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Till the Cows Come Home

22 Wednesday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, nature, poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, truth, USA

“Till the cows come home,” 

My grandfather used to say. 

And there were “chickens coming home to roost.”

And there were “creeks (that might or might not) rise.”

We were told to “let sleeping dogs lie.” 

Four of my four grandparents lived on farms at some point in their lives. 

Have you ever lived on a farm? 

Have you ever worked on one?

Have you ever visited one? 

Some years ago, I happened to catch a small segment of 

“Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” 

And the question was: “Which plant has been genetically modified to glow in the dark when it needs water?” 

The answer was “Potato” but what was far more interesting than that was this: 

No-one understood how it would be useful because potatoes grow under the ground. 

The audience was mystified. Regis Philbin was mystified. The contestant was mystified. 

To these folks, the potato magically appears in the ground 

(And for that matter, magically goes from there to the grocery produce aisle.)

Without need of stem, root, leaf, or flower. 

Without need of gardener, rain, or fertilizer either. 

The only part that matters is the part we see.

Insofar as we’re concerned, there’s no real “to be”

Except the part we see on TV

Which becomes the real reality.

Of course, none of my grandparents would have made that mistake.

They saw throughout all their days 

The way life plays

Round in cycles 

Round in circles 

Seasons come and go

And every part of a plant 

Is the plant is a plant is the plant.

If we become too involved in TV land 

And far too little in the land of land,

Forget the cycles of the earth; 

Forget that death is guaranteed at birth;

Forget that plastic lives forever 

Because it has no circle

Has no cycle 

Has no soul

It’s only goal

To make someone lots of cash

Regardless of the gaping gash

Our destruction of the earth is to our own soul.

 

We won’t be happy 

Once we win the race to No-where-ville

We won’t be happy

If we believe TV is all of There-is-ville.

Not even if we do it

Till the cows come home.

Not even if we sue it

Till the cows come home.

Not even if we rue it

Till the cows come home

And all the chickens, 

Come home to roost. 

—————————-

Dance of Billions

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunset

The Walkabout Diaries: How Beautiful and Green

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

Corn on the Cob

Hai-Ku-Dog-Ku

21 Tuesday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in pets, poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

poem, poetry

My Philosophy:

If you see it, chew it! Eat!

The world’s my pantry!

Warm day sun? I pee

So instantaneously!

Cold rain? Lazily!

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

I run I jump I

Turn and twist and catch the ball

You’d have let it fall!

Photo by Christina K on Pexels.com

Food! Stick! Water! Ball!

The world is my ground to play. 

Look! Another day!

Remember: take time

To stop and eat the roses!

ARF! It rhymes with BARF!

Sticks and stones may break

My bones! So I eat them all

Instead. Problem solved! 

———————

Hai Cat Ku

A Cat’s a Cat

Sadie is a Thief

Sadie the Sniffer

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

Skirting the Turtle

Doggie Doggerel

A Suddenly Springing Something

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Sadie Sonnet

Essays on America: I Made Myself Breakfast

20 Monday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, psychology

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

breakfast, collaboration, cooperation, life, peace, teamwork, truth, USA

Photo by Julian Jagtenberg on Pexels.com

I made myself breakfast.

Have you ever said to yourself, “I made myself breakfast.” 

This morning, I made myself breakfast, and the picture below is what was left. A few shreds of sauerkraut and one moldy blueberry. 

The complete breakfast included an English Muffin, Peanut Butter, blueberries, kale, sauerkraut, two garlic-stuffed olives, and a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. 

I made myself breakfast. 

But did I? 

In this picture you see a plate, a fork, and a napkin. Not only did some person initially come up with idea, but hundreds of people vastly improved the making of pottery and silverware and napkins. These particular items probably travelled many miles and were touched by many people’s work before they ended up in my possession. I can afford them because we live in a peaceful, mainly cooperative society. I certainly couldn’t make them on my own. And if they were made the way that they were a thousand years ago, only royalty could afford them. 

The wooden tray? That too shows obvious signs of change over the years from the time one of our ancestors decided to eat off a half-log. You might see some lettering. The tray says, “LET IT SNOW!” None of the other things mentioned above would have been possible without the invention and improvement to language. 

So far, my “self-made breakfast” involves thousands of ancestors who made any of this possible.

My “self-made breakfast” also involves thousands of contemporaries from around the world who cooperated to bring these particular items to the San Diego area. 

Photo by Cup of Couple on Pexels.com

We haven’t even gotten to the food. 

Let’s take the English Muffin, just as an example. Some of our ancestors might well have procreated and then “tried out” something as a possible food but guessed wrong and died. They figured out which grains could be eaten, how to grow them, how to harvest them more effectively than to shell one seed at a time; how to make flour; how to bake bread. In my case, there’s another whole line of inquiry related to the discovery of electricity and its taming and distribution so that I can toast my English muffins. There are similar hundreds of our fellow human beings (and their supportive communities) who were involved in today’s peanut butter, today’s sauerkraut, garlic stuffed olives and so on. 

Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com

Once again, there are not only countless people from all over the world who were involved in the development of these food items. There are thousands of people from all over the world who helped get these particular items to our kitchen. 

It’s also true that if I’d been brought up by wolves, I wouldn’t know how to access or use any of these items. Not only that, my life has been saved numerous times by modern medicine. But “modern medicine” didn’t just drop out of the sky one day. None of these modern luxuries popped up like a mushroom. People worked hard and thought hard in order to all me to have a nice breakfast. However, it would be more accurate to say: 

Humanity made breakfast for me.

Photo by Gabriel Santos Fotografia on Pexels.com

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Roar Ocean Roar

The Only Them that Counts is All of Us

Dance of Billions

Corn on the Cob

Sunday Sonnet: Promise Me Prom

19 Sunday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in design rationale, fiction, poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Design, fiction, life, poem, poetry, sonnet, story, writing

Here’s the context of the sonnet below. It is written by a sixteen year old fictional character who is nerdy, smart, and a bit on the Asperger’s spectrum. He’s also not a very experienced poet. But what I try to show is that he improves a little as he goes, falling back to teenhood toward the end of the poem. Why doesn’t he just keep improving? Because when he gets close to the true nature of love in lines 7-11, he realizes if he keeps going with this, he will be changed forever. He’s giving up partial control of his life to someone else. And it scares him so he backs off from that and just tries to show off how he can write a sonnet and be cool and funny. 

Ultimately, I may or may not include the poem in the novel. If I do, I’d be inclined to add the inner dialogue of the Main Character as he’s creating the poem. I can see it getting too tedious for the reader. By the way, Edgar Allan Poe wrote a lengthy and detailed design rationale for “The Raven.” Notwithstanding that fact, there are many other folks who have a different interpretation. That’s fine. But it does remind me that if I do write a design rationale, it’s not as though everyone will say, “Oh, well that’s that then. The author has gone and told us what he meant and why he did what he did. What more to be said?” 

And, of course, people do go on and there is more to be said because we know intuitively that none of us knows our complete design rationale. Others see patterns in our behavior that offer quite different hypotheses about why we do what we do. It doesn’t mean that they are right and we are wrong, but it does offer an opportunity to learn—about them as well as ourselves.

Promise me Prom

I really love the way you always smell

Like soap and flowers, pie, fresh bread.

Your sweat itself smells swell and sweet.

Which proves I think you’re competently bred. 

Your hand is warm—I want to gently hold

In mine and you will feel my love is true.

We each will be both molded and be mold.

Your grip is gentle breeze upon the blue. 

Your grip is strong and long and steady steel.

Your eyes are portals to the worlds-to-be

I want to know it: what you know and feel.

I want to be yours for eternity.

Let’s you and I become both ROM and COM

I’d love to have you date me for the PROM!

————-


Sonnet on Sadie

Sonnet on Shadows

Sonnet about Sadie

Alito and the Egg

Sonnet about the Extreme Court

Sonnet about V. Putrid

After All

Dance of Billions

The Character’s Studio: Bobby Thompson

16 Thursday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in fantasy, fiction

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

fiction, life, story, Turing's Nightmares

Note to reader: Bobby Thompson may or may not appear as a fictional character in a novel which might or might not be titled, “Alan’s Nightmare.” His role in said novel is as the head of PR for Coastal University.

“Gene Poole here and this is “The Character’s Studio” where every week we interview a character about their life, their hopes and dreams, and their current gig. After the interview, those of you in the studio audience—aspiring characters from as yet unwritten works of art—will have a chance to ask questions as well. Our guest today is Bobby Thompson, who right now is playing a part in John Charles Thomas’s novel, tentatively titled, Alan’s Nightmare. Bobby, thank you for joining us today. My first question, as always, is simply why you decided to get into the business of being a character in a novel?” 

Bobby scanned through his repertoire of canned responses; found nothing appropriate and, for the first time, in months, made up something on the spur of the moment. “Well, Gene, in high school, English was my best subject. I hated science, math, and history. French and German involved memorizing a lot of crazy stuff. In college, I did okay in my business and psychology courses but didn’t have the grades to go for an MBA. My Dad knew a guy from his fraternity and got me a great summer internship with Lawrence, Rich, Green. By coincidence, my Dad was a big client of theirs. So, I made the most of every opportunity and I guess you could say I’m that typical self-made man you hear so much about in America. One of our clients was the brand new—at that point—California State Coastal University and they took me on for their PR point person.” 

Photo by Nork Photography on Pexels.com

Gene said, “OK, but surely you mean that the author put you there. Not the University. That was the setting, not the cause.”

