Long poem by
John Mudge | Details
I met with some bankers in fine textured suits.
I struck a deal quick. (I had such a knack.)
I offered rare cacti and tropical fruits –
a cure-all for things that ail your back.
I served 'em a dish of oysters and clams
flavored with herbs from high remote lands
accompanied by slices of seaweed-cured hams
served on a bed of tri-colored sands.
I once struck a deal with some Wall Street investors.
I short sold 'em stocks that didn't exist!
But they got me back (those sly empty-nesters)
by making fake deals I couldn't resist.
All of my days got dreadfully busy.
Held hour-long meetings in 10 minutes flat!
Made my staff tired bewildered and dizzy.
But business is business, and that was just that.
I can't quite say what we did at each meeting.
We talked and debated. We yelled. We screamed.
We'd discuss in soft voices (those moments were fleeting)
but when we agreed I'd smile, even beamed.
We dreamed of grand things and plans we would make.
We had a huge goal: we'd conquer the market!
(Of course we had kids. This was for their sake.)
Put your ear right up close. I'll whisper our target.
What we make is no secret. Our dream is the thing.
Our stuff the world uses. It can't do without.
Our competitors fear (while secretly hoping)
we'll become a cartel and buy them all out!
So here's what we make (a simple thing really).
You use it at dinner, at breakfast and lunch,
when it's hot and it's steamy or cold and it's chilly.
Donuts to dollars you must have a hunch.
It can fix anything, an all-purpose tool.
It will open a can, pull the cork from a bottle,
even fix all your plumbing (now isn't that cool?).
Under the hood it'll fix your car's throttle.
I know that you're anxious. I know you can't wait.
I'm making the point. Sit still and don't fidget!
Now no more pondering and staying up late:
We make what you use: a gadget and widget!
Making millions and billions takes plenty of people
so our company grew, got huge and kept growing.
A company needs growth. A church needs a steeple.
You see how it works? We just kept on going.
We hired by hundreds and thousands and more.
We worked 'em like slaves, paid dimes even less.
They threatened to strike, even steal the store
but we had the power! We could hardly care less.
We'd fire 'em in masses, by hundreds and dozens.
We gave them no notice, we paid them no pension.
We fired them all, brothers sisters and cousins.
We paid off the media so they'd give us no mention.
But shedding the people only solved half the puzzle.
We had to make gadgets. Work had to get done.
Just how could we do it? We put hands on our muzzle.
No output, no profit. So how could we run?
At midnight one day I awoke with a start.
My plan was so clear, so cool and so cunning!
We'd go overseas! Boy oh boy was I smart.
I finally knew how we'd keep right on running.
We worked day and night 'til after sunset.
We all worked nonstop. We even skipped meals.
We outsourced our stuff. Then I flew a jet
to scour the globe for even more deals.
Gov'nments, no scruples – such were fair game.
Why, you might ask, do business with these?
The answer is simple: except for the name
they've two things in common: the gov'ment wants fees
which makes labor cheap (it costs odds and ends).
The less I pay out the more left for me!
It works like a scale: when my side descends
their side goes up. It's logic you see.
My scheme soon paid off. We spanned the whole globe.
We owned our competitors by tens and by scores.
To find where we weren't you'd dig and you'd probe.
Gadgets and widgets in millions of stores!
A few weeks of this about did me in.
I crawled to my bed and slept a deep sleep.
I dreamed a strange dream of goodness and sin.
And I chatted with God about what I could keep.
He said in the end it was all up to me
but my state of affairs just didn't look good.
Pearly Gates entry he couldn't quite see.
Suddenly in front of St. Peter I stood.
We discussed and we bargained, tried to see eye to eye.
Well most of that's true. He discussed and I bargained.
(I knew I would lose but I still had to try.
I thought that maybe he could just be out-jargoned!)
But this wasn't happening. It was only a dream!
I still felt uneasy. It seemed to mean change.
Dreams being dreams things aren't what they seem.
Abandon my business? I couldn't. Too strange.
St. Peter spoke more. He had some suggestions.
“Do something useful. Help orphans and widows.
People have needs. Look around. Ask some questions.
And ask your friend Sid. I know that he knows.
And oh by the way, those countries you mention?
At least say you're sorry. It surely can't hurt.
Don't make a big show. Avoid causing tension.
Just say it with meaning. Try not to be curt.”
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, then blinked a bit more.
I stretched and remembered I had to call Sid!
Now what was his number? I had it before.
Just have to remember where I had it hid.
I looked in my book. No Sid in there.
It was then that I wondered: did I even know Sid?
Did I sleep? Am I up? I'll pull out a hair.
