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New Year's Resolution, 2017 (Light Humor)
For the longest time, it has been stated that we use only 10 percent of our brain.
Of course, the hold idea of brain usage is in dispute for a myriad of reasons.
So let us assume that it is not true that we use only 10 percent of our brain.
Let us also conclude with the idea that we utilize far less than is available to us.
Let us suppose that we use 30 percent and declare ourselves smarter than we think we are. With that in mind, I am throwing caution to the wind and saying,
“Look out world for my brain because in 2017, my resolution is to start running on all cylinders”. I hereby resolve to use the remaining 70 percent of my brain.
30 percent simply is not enough to make the necessary changes.
I hereby apologize for the portion of my brain that has been idle for years.
Just to think about so great a neglect is enough to bring me to tears.
Just imagine how such an achievement helps to free us of so much pain.
Who knows? Maybe I will be able to inspire a million others to do the same.
Just imagine all of the untapped potential just waiting and sitting there.
Just think for a minute and try wrapping your brain around that if you dare.
Perhaps we will learn how to build a beautiful new city at the bottom of the sea.
I can visualize a jumbo jet flight from the Eastern seaboard in New York City, sucking in enough solar energy to fly all the way to the City of San Francisco.
I tell you, with a fully utilized brain we could at very low cost make fresh drinking water from the salty sea. Unlike The Straw Man from The Wizard Oz,
I have a brain. Therefore, I shall resolve to use the other 70% of my brain. And who knows? Perhaps we can keep singing , “My Country, Tis of Thee”.
It is going to take more than brain power to save America and the world.
But fully using our God-given brains? How can it hurt?
12212016 PS Contest, New Years Resolution, Kim Rodrigues
(FYI:( There is no scientific evidence that we use only 10% of our brain. On the contrary, an article in Scientific America concludes by saying, Ultimately, it’s not that we use 10% of our brains, merely that we only understand about 10% of how it functions.)
I, (and the missus)
pleased as punch residing
at this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania locale,
(since july first tooth house
sand eighteen), marks one year
and better with (on site
service) wash and wear,
but most irrefutable attraction
comprises rental assistance,
when upon the merry month of May
first, the dollar figure outlay
to occupy a single bedroom
(at this low cost
housing facility) didst veer
dramatically downward
from an initial charge,
sans five hundred, and seventy two unswear
able legal tenderloin monies,
per twelfth of Gregorian Calendar,
when aye didst tear
away the page signaling June,
thine checking account reduced sheer
lee no misprint (to win unbelievably
rosy, piddly, and giddy)
one hundred and seventy
seven buck a roos,
yet lesser benefits appended, asper
this bucolic, diatonic,
and harmonic rear
opportunity to espy
white tailed non *****
yule less doe ting mama
belonging to Cervidae family app pear
ring to take shelter in a narrow
(sunset) strip somewhat near
enough from mine
inside perch oblivious
to this mad capped (Alfred E. Neuman),
who whiz stumping for elections midyear
essentially to reinstate
"FAKE" King Crimson Lear
on the throne,
who strongly objects to killdeer
for eats or sport,
and silences those hood jeer
his reverence toward gentle creatures
including near extinct albino blushing zebra,
hooves warp and weave interlinear
within said (postage size
token) plot here ~ 1+ hectare
secluded upon a tract
off the beaten commercial
domain and glare
with suburban sprawl,
a hop, skip and jump fair
lee quickly disappearing
"in the name of progress"
though vanishing wild
life eyes find endear
ring, though thine psyche
wracked with despair
no matter ample (spacious
free) parking, a clear
bonus as well un
limited water usage
and to top off the list donated
up for grabs non-sellable (stales) breads,
cakes, fruits, vegetables
about twice a week doth appear.
Having lost my marbles,
I set out on a quest to find them;
And started my journey following the signs
To a place that they call Bedlam.
I stumbled upon some unpaired socks
Who, somehow in the laundry,
Their mates had been lost.
“Have you seen any marbles wandering about?”,
Above the crying sounds of socks, I tried to shout.
One lone sock of dark blue, with a hole in his heel,
said, “All the marbles round here, tend to roll down the hill.”
So I continued on down into the unconscious regions,
Past ideas and thoughts that were frozen or freez’n.
