Time to go.
I had called,
Leaving his list of "last calls" complete.
It was not about getting, it was about going.
Tired beyond endurance,
Trapped in a bad dream
That would last beyond time.
Ready.
Failing at, and for, the end,
Surely god can be a sadist.
More time, now without control.
His fate in other hands.
I leave his space quickly,
Unable to commune
With someone nearly lost.
Mother makes me a sandwich.
Dads helper informs,
"He adit".
She had said this for years.
Mom knows it means "he ate something".
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Missteaks
My father, in a sagacious tone,
Advise that I avoid mistakes
“Be careful, be very careful,
In any case don’t repeat a mistake.”
Years have passed since that admonition.
I have continually not been careful.
I can look back, and about me.
Debris everywhere!
Still some things have worked to my favor.
Every now and again my calculations,
If not correct, were brought home
By virtue of compensating errors.
As to duplicating a faux pas,
My record stands clear.
Never, absolutely never,
Did I knowingly echo a disaster?
A name, spelled differently,
Occurred on another day of the week,
In a different city,
Or at least a different office.
My advice to my children is not sagacious,
At least I hope it’s not.
But still filled with the stentorian notes
Of a man looking at yesterdays news.
Advise that I avoid mistakes
“Be careful, be very careful,
In any case don’t repeat a mistake.”
Years have passed since that admonition.
I have continually not been careful.
I can look back, and about me.
Debris everywhere!
Still some things have worked to my favor.
Every now and again my calculations,
If not correct, were brought home
By virtue of compensating errors.
As to duplicating a faux pas,
My record stands clear.
Never, absolutely never,
Did I knowingly echo a disaster?
A name, spelled differently,
Occurred on another day of the week,
In a different city,
Or at least a different office.
My advice to my children is not sagacious,
At least I hope it’s not.
But still filled with the stentorian notes
Of a man looking at yesterdays news.
Habeas Corpus
She’s gone. They’ve taken her away
Where once in her safety we did stay,
Through her, believing we would have our say.
She held a torch proclaiming, “We would have our day”
Dear Habeas, such a sturdy soul!
Driven from her fortress, leaving a hole
So large it may do irreparable harm
To those who might sound an alarm.
A man who would otherwise question
Conclusions drawn from a secret session
Of those who ignore facts
So they might perform harmful acts.
A man cannot speak, lest he disappear
Into a building where Kafka could’ve steered
A course to pain & loss,
Where the unnamed may be tossed.
Who will comfort, bring a following sea,
That allows Truth to rise free,
Sans fear of Munich’s nightmare
Risen from the dark as Satan, the slayer.
All hail, habeas corpus
Civilizations measure,
Our abandoned responsibility.
Where once in her safety we did stay,
Through her, believing we would have our say.
She held a torch proclaiming, “We would have our day”
Dear Habeas, such a sturdy soul!
Driven from her fortress, leaving a hole
So large it may do irreparable harm
To those who might sound an alarm.
A man who would otherwise question
Conclusions drawn from a secret session
Of those who ignore facts
So they might perform harmful acts.
A man cannot speak, lest he disappear
Into a building where Kafka could’ve steered
A course to pain & loss,
Where the unnamed may be tossed.
Who will comfort, bring a following sea,
That allows Truth to rise free,
Sans fear of Munich’s nightmare
Risen from the dark as Satan, the slayer.
All hail, habeas corpus
Civilizations measure,
Our abandoned responsibility.
Leaving New York
January ended nasty & windy that year,
Precursor to an exemplary February 1.
I was an uncomfortable passenger
Looking at a metallic sky
The plane’s engines roared Beethoven’s Fifth.
We were set to leave New York
Not to come back for years,
Then only as tourists.
The city had defeated me
(An AA member entering a bar
Had the same chance of keeping sober.)
I had come to dislike myself.
Living in a monolith that subsumed me.
Pushing feverishly at the surrounding walls.
Faced with a conspiracy of gigantic buildings
Eradicating the sun’s light,
Night as we cross America
No sleep, too busy keeping plane aloft.
The evil eye waits.
Can’t afford to slacken my diligence.
The subway seemed a place to panic.
Get on before they close the door
YOU WONT MAKE IT
PUSH, FOR GODS SAKE, PUSH
I’d never traveled on a jet.
Alert & ever watchful
Some funny noises
Do they realize how fast we are going?
Mine was not an inability to function
Rather, my acceptance,
That I was to spend my life
Fulfilling someone else’s dream.
Checking my watch every 10 minutes,
On an eleven hour flight.
I have another drink.
Listening for changes in the engines rhythm.
There had been good days,
Softball in Central Park.
A resolution of an accounting problem.
(Points, if you did not use too much paper.)
We’ve cleared the coast. Looking for Hawaii.
So small on the map.
How will they find it?
Will the Pacific swallow us?
The work got better, more challenging.
But not the pace.
You can’t possibly wait for the light to change
Or the noise to lessen.
