to kick open Hell's door
We remain lost in life and in our own minds continuing to fight An Addict's War.
Nothing like a rousing game of spin the dolls leg
on a humid summer night to bring a little bit
of joy into an otherwise uneventful evening.
The game piece acquired from one of the
triplet dolls courtesy of the Salvation Army one year at their big Christmas give away.I got the red haired one to match my hair. Mary the blonde .Deb got the brunette.Other than hair color identical.
Right off the bat Deb smeared my mom's lip stick
On her dolls face not very precisely as she was three. Mary decided to wash her babies hair that
turned it into a matted unhair like mess that she then attempted to sculpt with scissors.My doll baby
Was the sole survivor. These dolls built to mimic
a healthy nine to ten month baby were equipped
with some pretty meaty thighs that tapered down
to the most delicate little toes.
The game was played loosely on spin the bottle with some variation. The dolls leg which
had been removed from its hip socket just for this occasion was placed on the apex of thigh protrusion.With a flick of the wrist it would spin
nicely thus till it came to rest little piggies facing
your victim.Picking the leg up securely by its
slender little ankle(just like her mamas)you would
Whack the daylights out of said sibling with that broad little thigh.Then it was their turn to spin.
The youngest would beg to play which really put us in a catch 22.If she didn't get to play she cried
woke dad and we got whipped.If she did play she cried when she was on the receiving end of the leg
Woke dad and we got whipped.We resorted to assigning someone to mouth clap position to stifle
her indignation at the assault by those claiming to love her.We really did.We still do. Spin the dolls
leg is one of our fondest memories and I am happy to have shared it with you today.
would you rather live in a
totalitarian state which
doesn’t dilly-dally round the
truth, pretending that citizens
have freedom, feeding them
the illusion that they will not
be crushed more & more
each day & squandered by the
rich elite in charge, whose hand
on the button, whose police in
the pocket & whose military
& private mercenary firms that
both work for them, march round
the libraries, the grocery stores &
through the streets, dictating every
bit of life which the cameras up
above do not,
or
would you rather live in the US
that has just decided, via. president
hope & change (whose first
campaign was largely funded by
Goldman Sachs & whose cabinet is
littered with its influence) & the DOJ
under his reign, that Goldman need not
worry its head anymore after a year of
“investigation,” which to the public
eye was supposedly aiming towards
prosecution of the scum****s who
profited off the poor during the
most recent financial meltdown?
um, it is a catch-22 folks.
stating that there is insufficient evidence
to go forth with the probe, the DOJ
shows its true colors & goes belly-up,
whilst almost in the same breath, Goldman
shifts its funds & loyalty to romneyhood,
who promises to deregulate &
stop at nothing to keep business as usual
from being affected by anything that
pathetic & petty public
might be groveling about---
so bend over, america,
bend the **** over &
take it right up the ass,
with your teeth gritted in pain &
your eyes closed, wishing
Glass-Steagall was still around,
wishing that this whole experiment
called america had been started by
somebody besides a room of rich
white guys who had fled taxation in
England, to come & exploit a
whole new frontier.
Banned Books Week Thirtieth Anniversary
By Elton Camp
That some books are contemptible I must agree
But that’s not some fanatic’s call, but up to me
When books the government undertakes to ban
That type censorship can quickly get out of hand
Judith Krug of the American Library Association
Was, in 1982, responsible for the week’s creation
A “challenge” is a request some book be banned
Surprising ones have been subjects of this demand
Golding’s Lord of the Flies has seen banning tries
And To Kill a Mockingbird has been called unwise
Orwell’s Animal Farm has been said to bring harm
Since self-appointed censors satire does alarm
Anne Frank’s Diary of a Young Girl is called unfit
By those who, in righteous judgment, try to sit
Even though Mark Twain was liberal for his day
Huckleberry Finn some have tried to put away
The American Heritage Dictionary was not fine
Because “objectionable words” it chose to define
Catch 22 and Salinger’s classic, Catcher in the Rye
To bring about censorship quite a few will still try
Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 about censorship is one
That the “righteous” have put under the critic’s gun
Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath was once even burned
Because vulgar words the censor’s anger it earned
What gives others the right for them to try to decide
What books are unfit to read and then them hide?
Sex and violence the Bible often candidly tells about
For it to be banned will we someday hear that shout?
When bad about some writing a critic has said
It is likely that by a young person it will be read
It’s an old story.
We were classmates, you and I,
And later became colleagues,
Working under the same roof.
We had more or less the same specialization.
Married in the same year.
Our children went to the same school.
So far so good!
Now the plot thickens, so to speak!
Once, if you remember,
The boss comes to you for help,
Specifically for helping his sibling
By doing her assignments,
Given to her by a (prestigious) university
Where you and I studied
And where I am a Tutor now—
A concurrent position held by me.
If I were you, I would say:
“Sorry, it’s unethical.”
Or, would tactfully excuse myself—
Maybe by telling a white lie.
Instead, you tell him a blatant lie:
“I’m not hot on the subject, I’m afraid.”
And you go further
And out of the way to add:
“But so and so is. He can help you, I’m sure.”
The boss comes to me straight,
And beating about the bush, tells me:
“Now that so and so is not hot on the subject…blah blah.
Now it is a Catch-22,
Which you have contrived:
If I say yes, I would be exposed
And if I say no, I would be in trouble—with the boss;
There would be no more bonhomie
Between the boss and the boy.
How clever you are!
Furious, I choose to say no—bluntly
And let me face the music.
But now I know that
You are a round character after all,
And an Iago at that.
I appreciate your motiveless malignity.
I shrug my shoulders and mutter:
“Let it be!”
Composed and posted on August 3, 2017
Mae West's Room
Every hierarchy exists
dependent upon those below to support it.
Can it be any different with the gods,
when some are greater and some are less?
We all are gods and isn’t that the point
in Orwell’s book, ‘Ninety Eighty-Four’,
when he compares humans to pigs,
and couldn’t tell the difference?
“Some pigs are better than the rest.”
Or in other words, let me refer you to
Heller’s exposé, ‘Catch-22’, paraphrased,
“When you know both sides of the coin,
win, lose, or draw, Mae West said it best,
‘Why don’t you come up sometime and see me?’”
***
Notes:
Mary Jane West, aka Mae West, (1893-1980) was born during the Gay Nineties and enjoyed a career in the entertainment sector that spanned seven decades. She was a vaudeville performer, playwright, singer, Hollywood film actress, and screenwriter, and was idolized as a sex symbol during her career and considered very controversial.
One of her best known quotes comes from her play “Diamond Lil” written in 1928, which was adapted for the Hollywood film “She Done Him Wrong” in 1933. “Why don’t you come up sometime and see me?”
The quote inspired Arthur Swanstrom and Louis Alter to write the 1933 song “Come Up and See Me Sometime!” which was first recorded by Elsie Carlisle. The song went on to become Mae West’s signature song.