Ouch! I'm awake! Gosh I never did!
I recalled Pearly Gates and remembered my dream
and trying to bargain with good ole St. Pete.
(That stayed in my head (strange it may seem).
We'd discussed and debated. St. Pete's hard to beat!)
I'll allow he's a point. I won't pick a nit.
I've been mostly right (just a little bit wrong).
Ok, ok maybe more than a bit.
I'll set things to rights. We will get along.
I promise I'll do what I possibly could
But he's asking a lot. (It's starting to sting.)
I really don't want to but know that I should.
Mumbling and grumbling I'll do the right thing.
(He did all he promised, or so we are told.
He did what he said. He even did more!
He valued his friendships more highly than gold.
His laughter showed that kindness went right through his core.
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Terry O'Leary | Details
Though still within our infancy,
we strive and thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.
Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys the planet's harmony,
lays waste to life within the sea,
and all in name of vanity.
Who dares our spheroid's symmetry
by doubting Nature's regnancy
defying laws, like gravity,
affirms a fatal fallacy…
for, centered on the 'world of we',
we feed our vain insanity
on thoughts beyond eternity -
seems strange when looked at cosmically.
Perchance there is no remedy
for those in shadow's prophecy -
unless we handle skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.
The winds, they reek of Royalty
(that's bathed in suds of treachery)
and blow across the peasantry
left gasping in their pungency.
The Queen, so steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of ash and ebony
while sipping Sekt immodestly;
to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.
The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.
Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
ordains the dollar dynasty
portending highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery,
for Jesters and the Fools agree
to dabble in duplicity
while stripping masses witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!
To justify the oddity
that one plus one is sometimes three,
one reaches to theodicy,
takes paths of circularity.
In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.
Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;
and aged women, fruitlessly
(while racked and wrenched), begged clemency
from justice framed in infamy,
but set ablaze for witchery.
That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery
as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;
'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,
now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.
And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.
To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
presents a penny, niggardly;
though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies swell, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.
When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;
and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
through psycho-dream obscurity -
a dire death row odyssey.
Forgetting mankind's unity,
our rich and poor dichotomy
breeds empty doomed finality,
Just as in days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting forcefully
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy
to toast the slaughtered enemy,
or else convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.
At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
and armed from finest armory
(embraced in hands so tenderly),
inflict benign atrocity -
but soon atomic weaponry
will cancel our posterity.
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.
Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,
and rivers, tainted chemically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.
Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.
We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,
but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.
The mildly mad bureaucracy
so often lacks coherency
when raping rules abundantly
but offers no apology.
They paint the past in reverie
when, slyly comes the tendency
to take away our privacy
which paves the way to tyranny.
With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering doggedly,
we've lost our mental sovereignty,
and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else perch in penitentiary
with water board anxiety.
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
John Mudge | Details
One day not long past our economy faltered
And wouldn’t improve if our course were unaltered.
'Cause we buy stuff at Wal-Mart (where things are dirt cheap)
'Cause they buy from China (treats workers like sheep
(So farmers left farms and moved to the city.
And hoped for life better (no luck, such a pity) )).
They went right to work (but folks who had power
got 'em to work for six bits an hour).
To make matters worse our credit froze up.
Couldn't spend - couldn't borrow - couldn't buy a tin cup.
You think this is bad? It's downhill from there.
Institutions cried "uncle" - said cupboards were bare.
Couldn't borrow, couldn't lend, no business as usual.
So they opened their books to wide-eyed perusal.
Our Treasury Secretary called Congress to action.
Said money was needed to unfreeze this impaction.
So they gave loads of money to our secretary mighty
Who they said was quite stern and not the least flighty.
He'd disburse the funds wisely with skill and great cunning.
He'd soon save us all with our economy running
Full tilt dead ahead. We'd all have great jobs.
Or funds to build business. No more wailing. No sobs.
But he hadn’t a plan, no clue what to do.is
Gasp! I’m shocked! I’m surprised! Weren’t you?
"The problem's bad assets. I know what to do.
Throw billions to the wind to buy them from you!
It's a crisis, a panic, no time to lose!
So give me 300 billion dollars to use!"
Congress quick cut a check - didn’t ask any questions.
Full speed ahead - damn the objections!
Then five minutes later, he said. "Sorry, my bad.
Sky's ok after all. Billions gone. So sad."
Next thing you know ’nother check's in the mail.
Now they thought lenders were too big to fail
So they gave them our billions and tried to act manly:
While sheepishly mincingly bailing out Morgan Stanley!
Money still wasn’t flowing so they tried a new tack.
Gave money to banks they needn’t pay back!