The deeper and deeper into the imagination I travelled,
All the things that I knew started to unwind and unravel.
“Halt! Who goes there?”, cried a three headed pig
“You must first give the password; it is ‘Jiggity-jig.’”
“But you just told me the password,” I said, amazed and confused.
“Well of course I did, Silly – it’s the word you must use.”
“But then everyone would know it and all would get in.”
“Well to keep anyone out would be such a sin.”
“Then why have a password?”, I asked quite logically,
“Because if you didn’t know the password, you couldn’t get past me!”
“But, of course,” I said, giving up the fight,
I wanted to regain those marbles before the end of the night.
So, with a “Jiggity-jig” and a “Have a good day”,
The three headed pig moved out of my way.
I did find some marbles, but they obviously weren’t mine,
These marbles were of one color and were terribly unkind.
“Have you seen any other marbles, wandering around here?
These would be of all different sizes and colors, even some that are clear.”
“Oh, those marbles!?”, the snobby pack said,
“We were hoping the human they belonged to was already dead.
If those marbles weren’t so different, perhaps they wouldn’t get lost;
We could become your marbles, at quite a reasonably low cost.”
“No thanks,” I said, “I’ve become fond of my own,
Perhaps they’ve returned, I think I’ll go on back home.”
So I started back on my return trip,
The stories of which, I think I will skip.
And when I woke up – with some unmatched socks in my bed,
I found all my marbles safely back in my head.
Second Home by Rob Barratt
An escape from the rat race.
Life lived at a slower pace
An idyllic setting they won’t be letting
The cottage slumbers ,
Like the electricity meter numbers
It’s early March.
The house is dark
They’re in Marylebone
Or in Rome
It’s a second home
It’s a mothballed shell, residential hell
It’s a funeral bell, a death knell
For the low-paid locals whose response was vocal
(In the White Rose, before it closed)
But unrecordable
It wasn’t affordable
It’s an empty place, a waste of space
It hasn’t got a ‘phone.
It’s a second home
People recall that within the walls
Of this second pad, lived a Mum and Dad
With their family, on the settee
They watched Morcambe and Wise, and ate pork pies
In the blue TV light on a Saturday night
Life was pleasant in Woodland Crescent
Opening presents, chasing pheasants ……
But the parents are gone and the kids have grown.
Mustn’t moan.
It’s a second home
In the shop, the assistant mops a spillage
Cycles to a less fashionable village
And she saved for….how long was it?
To get a deposit on a flat like a closet
And she silently groans and takes out loans
Despite her persistence, she’s just living an existence
She says, “Why me?”
And wishes she
Could spend the days
In the house where she was raised
Life is tough. Isn’t one place enough?
She wishes she could own
That second home
If they want a holiday by the sea
Why don’t they try a B&B?
And don’t try to build low cost housing
‘Cos you’ll be arousing
The anger of each second home owner
Who’ll fly in from Barcelona, or Girona or bloody Pamplona
To claim they represent the residents
A majority of decadents.
Don’t want to set a precedent
They want a postcard picture,
A chocolate box fixture
In water-colour paint.
Want to keep it quaint
Maintain its reputation
Don’t worry about inflation
Or minimum wage degradation
Sod the working population
Mustn’t lower the tone ………..
It’s a second home
Second Home by Rob Barratt
An escape from the rat race.
Life lived at a slower pace
An idyllic setting they won’t be letting
The cottage slumbers ,
Like the electricity meter numbers
It’s early March.
The house is dark
They’re in Marylebone
Or in Rome
It’s a second home
It’s a mothballed shell, residential hell
It’s a funeral bell, a death knell
For the low-paid locals whose response was vocal
(In the White Rose, before it closed)
But unrecordable
It wasn’t affordable
It’s an empty place, a waste of space
It hasn’t got a ‘phone.
It’s a second home
People recall that within the walls
Of this second pad, lived a Mum and Dad
With their family, on the settee
They watched Morcambe and Wise, and ate pork pies
In the blue TV light on a Saturday night
Life was pleasant in Woodland Crescent
But the parents are gone and the kids have grown.
Mustn’t moan.
