Long Enterprise Poems
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Once upon time's center
grows two permaculturing farmers,
multicultural mediators
of Earth's healthy polypathic remainder,
And, surrounding them,
seven elders
and their cheer leading mascot
of disabling foolery
Arriving each spring
in his wheeled chair
to witness
and sometimes loudly prophecy,
to entertain with his win/win intentions,
studying compassionate economics
and empowering politics
and enlightening neurological communion
v dissonance.
These aged and playful snowbirds
form a Wisdom Circle
conjoined by all farmers
Committed to Earth's health care
in humble Vermont neighborhood places
spaces balancing Green Lives Matter races
into organically interdependent co-investments.
This Circle plans cooperative gardens,
MultiCulturally designing
and redesigning shared outdoor climate spaces
in and on now abandoned places
they purchase together
to divest of Green Commons neglect
and invest in a local cooperatively-held enterprise
With land and water and healthy air-based capital
where patient customers
become curious partners
contributing cash
but also labor,
beauty
and nutritional equity,
gracious investment
and/or benignly viral infestment.
This Green Wisdom Circle
plants fruit and nut trees,
vegetables EarthMothers insist they eat
and would like as much as fruit sweet
if they remain of right/left balancing mind.
They plant hemp,
and make baskets
and yoga mats
during dispersed winters
into the retiring diaspora
season for planning futures
of health restoring EarthJustice.
Circles of weavers
and knitters
turn lambs
into shorn sheep
into yarn
into blankets
socks
sweaters
skullcaps
winter masks
with ear **** handles.
Eventually
this Circle will reincarnate Wisdom
into Fire Circles for compline meditations
and story telling
into Singing Circles
of care medication
for young through old,
for those present living now,
and here dead
and yet to arrive
within all sacred regenerating species,
Egos circling within ecosystems,
interweaving networks
of TruthSeeker Circles
sharing win/win BeautyVisions,
Communion Farming Centers
within nonviolent communication systems
for engaging nutritional health,
Sacred ZeroCore recovery Allies,
not Lone Warriors,
within Earth's fully present
compassionate
care giving as receiving
green old as new deal Circles.
(Continued from part one.)
Afire not his thoughts, the Devil sees,
He soars and roars, in his physical might.
His bears’ hug, his warmth, could melt you;
Into joys and tears, in willing submission.
Treat him not, to your portions of love.
He grows cold, is lost in erotic rage.
Wiggle not mermaid, in bouts of passion,
The dough you kneed, may turn love to hate.
Dare not the wile witches’ craft;
Lest he banish you to the earth’s folds,
To burn in hate, love and desire,
Forever and ever, in eternal penance.
Spurn not his love for the unknown,
With frivolous, eyewash camouflage.
He watches behind the scenes,
Your tremors in the curves and the lips;
You innocent, blooming seductress,
Holding the Mega-staff, letting reptiles sing:
You bore the man, the crowned lord of vice.
Rip him, Independence, to his natural doom.
Haven’t you learnt, you Hollywood menace?
Ever seen Javed Jaffery the Tellywood, Bollywood
Lollywood and Mollywood a few dozen like you?
Tent walk dove-eyed, bumps to the moon.
Kanjiwaram, the Casanova Frenchie,
Break dance in airs to the Eiffel Tower.
Red herring you to the Spanish bulls.
Joy ride Rolls on BMW’s track.
Con the Germans and the Japs.
You, wonder android, generations ahead.
(Forget the Merc-E, TELCO ties,
Or their Sumo-ing the Japanese pride.)
Take care you fool, Govinda could snare,
Rap tap the Seghal to his toe’s.
Golden Eye the double O’s latest dream.
Kung-fu Steven’s at his own game.
Anti-gravity NASA, with mental fields.
Stealth fly you out, from the Pentagon.
Biotech you back into American laps,
Genetically engineered, Gene cultured, wreck.