Hours to go.
We are experiencing turbulence
Surely He will recognize my intentions,
And secure my passage, maybe?
I fantasize a place away
Far from the woman who chooses
To wash the halls and elevator.
Time to risk and reach
It is 1 AM and we deplane.
The breeze is soft and warm.
Pineapple juice flows from a fountain
All rehearsed for my arrival
Precursor to an exemplary February 1.
I was an uncomfortable passenger
Looking at a metallic sky
The plane’s engines roared Beethoven’s Fifth.
We were set to leave New York
Not to come back for years,
Then only as tourists.
The city had defeated me
(An AA member entering a bar
Had the same chance of keeping sober.)
I had come to dislike myself.
Living in a monolith that subsumed me.
Pushing feverishly at the surrounding walls.
Faced with a conspiracy of gigantic buildings
Eradicating the sun’s light,
Night as we cross America
No sleep, too busy keeping plane aloft.
The evil eye waits.
Can’t afford to slacken my diligence.
The subway seemed a place to panic.
Get on before they close the door
YOU WONT MAKE IT
PUSH, FOR GODS SAKE, PUSH
I’d never traveled on a jet.
Alert & ever watchful
Some funny noises
Do they realize how fast we are going?
Mine was not an inability to function
Rather, my acceptance,
That I was to spend my life
Fulfilling someone else’s dream.
Checking my watch every 10 minutes,
On an eleven hour flight.
I have another drink.
Listening for changes in the engines rhythm.
There had been good days,
Softball in Central Park.
A resolution of an accounting problem.
(Points, if you did not use too much paper.)
We’ve cleared the coast. Looking for Hawaii.
So small on the map.
How will they find it?
Will the Pacific swallow us?
The work got better, more challenging.
But not the pace.
You can’t possibly wait for the light to change
Or the noise to lessen.
Hours to go.
We are experiencing turbulence
Surely He will recognize my intentions,
And secure my passage, maybe?
I fantasize a place away
Far from the woman who chooses
To wash the halls and elevator.
Time to risk and reach
It is 1 AM and we deplane.
The breeze is soft and warm.
Pineapple juice flows from a fountain
All rehearsed for my arrival
Christmas in New York
I recall the hurried, determined walk to the subway,
Battlements erected to depersonalize human contact,
Encountering no smiles or warmth,
Wildebeest crossing because that is what they do.
Wardrobes change with the seasons,
The battlefield remains constant.
Herds move because that is what they do.
There is a painting,” The Diner”,
It evokes the aloneness of each patron’s life
Under a harsh light,
Inexorably, the mindless struggle
Pushes us to preordained cubicles
Joyless movement
Doomed, almost to the grand wheel.
When the days are diminished
And darkness weighs,
Something changes
The herd sniffs a half-forgotten scent.
People open from personal cocoons.
Find the day filled with potential,
Move to catch a serpentine engine,
Observe forms of life.
Myth reborn
In lighter imprints of snows remnants,
Faces are seen.
Someone holds a door open.
Enough, more than enough,
To derail cynicism.
Ephemeral, certainly, but real.
We allow for the impossible.
Battlements erected to depersonalize human contact,
Encountering no smiles or warmth,
Wildebeest crossing because that is what they do.
Wardrobes change with the seasons,
The battlefield remains constant.
Herds move because that is what they do.
There is a painting,” The Diner”,
It evokes the aloneness of each patron’s life
Under a harsh light,
Inexorably, the mindless struggle
Pushes us to preordained cubicles
Joyless movement
Doomed, almost to the grand wheel.
When the days are diminished
And darkness weighs,
Something changes
The herd sniffs a half-forgotten scent.
People open from personal cocoons.
Find the day filled with potential,
Move to catch a serpentine engine,
Observe forms of life.
Myth reborn
In lighter imprints of snows remnants,
Faces are seen.
Someone holds a door open.
Enough, more than enough,
To derail cynicism.
Ephemeral, certainly, but real.
We allow for the impossible.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
In Praise of Walkers
I will not speak of many,
Nor of those who think of walking.
My interest lies not with the quality,
Or the distance covered.
My praise is of those who do,
Inconvenient, honorable, difficult,
Unprofitable, dangerous, unpopular “walks”
That need doing.
Without them science does not exist,
And the naked king would be applauded
For his choice in apparel.
Without them the stone would lie unmoved
I salute those who would walk knowing
Their direction may cost them family and friends.
I speak of people who demand reason of themselves
Rather then rationalization.
Like Job they want answers, not bombast,
They demand a hearing, not a harangue.
They are but few and forever endangered.
Let us cheer the bravery in their choice.
Nor of those who think of walking.
My interest lies not with the quality,
Or the distance covered.
My praise is of those who do,
Inconvenient, honorable, difficult,
Unprofitable, dangerous, unpopular “walks”
That need doing.
Without them science does not exist,
And the naked king would be applauded
For his choice in apparel.