It’s a second home
In the shop, the assistant mops a spillage
Cycles to a less fashionable village
And she saved for….how long was it? To get a deposit
On a studio flat, where you can’t swing a cat
And she silently groans and takes out loans
Despite her persistence, she’s just living an existence
She says, “Why me?” and wishes she
Could spend the days where she was raised
She wishes she could own
That second home
If they want a holiday by the sea
Why don’t they try a B&B?
Life is tough. Isn’t one place enough?
And don’t try to build low cost housing
‘Cos you’ll be arousing
The anger of every second home owner
Who’ll fly in from Barcelona, or Gerona or bloody Pamplona
To claim they represent the residents
A majority of decadents.
Don’t want to set a precedent
They want a postcard picture,
A chocolate box fixture
In water-colour paint.
Want to keep it quaint
Maintain its reputation
Don’t worry about inflation
Or minimum wage degradation
Sod the working population
Mustn’t lower the tone ………..
It’s a second home
BELIZEAN BLEND
In the beginning it was the Yucatec, the Mopan and Kekchi as well
Who came from the steppes of Asia where nomads dwell
They fished and farmed milpas, in paradise; away from hell
Some building great civilizations that, for many reasons, eventually fell
Then came the Spaniards whose ambivalence; mixed feelings
Caused them to waver in subsequent dealings
Killed some natives, driven off by others
In the end did not settle; wasn’t worth the bother
Displaced by the British, rowdy pirates turn woodcutters
Who made laws and build infrastructure down to the gutters
Cut logwood, then mahogany for powerful and wealthy folks
Then, to satisfy greed, sought others to enslave in yokes
Africans from Jamaica and Bermuda transshipped
Then as chattel they were frequently whipped
Stolen from Africa, becoming the major labor force
Dehumanized and tortured for centuries without remorse
Mestizos fleeing oppressors in the Yucatan
The War of Castes brought them from beyond
Working as chicleros and cane cutters
As a way of providing ‘ bread and butter’
Garinagu deported from St. Vincent as a form of punishment
Many dying in their odyssey , their massive predicament
Survive , resiliently, on the rebound
A proud people, with culture and learning very sound
Mennonites coming to enjoy religious freedom and peace
Avoiding persecution for a life of ease
Providing furniture, low cost poultry and eggs
Reducing the cadre of many that beg
From India and China they were duped and brought
As indentured servants who were hastily sought
Later as merchants and shopkeepers they came
Voluntarily this time, which is not nearly the same
Backpackers and excursionists everywhere
In a world where they’re free to choose elsewhere
Not part of the earlier diaspora
But manifestations of a new plethora
Looks like dem old ugly chains
got a new modern face
Beauty upgrade ... high-end cosmetic tech;
low-cost dressed in labor modest,
minimum maintentance convenience
From da delta plain sugar cane fields,
to the glamorous Silicon Valley hills:
Ancient bigotry of blood biochemistry
required some thinking ahead
Remove dem outdated iron appendages
from da carbon-based legs
Loose dem fettered bodies from da plantation
That warm-hearted gesture
was prompted by the cold realization
of mechanized industrialization
Machines worked tirelessly better than humans,
with zero margin error for rebellion
From da poppy-white numb cotton field chores,
to the black-site, laboratory rat maze corridors:
Modern slavery has been plastic,
guinea pig perfected;
Darkly spirit heavy iron chains
got replaced by skin light bar codes,
and microscopic nanobyte pain
in the nether layers of the epidermal
From plantation to implantation ...
total body control to full mind control
Invisible chains is a better option
From forced emancipation to voluntary enslavement ...
necessity of convenience shackles the soul
Grateful servitude is a Dead adoption
Go sing illusory freedom, spiritual songs
in an unseen force-field:
Laser etched number scrip plantation
Eat, drink and be merry, ye bonded bones ...
harvest a bountiful yield
Give curses to the marked implantation —
corrupt binary code command subjugation
The Mephistophelean workplace
is a future-now,
internal space Gulag situation ...
an augmented field mule muzzled occupation
With plenty of open-air, coffin acerage:
rows and rows
of furrowed thought manipulation
Dem New Age lobotomy slaves
be toiling on a grave condition plantation,
whose dirt cellular
cubic dimensions are:
Six-by-six-by-six injected damnation
If time were to suddenly stop, would you look around?