And what of the money they’d gotten for free?
They’d loan me the money they’d gotten from me!
The banks got a downpour but oh life is fickle.
While they bathe in money – for me? Not a trickle.
Then came execs who'd wrecked A-I-G
They wept and they pleaded and cried, "Please save meeee!"
Fannie Mae queued up next just before Freddie Mac
Who lent money to people who couldn't pay back.
Congress gasped (so we'd notice) and then cried "Enough!"
To make it look good they called Lehman a bluff:
Sacrificially beheaded poor Lehman Brothers.
They gave them no money (unlike all the others)
But kept spending funds like water that's runny
With glee and abandon, disposition so sunny.
Through Fingers of Congress funds flowed like warm honey.
'Round town it got spent like Monopoly money.
"A billion here and a billion there and soon it's real money!"
I laughed once before but now it's not funny.
I’m sure I would spend it way better then you.
A deaf ear I'd turn to pleas of "me too".
I can't hear the cries the wails the shouts
The So Helpless pleadinghim beseeching handouts
And we're still on the hook for money by tons,
A stack past the moon if you use only ones!
How much do we owe? Lean close and I'll tell you.
It’s the biggest darn number that ever befell you.
It's 3.5x10 to the twelf –
A number so huge I can't count it myself.
So I worked with my neighbors and friends that I knew.
We'd just about finished when it quivered and grew.
We bravely pressed on but got worried because
It grew to a monster ten times what it was.
It far, far exceeds all the debt on my house.
Makes my debt seem much smaller than a flea on a mouse.
So here's what I owe, scientifically noted.
(No interest – it's merely the loan the bank floated)
It's 1.2x10 to the fifth.
If you say it's a trifle I'll really be miffed!
To me it's a fortune, a mountain, a gob.
It's enormous, it's huge – a train-wreck-size glob.
But to you with your trillions it barely rates mention
A blip even smaller than my crummy old pension.
I'll make a comparison to give some perspective.
Divide smaller by bigger – a percent’s the objective.
The quotient is less than the least you might fine us:
Just 3.4x10 to the eighth minus!
That's 3.4 millionths expressed as percent
If you lost that amount would you care where it went?
If it fell from the table it wouldn't be missed.
Only know it was gone if you looked at your list.
Compared to the bailout and financial-type terror
My mortgage amounts to a small rounding error.
The amount is so small, a grain you can't see.
How much could hurt if it came back to me?
But accountants all say it would just cause inflation.
They say if I had it I could harm our whole nation!
Imagine that. Me! Oh the power I've got!
So just you tell me: should I use it? Or not?
The problems roll on and Congress still spends.
Ford, G-MAC, and Chrysler - the list never ends.
I want to flee far away when I consider this bailout.
Catch the next boat, settle in, and just sail out.
I’d find me a country where companies are smarter
And don't need my help like a belt needs a garter.
Whoops, I forgot. It spans the whole world.
It catches each breeze like a sail unfurled.
So I fret and I grimace - it’s now up to trillions.
How long can it be ’til they’re spending quadrillions?!
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details
Does your money derive from health-regenerative investments?
Well, what could that mean?
Do you make your money, honey,
with both light and dark co-arising memory
of midway love and peace intent,
avoiding anger-fear monoculturally competitive
and struggles against others,
choosing to struggle with cognitive-affective
chronic neural-temporal dissonance,
indicators of imbalance issues,
and opportunities for more polyculturally nutritious
ecosystemic polyculturing health-trend outcomes?
Is that your elevator speech, or Pledge of Allegiance to ReGenerative Health?
I thought it was a question that assumed
you don't like elevator pitches
for more money being removed from your pocket,
whether asking or being asked,
bad timing to invest in one-way elevator rides.
Try it again,
what is this regenerative health investment
you think we both have in mind and body?
Is your time and money invested
in this cooperative stream of Earth's regenerate evolution,
co-arising revolution of transition crisis times
as ecoconscious bilateral,
and, by the way,
therefore evolving-emergent as bicameral-neural,
light of logos fractal-ecologic?
I most certainly hope not!!!
That sounds much too grand for EgoMe.
But, your most active stage of hope,
the one more important than all those that could possibly follow,
is always the permaculturist's nutritional Zero-Centric Zone of Ego/Eco
regenerative development and focus.
Before you in each relationship and transaction,
political and economic,
two primal principles of cooperative economic investment,
possibly of interest to philanthropic,
and large-scale public economic/political health-culture research investors,
but most certainly of interest to EgoYou.
Such a sweeping scale of regenerativity.
Are you sure you can deliver such rich fertility
with my money?
Where are your outcomes of such vast healthy wealth?