Without them the stone would lie unmoved
I salute those who would walk knowing
Their direction may cost them family and friends.
I speak of people who demand reason of themselves
Rather then rationalization.
Like Job they want answers, not bombast,
They demand a hearing, not a harangue.
They are but few and forever endangered.
Let us cheer the bravery in their choice.
A Word on Job
All agreed Job was a good man.
He observed the Sabbath,
Gave to the poor,
Prospered yet remained humble.
God chose to test Job,
By allowing Satan to devastate Job’s life,
Taking Job’s wealth, family and health.
“Would he still love and fear the lord”?
Job questioned the reason for his fall.
Friends suggested he showed hubris.
“Do not ask of god, only offer”, they said.
Job wanted an audience.
Neither Moses, Jesus, nor Mohammed
Had spoken with god directly.
But God granted Job an audience.
Job spoke and God answered.
“Why have you forsaken me?” Job asked.
God’s response thundered across the universe.
“How dare you question me”?
Job was silenced.
God had offered neither sympathy
Nor explanation.
He had behaved as a bully.
We will never recover from the epiphany.
He observed the Sabbath,
Gave to the poor,
Prospered yet remained humble.
God chose to test Job,
By allowing Satan to devastate Job’s life,
Taking Job’s wealth, family and health.
“Would he still love and fear the lord”?
Job questioned the reason for his fall.
Friends suggested he showed hubris.
“Do not ask of god, only offer”, they said.
Job wanted an audience.
Neither Moses, Jesus, nor Mohammed
Had spoken with god directly.
But God granted Job an audience.
Job spoke and God answered.
“Why have you forsaken me?” Job asked.
God’s response thundered across the universe.
“How dare you question me”?
Job was silenced.
God had offered neither sympathy
Nor explanation.
He had behaved as a bully.
We will never recover from the epiphany.
The Hospital
Moving as quickly as her pain would allow,
Mom, supported by me,
Passed through the rain
Into the Emergency waiting room,
This Sunday the room was quiet.
Only two older couples, and a small girl
Accompanied by her father,
Sat waiting to be called.
Since it was a heart related problem
Mom was moved, upon the doctor’s order,
To a semi private hospital room.
The other bed was empty.
Old and in deteriorating health,
Mom looked resigned and quiet.
Too quiet I thought.
Perhaps she was turning in.
I spoke to her of family,
(Her contemporaries were gone.)
No friends remained, just children and grandchildren.
Leading lives that did not include her.
Sitting on her bed, holding her hand,
Seeing the too bright expression,
Knowing at that moment, she was not with me,
I sought desperately, for contact.
I knew I would go back to my life,
Our hands would separate, I would leave,
Returning tomorrow to confirm
It was she, not me, that needed to stay.
How long before she becomes a reference point,
Not quite human, in a state of storage,
Allowing keepers to record
Her descent into herself?
I am not brave,
If I were, the tragedy
Would not be allowed to become farce.
We know the final scene.
Mom, supported by me,
Passed through the rain
Into the Emergency waiting room,
This Sunday the room was quiet.
Only two older couples, and a small girl
Accompanied by her father,
Sat waiting to be called.
Since it was a heart related problem
Mom was moved, upon the doctor’s order,
To a semi private hospital room.
The other bed was empty.
Old and in deteriorating health,
Mom looked resigned and quiet.
Too quiet I thought.
Perhaps she was turning in.
I spoke to her of family,
(Her contemporaries were gone.)
No friends remained, just children and grandchildren.
Leading lives that did not include her.
Sitting on her bed, holding her hand,
Seeing the too bright expression,
Knowing at that moment, she was not with me,
I sought desperately, for contact.
I knew I would go back to my life,
Our hands would separate, I would leave,
Returning tomorrow to confirm
It was she, not me, that needed to stay.
How long before she becomes a reference point,
Not quite human, in a state of storage,
Allowing keepers to record
Her descent into herself?
I am not brave,
If I were, the tragedy
Would not be allowed to become farce.
We know the final scene.
Done Good
Done Good 1/9/07
He took the “dare”.
Four hours to make the snatch.
All six of us with different territories,
We meets back here in four hours.
Da yo-yo what go the best haul wins,
And gets to keep every bodies loot.
I figger to trip the beach
See, I got this great scam.
I looks for a 40 plus broad.
Hanging near the warder,
First I sits near her,
Pulls a fiver and sneaks it inta the sand.
I waits a capala minutes, see
Den I , like, pretend I found the fiver
And ax her if see, like, lose it.
9 er 10 she goes “no”.
Now I sez, “must be yours I got no fiver”.
See, like, insisting its hers.
Now she kinna says , “OK’
Takes the fiver & puts it iner bag.
See, now I know the target.
I waits like a minute, she cool.
Now, like , I makes my move.
Grab the bitches bag and gone.
Woiks like, every time.
Today, it was, like, extra bases
Bags gotta watch and 85.