Brain-virus Microsoft, in config-trees,
Space walk you to the final frontiers in enterprise.
Dance away the foxes of your clan.
Ultra culture, the real London breed.
In knacks of, how to wink and blink.
Lifting eyebrows? Take care you oaf,
Run you goat! and don’t turn your head.
He is the cool cat, really looking his English best.
Flee, before the gambler, he is still there,
Smirnoff you to the Hustler`s care.
Toss you around, under Playboy’s thumb.
Floor you with his catwalk fun.
Cradle you, to the American roost;
Chickening out, not now KFC hen.
He is “She selling sea shells on the sea shore.”
In wizard glee, those Colgate teeth his real hope.
(To be continues in part three.)
Fred has been working with an agency called Hunters for the Hungry for five years. During that time, his food bank has received thousands of pounds of venison to feed the poor. This year, however, when Fred received no call from the agency saying it was ready to deliver the meat, he called the organization himself.
The answering machine was full and Fred never got through. Finally, he called a state officer for the agency and to his dismay he found out what the problem was.
Fred learned that the state’s governor, in an effort to balance the budget, had stripped $100,000 from the allotment to Hunters for the Hungry. In past years, that money had allowed donors of deer meat to have it processed free of charge. The meat would be put in one lb. rolls to be given to non-profit groups that operate food banks.
Fred was told the state now requires hunters to pay for the processing costs as well as donate the meat. Many of the hunters are unwilling to pay for processing. The cost is not cheap.
The staff at Hunters for the Hungry is upset with this new rule as are the food banks that won’t get the meat. As a result, food pantries and soup kitchens across the state have a big problem this year they can do nothing about.
After all, as Fred says, if the goal of private enterprise is to make a profit, and it is, then the goal of government is to take care of people. And in many states, government does a good job of doing just that.
Balancing the budget is important but cuts should not be made, Fred says, to programs that help those already down on their luck.
Fred and others would like to know how the money allegedly saved by the governor’s action is being used. Roads in the state are still crumbling, schools are making drastic cuts and those in need remain in need at a basic level—food.
Meanwhile, the staff at Hunters for the Hungry is trying to locate other meat for Fred’s food bank. They know the demand for food is exploding among those with inadequate income.
The missing deer meat means charities all over the state must spend more for food. This money would normally be spent to help pay for utilities, medicine and other necessities for the needy.
Something’s not right with this cut in the budget, Fred says. What’s worse, he adds, the next election is a long way off.
Donal Mahoney
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
to seek the treasures
abundant on this land
mutual aid is needed
you cannot succeed on your own
remember, no man is an island
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
Behind every enterprise, there is support.
Individuals who show support
with hope and confidence
be it a small or big aid
one cannot rise on its own
without other people helping
working together side by side
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
We can reach our purpose,
we can, we can
If we work together
we will reach it, before long.
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
Challenges that we may face
be it rough sea currents
drenching us with waves after waves
drowning our spirits
even getting chased by wild savages
that wants to eat us
or hunted down by a pack of vicious lions
as long as we help each other
we will come through it
reaching our admired goal
side by side, gloriously
Some say that
the power of one is strong
however, being alone
makes one vulnerable
to be attack from many sides
having trusting allies
being alongside of each other
helping each other
we are sure to win
As the saying goes
a single stick
breaks easily
a bundled of sticks
stays strong
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
such is the same for wolves’
they work as a pack
they are strong as a pack
they succeed as a pack
they have each other’s backs
So do a ship
if the crew is organized
the ship crew’s functions well
the journey will reach its destination
if the ship crew is in disarray
it will bicker and plot schemes
that will destroy each other
leading to ruin
surely it will sink the ship
All for one, one for all
we rise
when united
we fall
when divided
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
the world’s bounty is open for us
to acquire and enjoy it.