You need not search this mindbody proposal
to see if I am community invested,
if time and life are money-valued commodities,
my money and health and regenerative potential
for sale or rent,
in exchange for what quality of money,
what source of health investment
absorbing dualdark angry-past pathology?
This proposal comes to you
through deep-nested communities
of co-cultural time as light investment.
What are your layers of cooperative political
and economic investment,
where lie these mutually-subsidiary networks?
My communities are interdependent communicators,
rich paradigmatic intent and permacultural practice.
Are your health outcomes of potential interest
only to our human tribe,
or is there a cooperative DNA/RNA synergy
demonstrated in your proposal design,
and/or installation investment plan?
Which cooperative investment communities appear
as higher risk potential divestors
due to internal monoculturally-dominant
political and economic assumptions?
How do you propose to avoid Business As Usual
Who do you propose will hope and plan to do business with you,
through mutual barter, and/or cooperation?
And who intends to continue doing business competitively,
without you? And why?
Who do you hope and plan to invest in
and not invest in,
to achieve healthy helpful outcomes,
and what and how,
whether barter, competition, or cooperative absorption
into our Help As Health Bank?
Your proposal outcomes,
for each moment and day and year,
like your own embryonic Ego life,
should demonstrate early investors,
how you will optimize polyculturally inclusive outcomes
of equitable harmony,
especially if you are not beginning
with a clearly articulated
to compost rich fertile health-enculturation.
I will consider your proposals
each and every moment of each day and night
of mutual ecoconsciousness,
asking where does this proposal fit best
within our cooperative health-as-help portfolio
with other potential investments at this time,
to consider in light of prior
and still ongoing
and their comparative health v. pathology outcomes
for future regeneration
of Earth's multiculturing Time.
Please be sure any investment opportunities
explicitly measure future polycultural sensory-health
against current comparatively monocultural,
over-competitive economic and political status-quo risks,
not only within your Nature-Investment Program Outcomes
but also how nutritional results
will be winnowed and seed-selected,
decomposed to enrich
your own future regenerative Interior Landscape,
your health lives of love
with your original and ongoing cooperators,
yourselves in aligning/maligning relation with others.
Perfect, all here and accounted for.
So, how are you investing and divesting
"Cooperative Help As Health Bank"
ecological economic and political health
within your own time as money investment portfolio?
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details
Positive nutritionists co-arise!
Now, while toxins mutually self-immunize,
to implicate potential revolutions.
cooperating abundance of Self with
as by of Other!
Now, while decay slinks into silos of
"That Life's Not My Matter",
no dual-dark reductive paternalism for me,
not enough positive energy,
so co-subside into odious cacophony.
Co-Arise cooperative health
to co-subside monopolistically competitive wealth.
It's a better system
plus more wisdom
to turn our trees of hierarchy
right side left
to grow this networked co-bifeminist mat-patriarchy,
Win-Win swimming circles
diving among and parching
revolutions of Lose-Lose marching
in co-subsiding wilting squares of post-gaming era loss.
Co-arise this permaculturing revolution,
warriors with tools regenerating evolution,
nondual pairs of opposition
to suppositions within co-arising proposition,
subjects of by with of for healthy holy wealthy objectives,
monocultures co-subsiding into slow-emergent polycultures,
multisyntaxed paradigms co-arising polypaths,
multisystemic consciousness permaculturing,
healthy function with formal beauty,
fractal-crystal frames with faceted octave-holonic mirror neutrons,
unfolding four dimensional temporal strings of electrons,
root squaring RNA's Bicamerally Dynamic EndoCreational Vocation.
Co-arise permaculturists of RNA/DNA life-systemic sustainability!
Co-arise polyculturists of eco-metric polynomially square-rooted form
and functional full-octave diversity
for all six fully-conscious autonomic senses,
Co-arise organically nutritious gardeners of food
feeding all six sensory receptors,
listeners to and of nature's luxurious harmonic sounds,
dancers of fractally-balanced chi-time,
breathers of resonate sound 0-sum mind,
seers of mutual-coredeeming economies,
political and familial relationships,
physical, natural, spiritual, co-conscious regenerational medicine,
and communication health optimization,
polypathers of meta-systemic logos-wisdom
prime temporal logical syntax
for Yang/Yin relationship informing DNA polynomial balance.
Co-Arise human natured DNA
with Earth-natured RNA!
Co-Arise RNA with Time's encultured memory!
Co-Arise every cell programmed for regenerating health
and cooperative wealth
Co-Arise paradigmatic syntheses with power of Yang,
with polyculturally transparent binomial YinYin
sweeping WinWin systematic gaming theory,
laughing not-not reverse-ordered double-bound Yes!
growing dual-dark embryonic st-ring universally unitarian network,
nesting convex negentropic polynomially eco-forming spacetime.