A course 5 of dat is mine,
Still you gotta say “I done good”.
Fuggedaboutit!
He took the “dare”.
Four hours to make the snatch.
All six of us with different territories,
We meets back here in four hours.
Da yo-yo what go the best haul wins,
And gets to keep every bodies loot.
I figger to trip the beach
See, I got this great scam.
I looks for a 40 plus broad.
Hanging near the warder,
First I sits near her,
Pulls a fiver and sneaks it inta the sand.
I waits a capala minutes, see
Den I , like, pretend I found the fiver
And ax her if see, like, lose it.
9 er 10 she goes “no”.
Now I sez, “must be yours I got no fiver”.
See, like, insisting its hers.
Now she kinna says , “OK’
Takes the fiver & puts it iner bag.
See, now I know the target.
I waits like a minute, she cool.
Now, like , I makes my move.
Grab the bitches bag and gone.
Woiks like, every time.
Today, it was, like, extra bases
Bags gotta watch and 85.
A course 5 of dat is mine,
Still you gotta say “I done good”.
Fuggedaboutit!
Don's Bad Day
Don lay in an open coffin, nicely dressed.
I fully expected him to wink.
Instead he remained unmoving
Going nowhere.
Reverend Strauss offered the eulogy,
Reading from comments given by family.
Ten minutes later
He read notes furnished by Don’s lover.
Moving between two note sheets,
Reverend Strauss read of two men,
Introducing Don to people who already knew him,
A stranger reaching, unsuccessfully, for a dead man.
Many were here to do the “right thing”,
Knowing Don only as an acquaintance.
They heard that, as a young man, he liked bowling.
I thought,"nice very nice."
At service end I should have felt outrage
Over the banality unwillingly witnessed.
I hoped Don got the joke.
I fully expected him to wink.
Instead he remained unmoving
Going nowhere.
Reverend Strauss offered the eulogy,
Reading from comments given by family.
Ten minutes later
He read notes furnished by Don’s lover.
Moving between two note sheets,
Reverend Strauss read of two men,
Introducing Don to people who already knew him,
A stranger reaching, unsuccessfully, for a dead man.
Many were here to do the “right thing”,
Knowing Don only as an acquaintance.
They heard that, as a young man, he liked bowling.
I thought,"nice very nice."
At service end I should have felt outrage
Over the banality unwillingly witnessed.
I hoped Don got the joke.
The Day Before Tomorrow
Being here “now” a strong admonition
That joins with “smelling the roses “
States that there is only the present.
Tomorrow and yesterday are but illusions.
Not for humans, this gigantic task.
Perhaps some alien creature that does not dream
May live here, unmoved by imagined yesterdays,
Or the moment yet to come.
It seems the dog, fish and you
Share this condition.
All, all creatures of this earth
Smell yesterday’s imagined scent.
Somewhere there may be a Yogi,
Dwelling in a transcendent state,
Lasting minutes or hours
Neither here nor there, He IS.
What of his escape from time?
Does the clearing of all thoughts
Allow for today?
If not, who smells the roses?
That joins with “smelling the roses “
States that there is only the present.
Tomorrow and yesterday are but illusions.
Not for humans, this gigantic task.
Perhaps some alien creature that does not dream
May live here, unmoved by imagined yesterdays,
Or the moment yet to come.
It seems the dog, fish and you
Share this condition.
All, all creatures of this earth
Smell yesterday’s imagined scent.
Somewhere there may be a Yogi,
Dwelling in a transcendent state,
Lasting minutes or hours
Neither here nor there, He IS.
What of his escape from time?
Does the clearing of all thoughts
Allow for today?
If not, who smells the roses?
Your Turn
For her turning left from the driveway was routine,
Then keeping the car completely in the right lane
Except for a tiny bit of the left front bumper.
Done regularly without incident or thought.
Coffee cup in its holder
Wondering about her pending retirement ---
Until the truck hit,
Dragging car and passenger 40 feet.
An instant of quiet
When all could be a dream.
Sounds, like rushing feet,
And smoke wistfully entering space,
Demand she return.
She would be late reaching home.
Screeching brakes, car doors slamming.
Rosemary wonders if she is hurt.
Her neck feels out of place.
What to do?
Cautious, she must be very careful
Not to do further damage.
" Here's the truck driver,
Slowly, opening my door” she thinks.
Replying to his question,
Words and ideas
Come to the surface.
Her mind is working.
Pain, had waited patiently,
But now assails her neck and foot.
“Oh god, my neck, my neck”,
She screams.
Scared, very scared,
She holds her body rigid,
Thinking she might be dying.
Her eyes fill with tears.
A doctor stands beside her bed.
“It doesn’t look too bad” he says.
“Should have you home, in a neck brace,
By Saturday”.
Drifting in and out of wakefulness.
Hearing from a great distance,
She’ll be staying home for a while.
I’ve made that same turn
Keep most of my car inside the right lane.