Nothing is impossible
being united, anything is possible
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
there it is
land ho, land ho
the place that has it
the treasures that we seek
Up and down
left and right
we row and row
We are HERE
anchors away boys
we can land now
celebrating our success
to rest our laurels
enjoying our well-earned rewards
of our achieved dreams
Legend Of The Black Dove
(Part 9) "The Voyage To Where ?"
The weather is cold and the sea calm as the 'Columbia' goes out to sea.
Norrington and Jenkins finally fall asleep in their cabin while on deck
the captain fears something wrong with the ship, the weather picks up
to a squall as the 'Columbia' gains tremendous speed and a strange
mist engulfs the ship. She is travelling an amazing 2000knots and
then suddenly slows down. They are in a harbour once again, but
where are they ? It is now daylight, it having being night just an hour
before going to sea. The jolt from sudden stopping awaken Norrington
and Jenkins and they head up on deck. From the captain, Norrington
finds out the ship has travelled to some unchartered land, he
orders for a boat to be lowered intending to go ashore on a
scouting mission and asks for volunteers, Norrington and Jenkins go
along with Captain Dennis Owens and his first officer Glenn Hill plus
two crewmen. As they approach Dover harbour (is Dover here an
unchartered land?) the passengers and crew behold a very unusual
sight: instead of sailing ships they notice ships of strange types moored
in the harbour, along with the 'Enterprise'- the sister ship of the
'Columbia' which must be brand new, but appears to be worn out and
ready for scrapping. What are these strange ships, what had happened
to their own ship ? The Captain decides he needed some answers
(The Captain wishes to find out) so they all decide to board one of the
strange vessels. When on board they go below deck and find a propulsion
system of strange design on the cellar deck. they are all amazed at what
they see. The captain discovers the bridge of the huge ship full of weird
levers and instrumentation. Owens notices a placard on the ship's wheel
mount on the 'Albatross' built at Newcastle in 1929, as well as a calendar
dated 1930,and it all starts to make sense: the weird mist had transported
them through a time portal from 1750 to the year 1930.....
Is the crew of the 'Columbia' marooned forever in this particular time period ?
Is there any way back to their own time?
Make the discovery (Find out) in Part 10...."The Unknown World"
Posted the first day of each month.
Written 30th July 2013
The final call of the last male of a species ,
Sounds a bit like a broken record,
Or maybe it sounds like choking blood,
Red, breathing and hollow.
It isn’t poetic
It’s just red
When we look at a wheezing forest we try to call it living,
We like to call the sick things full of color nowadays,
But they are all just factories
or houses
or broken down skeletons
The final call of the last male of a species sounds like
a lack of forgiveness to our bodies that dwell in the soil.
It forgets about how many iPhones we swallowed down our throats.
We choke on the wads of money that we spend on living Instagram empty lives.
Yet we forget how to breath through our souls.
The final call of the last male of a species sounds like the world crumble like weak concrete blocks
We like to stack them into towers to look like we have reached for the stars but we haven’t.
We have forgotten how to build structures that aren’t for the distraction of the broken bodies that sleep below.
The world is changing.
There is no more water in the flee in front of my house.
The last Sudanese rhino died 2 weeks ago.
We are losing more trees by the minute what has happened to the children?
We are choking on out lungs.
Someone asked me two weeks ago where the green had gone.
One day I’ll have to tell them that it was there but we burned all of it down.
And we will have a moment of silence,
For all the beauty that we have lost.
We have lost our trees, and the fynbos that used to bloom outside my house
We have lost the rhinos
And the tropical blooms of endless color
We lost or dignity
And the beauty of growing within or hearts
For what?
For some factories?
For some stone cold towers of corporal enterprise?
Maybe we sacrificed it for nests made of flammable money.
We only Know we have done once that burns too.
The final call of the last male of the species sounds like,
Like this,
This moment right here,
The destruction on the news,
The silence in the darkness.
The final call of the last male of the species is caused by us.
We have swallowed harmony
And coughed extinction numbers.
It won’t be long till everything we have will burn too.