Co-Prehend decomposition as contraction
with regeneration as expansion
of form with organically intelligent function.
Co-Redeem polyculturally cooperative investments!
Co-Mentor nondual messianic dreams,
prophetic streams of healthy wealth.
Co-Incidate fully populated deductions
with their non-polynomial zero-ionic opposites!
Co-Meditate ecotherapeutic medication toward healthy wealthcare!
Co-Passion RNA's ecojustice evolution of equi-valency,
co-arising polypathic consciousness,
Win-Win Wombed in this world wide web.
Confluate what would otherwise radiate
as one-sided and mono-dimensional noisy chaos
of linear mono-reductive historic time
overly redacted from permaculture's 4-prime intelligence syntax,
poly-neural tribal space of 3 reflecting 1 bilaterally decompositional
non-polynomial space as c-squared equivalent time.
Co-Arise this moment's integrative sublimely hued potential!
of beauty's wise and wealthy healthy octave climax
within beloved co-consciousness of heart and mind
as bicameral breath, heat, fire, energy, informating intelligence
alternating with yin-yin's syntax
with Positive concave explicate-ordered Yang
convex implicate bilaterally temporal-primal RNA-ordered,
as positive uracil functions equivalently
with double-binary ionic balancing reverse-cytosine,
equals (-,-)co-binary bilateral-time-squared information.
WithBinomial Synergetic Discernment!
Co-Arise dual-dark dawn's surprise.
Co-Operate massive co-gravitational fields,
binomially double-bound pirouette of time's nature.
Energy co-arises matter through octaved light-bionic frequencies
as bilateral time co-arises this present grace space
as YinYin co-arises Yang
as healthy bicameral wealth values integrate
Beloved eco-sustainable cooperative economic systems,
Climax Communities of locally articulated
maintenance and biosystemic care plans and policies,
nurturing polycultural design and co-development,
ecological co-evolving health with wealth management.
Positive Co-Mentoring EcoActivists, Arise!
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
John Mudge | Details
Written in summer of 1976.
I used to eat my lunch with groups
of businessmen from Campbell Soups.
We drank a drink at lunch each day
Of Coca-Cola mixed with hay
And talked of pending corporate plans
And willow-haired orangutans.
I spent a lot of time this way
At doing things that were not play.
But while I was away at work
My wife went just a bit berserk.
So I gave my wife a giant tome
To keep her company at home.
I simply, clearly just was not –
That is to say – at home a lot.
Though fun we had when I was there
Tossing cookies in the air
Or watching Dodgers playing Sox
On multi-colored faceless clocks.
We did these things so much, you see
Because we were so rich were we.
I made my money selling stuff
Like plastic prunes and candied snuff.
I planted seeds from seedless grapes
And sold the sprouts as seafood crepes.
I sold some coffee in a cup
And leased a fork to drink it up.
I sold a man a pair of lamps
with perforated ceiling clamps.
I bought exotic types of booze
And sold it all to polish shoes.
I grew some trees from stale eggs
Which fruited beer in gallon kegs.
I bought a candle and some wax.
I spun them into purple flax
Then wrote it off as income tax
And stole my lawyer's Cracker Jacks!
I plucked the feathers from a fish
And sold the rest as lic-or-ish.
I sold them all in Topenish
To a man named Cavendish.
He ate it with a real flair,
A certain regal, haughty air.
I made bold plans to tyrannize
A northern Spanish enterprise
In grapefruit-palms and dates and figs
And maladjusted corkscrew pigs.
(Alas it failed, sad say,
But I got them anyway.)
And when I died, I died in style
Laughing smugly all the while
They put my coffin in its crypt
And read some Damoclean script.
I went away at last to see
The Gates of Heaven welcome me.
St. Pete was there, beside the Gate.
He said I was a little late.
I bowed my head, apologized,
Wondered if he realized
The angels were all out on strike;
I couldn't drive; I had to hike.
Then a soul ran right past me
As though he simply couldn't see.
Then another did the same
And thousands more - a horde - they came!
They pushed me rudely to the side.
St. Peter told me I had lied.
Well, okay, I hadn't hiked.
I thought that slow, and so I biked.
As from his Book of Rules He read,
“Tsk tsk-tsk tsk-tsk tsk, Pete said.
So PICKED up I my bags and left
For that damnéd lower cleft.
I stomped away then turned and paused.
How much fuss had my fib caused?
A pardon'd come if I'd just wait.