I’ll do something like that tomorrow ---and tomorrow.
It will be years before it’s my turn --- right?
Then keeping the car completely in the right lane
Except for a tiny bit of the left front bumper.
Done regularly without incident or thought.
Coffee cup in its holder
Wondering about her pending retirement ---
Until the truck hit,
Dragging car and passenger 40 feet.
An instant of quiet
When all could be a dream.
Sounds, like rushing feet,
And smoke wistfully entering space,
Demand she return.
She would be late reaching home.
Screeching brakes, car doors slamming.
Rosemary wonders if she is hurt.
Her neck feels out of place.
What to do?
Cautious, she must be very careful
Not to do further damage.
" Here's the truck driver,
Slowly, opening my door” she thinks.
Replying to his question,
Words and ideas
Come to the surface.
Her mind is working.
Pain, had waited patiently,
But now assails her neck and foot.
“Oh god, my neck, my neck”,
She screams.
Scared, very scared,
She holds her body rigid,
Thinking she might be dying.
Her eyes fill with tears.
A doctor stands beside her bed.
“It doesn’t look too bad” he says.
“Should have you home, in a neck brace,
By Saturday”.
Drifting in and out of wakefulness.
Hearing from a great distance,
She’ll be staying home for a while.
I’ve made that same turn
Keep most of my car inside the right lane.
I’ll do something like that tomorrow ---and tomorrow.
It will be years before it’s my turn --- right?
Fair
Casting aside seven alternative usages
I want what’s “Fair”.
Scales reflecting an ordered universe.
I must find a place to stand.
Just one guy
With his subjective view of pictures,
Some clear, some not.
Are my concerns worthy of discussion?
If one man's “Fair" is defective
By virtue of being singular.
Who decides the winning number?
The one with the biggest gun?
I think of “Fair” as gray,
Changing Mondays and Fridays,
Allowing for a change in the tides
And the earth’s rotation.
Keeping to my paradigm,
“Fair" runs it’s course by 50,
Sooner for most people,
After which life is less "Fair".
“Mean” the man says,
“You are not being fair”.
I repeat my argument,
He repeats his.
My bill is too much,
My neighbor leaves out his garbage,
A bomb maimed my little son,
They are all “Fair”.
Beyond "Fair” is living another 15 minutes,
Always at an unfair price.
I can’t live in someone else’s moccasins.
But I know “Fair” when I see it.
I want what’s “Fair”.
Scales reflecting an ordered universe.
I must find a place to stand.
Just one guy
With his subjective view of pictures,
Some clear, some not.
Are my concerns worthy of discussion?
If one man's “Fair" is defective
By virtue of being singular.
Who decides the winning number?
The one with the biggest gun?
I think of “Fair” as gray,
Changing Mondays and Fridays,
Allowing for a change in the tides
And the earth’s rotation.
Keeping to my paradigm,
“Fair" runs it’s course by 50,
Sooner for most people,
After which life is less "Fair".
“Mean” the man says,
“You are not being fair”.
I repeat my argument,
He repeats his.
My bill is too much,
My neighbor leaves out his garbage,
A bomb maimed my little son,
They are all “Fair”.
Beyond "Fair” is living another 15 minutes,
Always at an unfair price.
I can’t live in someone else’s moccasins.
But I know “Fair” when I see it.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Fall Believers
Successful men and women.
They are in their September years,
Confident and proud,
Clear eyed, with something to share.
Carrying little luggage,
Engaged in a most singular act,
(Granted many here seek peers),
They continue to lift Sisyphean loads.
Some come to praise and learn,
Others demand money.
Please listen to the man
He is your last best hope.
Is there empathy or sympathy to be found?
How much will honesty be compromised?
Can the seeker bear your assessment?
What words will help and not cause damage?
Counselors are short-lived creatures
Assisting a few.
When the door closes
Clients are beyond reach.
They are in their September years,
Confident and proud,
Clear eyed, with something to share.
Carrying little luggage,
Engaged in a most singular act,
(Granted many here seek peers),
They continue to lift Sisyphean loads.
Some come to praise and learn,
Others demand money.
Please listen to the man
He is your last best hope.
Is there empathy or sympathy to be found?
How much will honesty be compromised?
Can the seeker bear your assessment?
What words will help and not cause damage?
Counselors are short-lived creatures
Assisting a few.
When the door closes
Clients are beyond reach.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
A Word From Our Sponsors
My epiphany,
A moment of pure transcendence.
Glowed brilliantly
Through the “fog of war”.
Clearly the causes of war,
While complex are limited.
“You have something I want”,
Might sum them up.
All humans want chocolate mousse,
(We can safely conclude that exceptions
Are almost certainly extraterrestrials).
Now we have a motive for war.
Control of the chocolate mousse market,
Especially the secret ingredients
That make a vastly superior product,
Are coveted enough to bring Armageddon.