Glance and catch the earth’s hospitality,
Look, no truly look! Just to see what keeps us on this ground,
It’s something we humans like to call the planet’s gravity!
Something to keep us grounded since we tend to stray.
If only for a night you have been hopelessly tossed
Trapped in a cage made of your own self-fear.
Before long all joy will seem to have been lost,
When all my colors have faded to shades of grey,
The light’s sweet embrace reminds me to rest for the day,
Only then faith can make your joy reappear.
If time were truly to stop well such a thing is just too profound,
It would take a lifetime to learn something like this at an academy,
The defining silence that follows the roar of sound,
Grasping the complexity of the situation is quite simple actually,
To stop for a day now that something for which I would pay,
Living your life at the bottom low cost,
Free to choose your own career,
To be free to dance in the sun’s warm ray,
Sunbeams unknown melt away your frost,
It’s a change that you have not before crossed,
All of a sudden you see everything clear.
For a moment if time had stopped would it have made you happy or felt like being drowned,
If the earth wished to stop and have you look at her would you criticize her fantasy,
Would you have only looked at Mother Nature and frowned?
Are you inclined to chastise her about her own self-vanity?
With a heavy weight to carry and given no leeway,
Like a wander misplaced in the forest,
A time for change draws near,
We’re reminded that there will eventually be a price to repay,
For crossing nature leaves most in exhaust,
It’s a fact of the matter most seemed to have glossed.
It’s time to remind them who will bring in a new year,
I’m a hate by-product,
made in America
I’m a plantation commodity item,
blue-eye gem slave engraved
in red clay walls Ivory bank vaults
I was silver dross reject packaged:
Prison cargo bar code stamped
coming to America
There’s no doubt about it,
I was fashioned here
by the free-market profiteering traffickers
They sell liberty propaganda lies,
and economic caste division worldwide
Got global many-me, slave waging
in a brave, New technological World
Laboring on noisy climate change thin ice
The only question is:
For your bottled silence,
what is the collaborating price?
I’m a fear by-product,
manufactured in America
Whatever your racial animus preference is,
you can buy on-line, prime patriotic hysteria ...
for the gutter low cost of a figure 8 black ball
My street value is worth a late 911 call,
trigger transactions get no refund
for any tin badge mortal damage caused
A morgue resale
happens every crimson clover fourth fall
I’m an ethnic waste by-product,
iron-oar dumped in America
The Black Plague of chained anger came
when they cattle branded me
with a new name
Been living depressed in ghetto bliss
four centuries as auction clerical
Sitting on a factory warehouse shelf ...
waiting to be placed on a death inventory list,
by the merchants of flesh trafficking
Human property owners and gun lobbyists;
those bought and concealed,
in some dark lord’s pocket,
are semi-trailer trash, automatic fire revealed
by unfretful fetter-some me
I’m a ricochet, re-defined bullet mind,
made in America
Flung on an upward trajectory
(please note dunners are debt collectors)
(Netto is a low cost Supermarket)
In these isles of cheap illusion
the kids run free,
screaming for the sugar of childhood.
While their mother walks on
down wine bottle lane,
to escape life’s demons
for one more day.
The shells of beings look
but do not see.
Part time lives
in worn out trainers
minimum wage to stretch,
their withered faces
all smart price packed,
on another out of date trolley.
Buy one get one free,
a horse burger is a burger
a person is a person.
Each hiding themselves from the world,
Incognito in a world of poverty.
Tomorrow the kids will cry
each will find their jail.
The weight of despair
will sentence their lives
In these streets
You will find a different kind of humanity.
Where social security
hears the dunners knock
and boredom leads to exotic dreams,
wrapped up in foil of rainbow brown.
We all crave the womb
for the world cannot reach us there.
And behind the curtain
the detritus of existence survives.
Old men in young men’s cloths
with regret filled veins
counting the burglars sin
as the blue light of night closes in.
The child becomes a woman
and woman carries the pain.
Another babe born
the hand of indifference
grabs another box
Of powdered baby milk,
for family allowance is her work.
Life belongs to an electric token
and a chip pan of joy
her disfiguring pleasure in life.
These are the isles
where no one has a name
complete with a special offer of sadness.
Existence is a hangover for under a fiver
for this is the sum of life.
and no one will take away
this credit on society
our triple (A) rating of poverty.