- Here is my reading of the poem :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsMXUh7OCPo&t=7s
AND THE MOTHERS WEEP
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
A young lanky sod buster with no place to go
Thought things would be better in San Antonio
Joined some of his Texas patriots at the Alamo
To declare freedom from a tyrannical foe
He and his friends were all destined to die
All slain. Giving rise to a sacred battle cry
“Remember the Alamo”
The fathers swear, and the mothers weep
A bright young man with a future to share
Awoke one cold morning at Ypres, over there
Fixed bayonets, following orders to prepare
Innocent of the burdens they will bear
Existing the muddy trench, charging en masse
They all succumbed, victims of mustard gas
“It’s a long way to Tipperary”
The fathers curse, and the mothers weep
A recent collegian learned to aviate
Totally innocent of the awaiting fate
Sailed into the pacific on the USS Enterprise
Trap is set, catch the enemy by surprise
Torpedo squadron raced to the scene that day
No members of the squadron survived “Midway”
“Lets Remember Pearl Harbor”
The fathers wrathful, and the mothers weep
A day in June the world arose to a horrific hell
Invaders from the north crossed 38th parallel
The lightning attack caught the south asleep
The slaughter was constant, the invasion deep
Pusan, the stronghold that stopped the attack
The price paid for by 58,000 that never came back
“Not War, a Police Action”
The fathers enraged, and the mothers weep
Mothers weep (2)
Moist and dense jungles, once known as Indo-China
The tragic battlefield producing murderous drama
58,000 paid the price, more than half million deployed
Napalm burned villages, ancient temples destroyed
Saigon once called the Paris of the orient
The Hanoi Hilton’s prisoners now absent
“Hell no, I won’t go”
The fathers bitter, and the mothers weep
Erect a stele to all women in a public place
On it etch the painful notices they may face
It will be a warning for those yet unborn
The unending years, that they will mourn
The fathers filled with vengeful cries
Seek retribution with watery eyes
The mothers turn and toss unable to sleep
And the mothers weep, and the mothers weep
The enemy has young men they want to keep
And the mothers weep, and the mothers weep
I rise from my feathered comfort, one only achieved with torture
My deal with the devil gives warmth and I shower until the steam tickles my throat
Long enough to wash off the blood
My feet are cuddled in bodies as I descend to my breakfast of victims
Washed down with the elixir of exploitation: black beans and mother's white tears
Satiated, I gather keys to the poison cart and join the other killers
Sadness and suffering on the hour while we monsters trickle forward towards the financers
Arrival and I take a dangerous breath, one I contribute to by my being
Working hard until lunch, when I hail Caesar and his cadaver accomplice
Back to the toil as the clones finish off him or her
I dream of my evening freedom, life releasing a whine as blood and root combine
The watched leg-like hand reaches the glorious digit and we rise
Herded up the raceway, I reach my stunning box
I contemplate myself and our species as we slow into the jam, lots of flavours but ultimately the same
I see myself in a consumers window to my soul
I question and define us, painful though it is
Destroyer through choice or willful ignorance multiplied in a never-ending stream of blood
Back at the cave my appetite has left, I turn to the box of distraction to aid my escape
Confirmation hits hard and I recoil as drought, famine and extremes seem a normal condition
If suffering is sought, we will never disappoint; as war rages, be relieved of your position in this rat race
Depressed I retreat, battered and bruised
Wrapped in softness I sink, deflated
I turn the sadness, pages of another life, and the realisation that equilibrium sought will never be balanced
So many are under the scales of the demon and equality is just a word with little meaning to the victim
I drift towards tomorrow feeling both sorry and relieved, sad but secure, sick while fed
The luck of my location means I suffer the least, how cruel and ironic this moral compass
The West is the beast, so many sheep missing a good shepherd
I finally arrive that tomorrow can be different, no need for madness as Einstein defined
I can be the hero of my little life, bee the change, from something I despise
I have woken I'm finally released, no joint enterprise of suffering, no more a sheep
You might see me in the back streets
By the light of the full moon
With my look refined and cunning
I will almost make you swoon
Don't treat me as an enemy
Or fear me as a foe
Don't use evil words against me
I'm a well-bred soul, you know
I'm a smooth, suave, refined old chap
A four-legged paradox
Oblige me for a moment, please
- I'm an urbane urban fox
You've seen me on my rounds
But I'm not heading for your bins
No - you're far too quick to judge me
Though, I confess - I have my sins
One must eat to live, of course
I'll not claim to be benign
But I am a gracious, civil guest
Where're I choose to dine
The hen house holds a great appeal
And I know how to pick the locks
I do that with true style though
I'm an urbane urban fox
My poise and affable demeanour
Give me access to any Mayfair club
I'm a cut above the rural fox
Who seems happy with his "pub"
I'm not one to judge, of course
I'm far too cool for that
But jeans and a checked shirt?