But, brothers and sisters, we need no weapons,
This battle will be waged at the UN where
A new comestibles department hold sway,
Eat Mousse Or Die, EMOD, shall set the rules.
All countries not wishing to be devoured,
Including little guys like Liechtenstein,
Andorra, and Disneyland,
Will be required to submit entries.
Six mousses per country.
A select subcommittee from EMOD
Will throw 2 pies and eat 4.
Handicaps will be given to the little guys.
To expedite the process
The select subcommittee will have 2,615,758 members.
Some will be eaters and some will be throwers.
Ten finalists will be chosen.
Based on the god-like qualities found by the eaters
And the distance and accuracy achieved by the throwers.
Members of EMOD, will, to assure honest counts,
Hold secret meetings.
Proposals for a super secure computer system,
That will correlate the results of the 2, 615, 758 members.
Will be determined on a completely objective system.
Said system when completed will be kept a secret.
UN troops, carrying fixed bayonets on very old rifles,
Will guard the central computer room by
Facing the computers for 24 hours at a time,
Ensuring that no information crawls out of the machines.
The soldiers will assure, at bayonet point, that no large person,
In foolish, if heroic, bursts of nationalism,
Throws themselves, onto a computer
In attempts to add weight to their country’s entry.
Ten finalists will throw his or her nation’s pie
At one of the adversaries.
The finalist with the least accurate toss
Will be eliminated.
After 9 rounds we will have a winner.
Should there be a serious challenge,
As determined by EMOD,
The challenger will be asked to leave.
At this point all countries will
No longer remember why or how this process began.
Not withstanding, the winner
Will require his nations pies to have total dominance.
All but the winning country
Will now plot revenge.
It is this writer’s expectation
That revenge will take the form of black market pies
A moment of pure transcendence.
Glowed brilliantly
Through the “fog of war”.
Clearly the causes of war,
While complex are limited.
“You have something I want”,
Might sum them up.
All humans want chocolate mousse,
(We can safely conclude that exceptions
Are almost certainly extraterrestrials).
Now we have a motive for war.
Control of the chocolate mousse market,
Especially the secret ingredients
That make a vastly superior product,
Are coveted enough to bring Armageddon.
But, brothers and sisters, we need no weapons,
This battle will be waged at the UN where
A new comestibles department hold sway,
Eat Mousse Or Die, EMOD, shall set the rules.
All countries not wishing to be devoured,
Including little guys like Liechtenstein,
Andorra, and Disneyland,
Will be required to submit entries.
Six mousses per country.
A select subcommittee from EMOD
Will throw 2 pies and eat 4.
Handicaps will be given to the little guys.
To expedite the process
The select subcommittee will have 2,615,758 members.
Some will be eaters and some will be throwers.
Ten finalists will be chosen.
Based on the god-like qualities found by the eaters
And the distance and accuracy achieved by the throwers.
Members of EMOD, will, to assure honest counts,
Hold secret meetings.
Proposals for a super secure computer system,
That will correlate the results of the 2, 615, 758 members.
Will be determined on a completely objective system.
Said system when completed will be kept a secret.
UN troops, carrying fixed bayonets on very old rifles,
Will guard the central computer room by
Facing the computers for 24 hours at a time,
Ensuring that no information crawls out of the machines.
The soldiers will assure, at bayonet point, that no large person,
In foolish, if heroic, bursts of nationalism,
Throws themselves, onto a computer
In attempts to add weight to their country’s entry.
Ten finalists will throw his or her nation’s pie
At one of the adversaries.
The finalist with the least accurate toss
Will be eliminated.
After 9 rounds we will have a winner.
Should there be a serious challenge,
As determined by EMOD,
The challenger will be asked to leave.
At this point all countries will
No longer remember why or how this process began.
Not withstanding, the winner
Will require his nations pies to have total dominance.
All but the winning country
Will now plot revenge.
It is this writer’s expectation
That revenge will take the form of black market pies
The Chocolate War
My epiphany,
A moment of pure transcendence.
Glowed brilliantly
Through the “fog of war”.
Clearly the causes of war,
While complex are limited.
“You have something I want”,
Might sum them up.
All humans want chocolate mousse,
(We can safely conclude that exceptions
Are almost certainly extraterrestrials).
Now we have a motive for war.
Control of the chocolate mousse market,
Especially the secret ingredients
That make a vastly superior product,
Are coveted enough to bring Armageddon.
But, brothers and sisters, we need no weapons,
This battle will be waged at the UN where
A new comestibles department hold sway,
Eat Mousse Or Die, EMOD, shall set the rules.
All countries not wishing to be devoured,
Including little guys like Liechtenstein,
Andorra, and Disneyland,
Will be required to submit entries.
Six mousses per country.
A select subcommittee from EMOD
Will throw 2 pies and eat 4.
Handicaps will be given to the little guys.
To expedite the process
The select subcommittee will have 2,615,758 members.
Some will be eaters and some will be throwers.
