|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
The Pyrex Question
All my life I have been quite confused.
My concern is the brand name Pyrex.
At the start I was glad, quite enthused.
It's clear to me now I'm under a hex.
I've searched all the aisles quite in vain.
I can find Pyre-X, but I sigh.
Do tell me before I'm insane.
Where on earth can I find Pyre-Y?
The Moses Question
I've a friend whose name is a verb.
His name isn't Harry or Barney or Herb.
His name is short. It's unique. It's sing'lar.
His name is Moses, a verb that is reg'lar.
I know it's a verb. Just let me prove this..
You conjugate verbs. It's easy. Can't miss.
Conjugate thusly: I close and he closes.
I see and you saw. I mose and he moses.
See? It's a verb. Point proved. QED.
There's only one problem.
I know lots of words, more words than those.
My question is, what is it to mose?
The Oral-B Toothbrush Question
My mind reels, I have questions, I do wonder:
Are they ranked first to last, low to high?
Can you find just the best without blunder?
I'm not sure how to choose but I try.
1 is better than 2: that we know.
D's no good, C's ok (so we say).
I have found Oral B ... but oh no!
Where oh where can I find Oral A?
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
How I Got Richer and What I Did Next
I struck a sly deal with some Wall Street investors.
I shorted 'em stocks that didn't exist!
But they got me back (those post-empty-nesters)
by making fake deals I couldn't resist.
So I made a bold plan. I'd get big and still bigger.
My dream was immense: I'd conquer the market!
How would I do it? I'll bet you can't fig'ure.
I'll whisper my plan. (Shhh! I won't bark it.)
What I make is no secret. My dream is the thing.
My stuff the world uses. It can't do without.
My competitors fear (while secretly hoping)
I'll become a cartel and buy them all out!
So here's what I 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 fixes most things, 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:
I make what you use: the Gadget and Widget!
Making millions and billions takes plenty of people.
My company grew, got huge and kept growing.
A company needs growth. A church needs a steeple.
You see how it works? I just kept on going.
I hired by hundreds and thousands and more.
I worked 'em like slaves, paid dimes even less.
They threatened to strike, even steal the store
but I had the power! I could hardly care less.
I'd fire 'em in masses, by hundreds and dozens.
I gave them no notice, I paid them no pension.
I fired them all, brothers sisters and cousins.
I paid off the media; they gave me no mention.
But shedding the people only solved half the puzzle.
I still needed gadgets! Work had to get done.
Just how could I do it? I put hands on my muzzle.
No output, no profit. So how could I run?
At midnight one day I awoke with a start
My plan was so clear, so cool and so cunning.
I'd go overseas! My plan was quite smart.
I knew with assurance I'd keep right on running.
I worked day and night 'til after sunset.
I worked without stop. I even skipped meals.
I outsourced production and then flew by jet
to scour the globe for even more deals.
Gov'nments with greed – those were our 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 takes fees
And labor's dirt cheap (it costs odds and ends).
The less I pay out the more left for me!
It works like a scale: when their side descends
my side goes up. It's logic, you see.
My scheme soon paid off. I spanned the whole globe.
I owned my competitors by tens and by scores.
To find where I wasn't you'd dig and you'd probe:
just gadgets and widgets in millions of stores!
A few years of this 'bout did me in.
I crawled to my bed and I slept a deep sleep.
I dreamed a strange dream of goodness and sin.
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 just a dream.
No need to worry. My life wouldn't 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 ' round. Ask some questions.
And ask your friend Sid. I'm sure that Sid 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.
I started to wonder: did I even know Sid?
Did I sleep? Am I up? I'll pull out a hair.
Ouch! I'm awake! So I never did!
I recalled Pearly Gates. I remembered a dream
and trying to bargain at the Gates with 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 mostly been right (just a little bit wrong).
Ok, ok maybe more than a bit.
If I set things to rights, we could get along.
But St. Pete asks a lot. (This really does sting.)
If stuff needs some doing ... I might maybe could.
Now give me a moment to ponder this thing.
If I knew what to do, I'm sure that I would.
(He went to his office. He sat and he thought.
He called for his staff. But they'd left, the whole bunch.
So he made a few plans with ideas he'd caught
then got so excited he even missed lunch!
All the people he'd fired? He hired them back.
He said he was sorry. He tripled their pay.
He asked them their names. He said, “Call me Mack!”.
The sun rose much brighter the very next day.
He did all he promised, or so we are told.
He did what he said. He even did more!
He began to think friendships were worth more than gold.