Saint Pete smiled then shut the gate.
A bus rolled up marked Hell this Way.
I climbed aboard. I tried to pay.
"There's no charge as you can tell.
Outbound's free. You pay in Hell.
This bus is special 'cause it can float.
Retracts its wheels, becomes a boat."
The bus was old with not much power.
It bumped along for 'bout an hour
Til a bang and then a thunk
And even worse a loud kerplunk.
The driver left to check the bus.
He returned, explained the fuss.
"We're almost at the River Styx.
The bus is broke and I can't fix
The things I found. It's just too tough.
I checked 'em all. I've had enough.
The left-hand gizmo's really stuck.
The Dudkin Ring has gone amok.
I checked the wuffler. It's ok.
The ring-nut seized I'm sad to say.
A tire's come right off its rim.
The bus won't start. We'll have to swim."
Then the bus just disappeared
And things for me got really weird
God appeared with old St. Pete.
"We've a problem. We've got to meet."
St. Peter said, "It's quite unique.
It's your records. We took a peek
at our polls, all done by Gallup.
Found your number. It's not up.
It takes us two to set things right.
I brought God to use his might."
God said, "I've never sent souls back.
I did some research. Found a hack.
Turns out this problem's easily fixed.
Just stand still. My potion's mixed."
A wink a nod a look my way
and God undid the whole last day.
They shook my hand and bade farewell,
said I wouldn't Go to Hell.
They faded slowly from my sight
and dimmed their glow to black as night.
I reappeared, surprised my wife,
told her let's get on with life.
My death was just a clerical error.
They sent me back. It's only fairer.
We smooched and hugged, went out to eat.
Had pickled oysters fused with meat.
We ordered crêpes with grated pear
and lit 'em up to add some flair.
Then I pondered what to do.
I quick thought up a thing or two.
I'd profit from financial schemes
using cash inversion themes.
I'd buy a cat and teach it tricks
to wow the guests at trader Vic's.
I'd give them all tatami mats
and waterproof electric hats.
I paused a moment. I could see
My brand-new stuff was vintage me!
I mused a while: what to do?
I mused some more and then I knew.
I'm only happy being me.
My plan was simple as can be.
I'll carry on with selling stuff
like plastic prunes and candied snuff!
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Maurice Yvonne | Details
Listen to poem:
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l a l a
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THE CASHMERE WOOL I USED TO KNIT A SCARF
I knitted a winter scarf, a large intricate Cashmere
fancy pants, Gentleman Jim kind of neck clothes people
wear around their previously naked skin between their
heads and their shoulders which really counts if you live
in a below zero weather city with a freezing cold atmosphere
that will make your teeth clatter and clink making sounds that
would rattle even those with the steadiest of nerves.
The type with those strong jaws that protrude beyond their faces
and drive FatBoy Harley motorcycles and could crush you with just
a look from where their eyes sit on their visage which is a strange
word to use here since I think "visage" is one of those sophisticated
words of French origin which is not a raw country type slang kind of
word which would be much more appropriate for bike man a name
I coined myself for Mark who turns out to be an unexpectedly kind guy
the type it turns out suits the word visage in fact one with a great
smile that occasionally pops up on Marks face I actually even
gave him the scarf as a gift (pause) (2)(3)(4), as well as my wallet
my car keys, my credit cards, my pin numbers, my watch...
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Donal Mahoney | Details
A notice appeared in the paper recently with the names and faces of eight men who have a combined wealth of $426 billion. According to Oxfam International, in 2015 this would have equaled the amount of wealth held by half the world’s population, the poorest half.
Oxfam International is a confederation of charitable organizations in 90 countries seeking to stop the injustices that cause global poverty. They have been tracking wealth and poverty in the world for a long time.
It’s remarkable that six of the eight men are Americans: Jeff Bezos, Michael Bloomberg, Warren Buffett, Larry Ellison, Mark Zuckerberg and William Gates. Only Carlos Slim, the Mexican billionaire, and Amancia Ortega, the Spaniard, are from other countries.
Oxfam blames what it calls this "obscene wealth” on laws that have shifted the tax burden form the wealthy to the middle class.
Supposedly this concentration of wealth has grown a great deal since Ronald Reagan's administration. President Donald Trump has said that he supports an additional tax cut of 15% for billionaires. Some say this might result in an even smaller middle class although the dynamics of the connection are not entirely clear to the average layman. But many people would probably agree the six wealthiest Americans don’t seem to be in need of any additional tax breaks.
According to Oxfam, America is not the only nation where the wealthy seem to be living quite well, thanks to the failure to collect proportionate taxes.