Ten finalists will be chosen.
Based on the god-like qualities found by the eaters
And the distance and accuracy achieved by the throwers.
Members of EMOD, will, to assure honest counts,
Hold secret meetings.
Proposals for a super secure computer system,
That will correlate the results of the 2, 615, 758 members.
Will be determined on a completely objective system.
Said system when completed will be kept a secret.
UN troops, carrying fixed bayonets on very old rifles,
Will guard the central computer room by
Facing the computers for 24 hours at a time,
Ensuring that no information crawls out of the machines.
The soldiers will assure, at bayonet point, that no large person,
In foolish, if heroic, bursts of nationalism,
Throws themselves, onto a computer
In attempts to add weight to their country’s entry.
Ten finalists will throw his or her nation’s pie
At one of the adversaries.
The finalist with the least accurate toss
Will be eliminated.
After 9 rounds we will have a winner.
Should there be a serious challenge,
As determined by EMOD,
The challenger will be asked to leave.
At this point all countries will
No longer remember why or how this process began.
Not withstanding, the winner
Will require his nations pies to have total dominance.
All but the winning country
Will now plot revenge.
It is this writer’s expectation
That revenge will take the form of black market pies
A moment of pure transcendence.
Glowed brilliantly
Through the “fog of war”.
Clearly the causes of war,
While complex are limited.
“You have something I want”,
Might sum them up.
All humans want chocolate mousse,
(We can safely conclude that exceptions
Are almost certainly extraterrestrials).
Now we have a motive for war.
Control of the chocolate mousse market,
Especially the secret ingredients
That make a vastly superior product,
Are coveted enough to bring Armageddon.
But, brothers and sisters, we need no weapons,
This battle will be waged at the UN where
A new comestibles department hold sway,
Eat Mousse Or Die, EMOD, shall set the rules.
All countries not wishing to be devoured,
Including little guys like Liechtenstein,
Andorra, and Disneyland,
Will be required to submit entries.
Six mousses per country.
A select subcommittee from EMOD
Will throw 2 pies and eat 4.
Handicaps will be given to the little guys.
To expedite the process
The select subcommittee will have 2,615,758 members.
Some will be eaters and some will be throwers.
Ten finalists will be chosen.
Based on the god-like qualities found by the eaters
And the distance and accuracy achieved by the throwers.
Members of EMOD, will, to assure honest counts,
Hold secret meetings.
Proposals for a super secure computer system,
That will correlate the results of the 2, 615, 758 members.
Will be determined on a completely objective system.
Said system when completed will be kept a secret.
UN troops, carrying fixed bayonets on very old rifles,
Will guard the central computer room by
Facing the computers for 24 hours at a time,
Ensuring that no information crawls out of the machines.
The soldiers will assure, at bayonet point, that no large person,
In foolish, if heroic, bursts of nationalism,
Throws themselves, onto a computer
In attempts to add weight to their country’s entry.
Ten finalists will throw his or her nation’s pie
At one of the adversaries.
The finalist with the least accurate toss
Will be eliminated.
After 9 rounds we will have a winner.
Should there be a serious challenge,
As determined by EMOD,
The challenger will be asked to leave.
At this point all countries will
No longer remember why or how this process began.
Not withstanding, the winner
Will require his nations pies to have total dominance.
All but the winning country
Will now plot revenge.
It is this writer’s expectation
That revenge will take the form of black market pies
Once More with Feeling
What a blockhead.
Nor could it be ascribed to age,
Having performed similar feats years earlier.
My mind, it seems, fails to see the obvious.
I wonder if Doctor Watson had a first name.
I seem to be playing that role.
Without the aid of a Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, it might have been worth the $18 bucks.
As I exit the parking garage
There is a knock on the passenger window.
A lady wants to talk.
She has a problem.
It concerns a car starter.
Triple A came and pronounced it “unstartable”.
Now lady and elderly mother are stuck.
No money, wallet left at home.
As I leave my car to offer help.
She calls to someone out of my sight range,
“The good gentleman will help”.
It seems she needs $15
That will get her to a train and home.
Continuing my Watsonian role,
I hand her the $15,
How could I leave them stranded?
Adding a beautiful touch, her need increases.
The bus to the train costs $1.50 each.
(That’s a 20% tip for a superior performance)
She is most grateful, and offers her name.
She notes my name and address.
She will send the money.
Finally, having done the good deed,
I restart my car and head home.
I never saw her mother, the poor thing,
Never saw any personal identification, or her car.
Was she really at a supermarket without any money?
Was there really a bull’s-eye on my forehead?
Do not take pity on me,
Although laughter, at my expense, seems appropriate.
But I reflect upon the acting,
Those wonderful touches.
She’d been the lead performer
In a one act play.
Having written the play she set the stage.
Perhaps the script needed a little work.
What of my part?
Did I not play it flawlessly?
Maybe this was an interview
For a retake of a Holmes and Watson adventure?