He laughed right out loud – hadn't done that before!
He perked up his ears, St. Peter did.
When he heard that guffaw, that belly-roll laugh.
His laughter was joyous, like it came from a kid
St. Peter stood up, took hold of this staff.
I think he's found what he used to lack.
He's learned the difference twixt evil and sin.
When he gets here one day I'll shake his hand, pat his back.
I'll open the Gates and welcome him in.
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
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
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
How I Got Rich and What Happened Then
I used to eat my lunch with groups
of businessman from Campbell's 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 pitted 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.
God 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
And God told me that 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,” God said.
So PICKED up I my bags and left
For that damnéd lower cleft.
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
I come and I go.
No one sees me
but the wind.
I come and I go.
No one hears me
but the wind.
I'm here and I'm there.
No one knows where I am
but the wind.
I'm there and I'm here.
Everyone knows where I am
but the wind.
In the dark of early morn
I place the papers on the mats
and no one hears me but the wind.
In the dark of early morn
I slip away from the houses
and no one sees me but the wind.
Published in the Mercer Island Reporter June 28, 1966
In the sixth grade and for many years after I had a paper route delivering the Mercer Island Reporter to about 100 people. I got up at 4:30 AM twice a week to do my duties. This poem represents my reflections on slipping unseen from house to house before anyone is awake.
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
As from his Book of Rules He read,
“Tsk-tsk tsk-tsk, St. Peter 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 just smiled then shut the gate.
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 pitted prunes and candied snuff!
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
To be sung to the tune of Both Sides Now by Judy Collins
Rows and rows of subtrahends
Repeating decimals without end
Regression lines to mark a trend
I've looked at numbers that way
But now they only add up wrong
Even though I stayed up all night long
Like missing words in someone's song
Words that seem to say
chorus
I've looked at numbers from both sides now
From left and right and still somehow
It's numbers' illusions I recall
I really don't know numbers at all
Secants, tangents, arc-cosines
It seems like just a game sometimes
What's my number, what's my line?
I've looked at trig that way.
Now all my graphs have gone awry
I've lost the will to find out why
Perhaps they'll make more sense by 'n' by
But who am I to say?
chorus
I've looked at trig from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's trig's illusions I recall
I really don't know trig at all
Edited 5/9/2016
Written 7/14/1986
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
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
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
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
|
Details |
John Mudge Poem
A hiding place, a warm and darkened room,
A lit doorway, bright against the dark,
Cold against the warmth, a frame for odd
Assorted stranger-forms whose faces loom
As quarrels over (what?) convulse and rend them,
Leering laughter giving in to vicious
Sneers, bared fangs, silent snarls
Of wretched, clutching, atavistic mayhem,
A terror once removed. Inside that hole
Distant from the proximal horrid window
Where twisted evil shadow-puppets fight
Peculiar faint amusement seems to roll
Like waves around the cave, detached and born
Of safety via distance, of certainty
That out would never be in, that warmth was safe,
That war above, so far away, forlorn,
Could be watched as from a languid seat
Far recessed in a darkened empty theater,
Nestled snugly, listening to the voice
Which comments on the raging battle heat.
From somewhere up, behind, not left nor right,
But from the center, voice and fight both
Directly sensed, as if they each occurred
In a vacuum, touch and smell, sound and sight
Being interchangeable and void.
The fighters jab and poke, madly gouge,
And neither gains advantage, being justly
Matched, as both are faceless, the man
At left pitted fair against the shrewish
Plot of his opponent, evil woman.
Both in turn appeal for judgment, turning
Away from fighting to glare and wave and hiss
Silently for a verdict on the ghastly driven
Feud which now has stopped, as it began,
Abruptly, and receiving none, for in
The silence no answer can be given
(Besides which, being taken by surprise
And overcome by sudden fear, aware
Of change in circumstance) the watcher is mute,
The murderous woman lunges at his very eyes
In deadly assault, bent on maiming, killing,
Groping fiercely at his open throat
For no apparent reason; and the comfort
Of the soothing voice utterly halts.
Words without sound fly like spears between them
Accusatory fingers gesture madly
And spittle from their half-crazed livid mouths
Wings through air in visual acid anthem
To this grisly deadly tandem fight
That seems the worse being set in relief
By the rectangular hole that serves as both
Window and door, divider of dark and light,
No protection, as threshold battle threatens
Him within, as blind hatred rages
In deft slashes of lengthy fingernails
While foe from foe extracts macabre debt.
Copyright © John Mudge | Year Posted 2016
|
|