No! I choose a jacket and cravat
No pints for me - it's G & T
Or Martini on the rocks
Oh yes, darling, I really am
An urban urbane fox
I can capture your attention
With my wit and sharp brown eyes
I'm keen to make a business deal
Should my nose smell enterprise
My fur is sleek, groomed and neat
My tail swishes to impress
My paw is keen to shake your hand
When I'm ready to invest
I truly never miss a trick
When opportunity knocks
I'm cordially yours
I'm an urbane urban fox
I enjoy reading high-brow lit
Classical music was written for me
Opera sets my spine a-tingle
So does ballet, naturally
I go shootin' with my country pals
As for skiing - I'd rather not
I find dancing is a pleasure though
I love the Charleston and Fox Trot
But don't class me as a Liberal
I am rather orthodox
Let's steer clear of politics
I'm an urbane urban fox
I'm polished. Well-mannered. Chic.
Rich beyond compare
Elegant and gallant
And oh, so debonair
But yes, I walk the city streets
In the hours before the dawn
There's something about the smell, you see
To which I'm somehow, strangely drawn
Don't judge me for that, please I'm just
A four-legged paradox
I thank you for your time
- With love. Your urban urbane fox
Written 10th April 2016
(prelude)
the buzzing of the evening insects
presage evil !
here are black wolves ! here are ghosts and fiends
and here are blackest of demons !
and black be the murk tonight with devils !
be forewarned ! and be accursed...
you, who set eye on these
perilous passages and venomous verses :
you have no idea
how dark, complex,
cynical and hopeless
this all can get
I
Twilight has its way, come Night :
come, cloudings of bloodsucking bat !
come, sleep to the toddlers and calm to the dogs at guard;
come respite to the dwellers of the parks and the streets
come, peace below these stars :
the paperboy delivers his papers,
the planet spins its distance,
the cat kills its rats
and the rapist has his victims :
the youngster drugs himself to death
first thing out of rehab
and the girl is sold by the person
she thought she could trust the most
Tranq abusers hide and disappear
like roaches at the break of morning
into the ruins and cellars and destitute housings
scarabs hiss the songs of pestilence and dirty needle :
wailing banshees of despondency
psychotic on the corner of a street
screaming their anguish to the lot of the world :
unprocessed traumas left to die on the bottom of the needle ocean
an unwanted nuisance child
born from a night of desperation
is abandoned by a crack-fiend mother
rotten to her spiritual core :
tragic, suffered, broken, yes - but guilty :
God may have mercy on this demon but i can not !
and such are the realities
of the absolute form of existentialism
whose principles govern this world and its human enterprise...
impossible moral equations
float in the Night's aether
as all moral philosophies come to die
at this graveyard of God :
unfathomable narcotic abyss...
no hope escapes
the black hole
no light escapes
the intravenous event horizon
gloomy visions of destitute social ruin
greet the traveler beyond the threshold :
be forewarned ! traverse at your own peril
you have no idea
how dark, complex,
cynical and hopeless
this all can get...