Think, seeing a great performance,
Playing second lead in a drama filled with pathos,
Paying a mere $18 for such an experience.
Surely, if I don’t have brain surgery, I’d do it again.
Nor could it be ascribed to age,
Having performed similar feats years earlier.
My mind, it seems, fails to see the obvious.
I wonder if Doctor Watson had a first name.
I seem to be playing that role.
Without the aid of a Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, it might have been worth the $18 bucks.
As I exit the parking garage
There is a knock on the passenger window.
A lady wants to talk.
She has a problem.
It concerns a car starter.
Triple A came and pronounced it “unstartable”.
Now lady and elderly mother are stuck.
No money, wallet left at home.
As I leave my car to offer help.
She calls to someone out of my sight range,
“The good gentleman will help”.
It seems she needs $15
That will get her to a train and home.
Continuing my Watsonian role,
I hand her the $15,
How could I leave them stranded?
Adding a beautiful touch, her need increases.
The bus to the train costs $1.50 each.
(That’s a 20% tip for a superior performance)
She is most grateful, and offers her name.
She notes my name and address.
She will send the money.
Finally, having done the good deed,
I restart my car and head home.
I never saw her mother, the poor thing,
Never saw any personal identification, or her car.
Was she really at a supermarket without any money?
Was there really a bull’s-eye on my forehead?
Do not take pity on me,
Although laughter, at my expense, seems appropriate.
But I reflect upon the acting,
Those wonderful touches.
She’d been the lead performer
In a one act play.
Having written the play she set the stage.
Perhaps the script needed a little work.
What of my part?
Did I not play it flawlessly?
Maybe this was an interview
For a retake of a Holmes and Watson adventure?
Think, seeing a great performance,
Playing second lead in a drama filled with pathos,
Paying a mere $18 for such an experience.
Surely, if I don’t have brain surgery, I’d do it again.
Saving the Krill
Whales are magnificent creatures,
Move effortlessly through seas,
Enrich our lives with their size
And their acceptance of man.
On a March Sunday in Maui
Your are guaranteed a sighting
Often with baby in tow.
Surely we must save the whale?
But, alas, there is a problem.
A blue whale has a large appetite
Eats more than pounds a day,
Approximately 10,000 krill at a sitting.
I do not support Dunsberry.
The suggestion of “nuking the whales” is extreme.
However, the planned parent approach
Has been brought to our attention.
Who are we?
We are the “Save the Krill” society.
A small dedicated group
That recognizes the Krills “right to life”
Are Krills intelligent? Who knows?
What is their role in the grand scheme?
Why have few recognized
Their tragedy each time a whale is saved.
To right this egregious wrong
Several of us “right thinking”
Defenders of little guy
Have banded together.
If we can avoid the birth
Of just one baby blue whale
We will save approximately 3,650,000 Krills
In a single year.
To this end we have been working, tirelessly,
On creating a whale contraceptive.
This project is not without some large problems.
But we believe the product is within our reach.
So far getting cooperative whales,
Who will wear the contraceptive,
Or volunteers to assist the whale
Have not been forthcoming.
Currently we are researching whale sterilization.
This could be easily accomplished
With the help of about 50 people
Willing to position a whale correctly.
We of the Save the Krill Society
Remain hopeful that you,
And the caring people you know,
Will join our cause.
Submitted
Jerry Greenspan
President, Save the Krill Society
PS; For a nominal fee badges and banners are available.
Move effortlessly through seas,
Enrich our lives with their size
And their acceptance of man.
On a March Sunday in Maui
Your are guaranteed a sighting
Often with baby in tow.
Surely we must save the whale?
But, alas, there is a problem.
A blue whale has a large appetite
Eats more than pounds a day,
Approximately 10,000 krill at a sitting.
I do not support Dunsberry.
The suggestion of “nuking the whales” is extreme.
However, the planned parent approach
Has been brought to our attention.
Who are we?
We are the “Save the Krill” society.
A small dedicated group
That recognizes the Krills “right to life”
Are Krills intelligent? Who knows?
What is their role in the grand scheme?
Why have few recognized
Their tragedy each time a whale is saved.
To right this egregious wrong
Several of us “right thinking”
Defenders of little guy
Have banded together.
If we can avoid the birth
Of just one baby blue whale
We will save approximately 3,650,000 Krills
In a single year.
To this end we have been working, tirelessly,
On creating a whale contraceptive.
This project is not without some large problems.
But we believe the product is within our reach.
So far getting cooperative whales,
Who will wear the contraceptive,
Or volunteers to assist the whale
Have not been forthcoming.
Currently we are researching whale sterilization.
This could be easily accomplished
With the help of about 50 people
Willing to position a whale correctly.
We of the Save the Krill Society
Remain hopeful that you,
And the caring people you know,
Will join our cause.
Submitted
Jerry Greenspan
President, Save the Krill Society
PS; For a nominal fee badges and banners are available.
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