In Africa, Oxfam says that $15 billion dollars is hidden from tax collectors, quite a sum on a poor continent. Critics say that the $15 billion, if collected, could bring health care to four million residents in Africa and put a teacher in every African classroom whatever number of classrooms that might be.
In Europe, says Oxfam, Greece and Italy lead the way in citizens avoiding taxes. Both nations are enduring difficult times. Some critics maintain that uncollected taxes if collected would bring relief to these overburdened economies.
Failure to collect taxes, according to Oxfam, endangers the European Economic Community. Germany is being asked to fill the gap and Germans are not happy about that and perhaps understandably so. And the current situation will not improve if Greece renounces its debt and firms across the world, long-suffering creditors in waiting, no longer have anything to wait for.
Meanwhile, in America, concern grows about what some people call “tax equity,” meaning the need for new laws to make the rich pay their “fair share,” whatever that might be. It is admittedly difficult to arrive at a “fair-share” percentage with economists differing on the amount.
Similar concern grows over the need to raise the minimum wage to a living wage whatever a living wage today in America might actually be.
Minimum wage workers are lobbying hard for $15.00 an hour. Whether that would be a living wage or not is debated. Whether that amount should be enacted nationally or not is, of course, debated as well.
But proponents of raising taxes on the rich and paying a higher minimum wage say that if something isn’t done to solve these problems, poverty will continue to grow and people will continue to suffer.
Back in the early part of the 20th century, Henry Ford was asked why he was paying employees $5.00 a day and he is said to have responded, “Somebody has to buy this stuff,” meaning of course his automobiles.
Today, if too many Americans max out their credit cards and have little cash in their pockets, who is going to take advantage of the sales at Walmart? Who is going to be able to buy enough of the products to make the economy grow?
These are very difficult problems but it seems obvious that something isn’t right if eight men, six of them in the United States, have a combined wealth greater than half the people in the world.
And in the United States it doesn’t seem that a step in the right direction would be to reduce the taxes on our wealthiest six billionaires. Perhaps better to listen to arguments as to why their taxes should be raised and then have Congress make a decision. The bill would of course require the signature of President Trump but who knows what he would do. He is still in the early stages of his unexpected presidency and no one can be certain what he will do in many matters of great importance.
To do nothing and remain in the status quo is to risk increasing the number of poor and the United States, like the world, obviously has enough poor people as it is.
Copyright © Donal Mahoney | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Joe Flach | Details
I have been praying to God ever since I first understood the concept of a deity. Although I have struggled through life with my acceptance of and belief in the religion I was force fed as a child, the praying has always stayed with me – on an almost every day basis. In some way or some form or for some reason, it seems, I find myself praying to a God I am not sure I believe in.
Over the years, some of the things I have prayed for or prayed against have worked out in my favor. Other things didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped. So, I wondered, was this proof that my prayers are sometimes answered or simply the law of averages? It really didn’t matter, I was programed to pray and so pray I do.
This has been going on pretty routinely for over 50 years; so, imagine my surprise when, for the first time last night, God talked back to me!
I may not get this exactly right, but, in essence, this is what He had to say:
(I am not sure what font to type God’s words in, so I will just keep on with the default.)
“Joe, Joe, Joe. I have been listening to you for all your life. And, whereas I do enjoy your thoughts; your words; and your sentiments; I find it is time for me to respond.
You really do pray a lot for lots of things. Mostly good and humane things. Mostly with a pure and caring heart. But, son, you need to stop doing so much praying and start doing more stuff on your own. I am not up here to make your life easier and to do things for you.
When you were young, instead of praying for that bicycle, you should have been doing chores to earn money towards buying it. You could have cut more lawns, washed more cars, got a paper route, sold lemonade, or many other things other young boys were doing to earn money for the things that they wanted.
When you were in high school and prayed to me to help you do well in your wrestling matches, you should have, instead, been working harder at practice; spent more time on your conditioning; spent more time in the weight room; and studied harder on the art of wrestling.
In college, when you prayed for help on your mid-terms and finals, you should have, instead, spent more time studying and less time partying – I think that is something you already know.
Even when you pray on behalf of others – you should be doing more.
Instead of praying I would help old Mrs. Conner at the end of your street, you should have gotten up off your butt and walked down to the end of the street and looked in on her yourself. You could have offered to go to the store for her, pick up her prescriptions or simply keep her company in her final years.
When you prayed for me to care for the starving children around the world, you should have been volunteering to help out yourself or donating more money towards this cause. If you funneled all the money you spent on unnecessary junk food and extra meals you consumed throughout the years towards charities that help feed and clothe the poor, you could have saved many of the children you prayed that I would save.
Instead of praying that I cure your family, friends and acquaintances that you knew were ill or dying, you should have been visiting them in the hospital or writing them letters or providing assistance to their loved ones to help ease their pain.
Prayer is not the vehicle for you to be lazy and yet gain the rewards. Prayer is not a means to have me do for others what you have the power and ability to do yourself.
I am glad that you talk to me, but you have been granted the ability and means to do so much more by yourself and yet you choose to take the easy way out and pray to me – the God that I know you are confused about. Please, do me a favor, and before you pray, ask yourself, ‘Have I exhausted all avenues available to me to achieve the result I want God to perform?’
If, after you have done everything you can possibly do, then I may be more willing to consider what it is you ask for.
And now, my son, you can wake up.”
I sat up quickly in my bed, sweating and confused. Was I just dreaming? Was that really God talking to me? Then, somewhere from deep inside, either from my conscious or a left-over message from the Almighty Himself, I thought (or heard): “What does it matter? Whether it was God or not – the message is valid and something I probably already knew.”
“Well,” I said to myself, in prayer, “I will give it my best. But, is it okay if we still talk? It kind of helps to give me strength?”
I will take that as a, “Yes”.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details
This course will encourage aspiring cooperative economists
to distinguish between mean national incomes
and global median incomes,
with diverse long-term capital growth/evaporation trends
imagine USA mean income, including investment income,
could approach $500,000 for two-parent working households
Are you kidding me?
Where do you come up with those numbers?
And that many full-time working two-parent households?
Out of my mean Republican National Party imagination.
If you imagine
as many households with earned and investment income
of $1,000,000 per year
as there are destitute households
with $0 earned/investment income,
and the remainder of us lie
evenly along straight
or even bell-curved symmetrical lines
between $0 and $1,000,000,
then USA mean annual household income
could be imagined as $500,000 per two-parent household.
for the sake of this thought experiment.
So what does that have to do with the price of carrots?
Cost of living,
with or without carrots,
is more of a Democratic National Party issue
where we turn to how trickle down capital acquisition and flow patterns,
including reinvesting and relocating in cheaper labor-saving areas,
are more depressingly influenced by median income,
as compared to this more mean-spirited average US two-parent income.
In other words,
when Republicans imagine which economic policies
are within their realm of self interest,
they imagine themselves at least average,
or above, even better,
so when candidates promise lower taxes
and deregulating fees
for business and farm and patriotic industries
of all good two-heterosexual parent families,
Republican voters imagine such candidates
speak also of and for them
because they see their incoming as at least potentially
within responsible sight of this average earned
and investment returned
and preferably above all those unwashed immigrant indigent others.
the Democratic National Party,
in its most globally liberating green best center,
speaks not of mean economic incomes,
but of the growing and depressing distance
between average national income
and shrinking median global income.
That's the most popular number, right?
Like if more households bring in $30,000 per year,
than $29,000 or below
or $31,000 or above,
on a scale from $0 to increasingly astronomical,
then the median would remain $30,000.
But, the average could be lower or higher,
depending on whether there are greater positive deviations from the median
or more totally disintegrating deviations
down toward zero-sum,
you lose everything,
go directly to jail,
do not even think about passing through Go again.
So if you are a median democratic global economist
you are noticing
as the number of billionaires goes up,
the gap between average income and median income grows
in an alarmingly unhealthy direction,
the opposite of erection,
or even self-with-other regeneration.
If this growing great transitional divide
between our really big winners
and our truly transient and hopelessly non-transcendent
is trending in this politically depressing uneven direction,
why is that?
Because competition-rooted WinLose zero-sum Capitalism
follows successful acquisition of capital
to breed further disproportionate acquisition of capital.
Cooperative-owned and self-matriculating WinWin
trickle down and out
to equilaterally trickle up and in
to re-trickle down and out
requires a bilateral WinWin
self and other regenerative equivalent balance co-intention
more typical of a matriarchal mentoring nutritional cooperative network
than a patriarchal mean economist
wanna-be an effective open market
mutually free to monoculturally overpower the hapless competition
Well I was taught
if you don't want to share your toys
you should never have brought them into the sandbox.
That sounds like global median ecopolitical enculturation.
I was taught
if somebody tries to borrow your toys,
More of a sandbox bully anti-culturation.
Imagine how this capitalist sandbox must look
to a hungry and thirsty adolescent survivor
living in one of Earth's growing ecopolitical deserts,
watching further climate pathologies
unfold across hopeless skies
and swelling tsunamic oceans.
I thought this was Mean Economics 404.
Yes, but it sounds more hopeful
as Cooperative Median Economics 101.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017