Bobby frowned. “Well,” he said, “I suppose you might look at it that way.” Then, he added, “From your perspective it might seem as though the author creates the world. But I think we in the fictional world create–or at least alter–the author.”

Gene nodded and continued with, “So, leaving metaphysics aside, you worked as an actual PR person for a college. What do you do there?”

“I mostly manage. I don’t really know a whole lot about PR. But we do have a pretty good undergraduate major in PR so I mainly delegate to our work-study interns. It’s my way of giving back to the community. Because I was an intern myself not so long ago. I’m younger than I look. It puts me in contact with younger people too. Younger women. And men. As they always say, ‘hard bodies and soft minds.’ I like it. Anyway, we keep the website up to date. We put out brochures. We also have a small budget for product placement of the University as a whole. And, of course, we put out fires. In some ways, that’s the most important part of the job. Now, you take this whole ado over AI. Some folks are extremely upset about AI and we have AI research right here at Coastal. So, my interns have prepared a set of talking points about AI. I try to keep the professors on script, but you know—they’re academics so they don’t pay much attention to staying on script. They like to ad lib. First rule of PR is don’t ad lib! Worse, they try to answer questions! Can you imagine? Second rule of PR is never ever ever answer their question. Answer the question you wished they asked you.”

Gene’s brow furrowed. “Can you give an example?” 

Bobby smiled and he became more animated. “Sure! That’s what I do best! So, say some reporter asks, ‘Aren’t you worried about AI taking jobs away from humans?’ If you answer ‘yes’, you’re screwed. If you answer ‘no’, you’re also screwed. If you say, ‘I won’t answer your question, you’re doubly screwed. Instead, you expound on one of your talking points. ‘Mr. Reporter, have you ever worked on an assembly line, lifting up heavy metal, turning your head and torso into an ungainly position so you can check something, turning a screw with your arm in this awkward position? Can you imagine doing that three times a minute? Day after day? Week after week? Month after month? No? Well, imagine it. Your body gets broken. Your mind gets numb. You come home from work and you scream at the kids and the wife and before long you’re drinking too much. Obviously, that will fix everything. In fact, did you know that life expectancy in this country is actually falling? Mostly from obesity, drugs, and suicides. And why? Mindless jobs more suited for robots and AI systems’.”

Bobby’s body became animated, his gestures growing larger and faster. “See what I mean? AI is no longer a problem leading to unemployment. No. AI is a solution. That’s what happens when people stick to the script I prepare for them.” 

“Interesting. What do you really think about AI personally, Bobby?”

“Me? I don’t have any opinion about it. I just want to make sure the University’s name is not besmirched by it. Or by anything else.”

Gene nodded. “I see. Well, do you have any advice for the folks out there considering becoming a character in a novel?” 

Bobby frowned and rolled his eyes for a time before answering. “I guess the main thing is never lose sight of who you really are. Work hard. Don’t commit to a position before you find out which way your boss is leaning, obviously. That’s about it.” 

Gene asked, “Do you think you’ll stay in the novel where you currently reside or will you look for other opportunities?” 

“Oh, I’m definitely open to other opportunities. Maybe working for Big Pharma or Big Oil. That’s where the real money is.” 

Gene continued, “Do you know anything about those industries?” 

Bobby answered quickly, “Oh, my no. Nor AI for that matter. I’ve found that subject matter expertise just totally gets in the way. Get your 5-10 talking points figured out and never stray from those and you’ll do great in PR.” 

Gene asked, “One final question: what is your favorite string of 25 or more curse words?” 

Photo by Dave Colman on Pexels.com

————————————

Turing’s Nightmares comprises 23 short stories about AI and can be found on Amazon in paperback or e-book. http://tinyurl.com/hz6dg2d

Author Page on Amazon

A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Cooperation

Interview with a Giant Slug

Job Interview

Interview with the author 

For Valentines Who Feel Alone

14 Tuesday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in nature, pets, poetry, psychology

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

life, poem, poetry, truth

For Valentines Who Feel Alone

I’m digging in the science zone

A place unlikely you might think

To find a touch that’s soft and kind

To substitute for kiss or wink;

But here’s what floats into my mind:

If once you loved and now love’s done, 

I tell you that it’s never done.

The lover’s kiss forever lingers

So too the madly roaming fingers. 

But Love is more than memory’s touch

It’s also wind and rain and such:

The breeze, the bird, the buzzing bee

The rose and blooming cherry tree

Your love and lovers are in these.

Forever round the atoms go

So why not love the rain, the breeze? 

Of course there’s pain yet even so—

Cold winter stings of snow and ice

Yet warmth of heart’s recall is nice. 

Each bird and beast of earth is kin.

From birth we’re taught our clan is thin.

But life, in truth, is all One Tree.

We’re all connected, don’t you see?

Photo by Cindy Gustafson on Pexels.com

Alone is how we’re trained to feel. 

To stare at plastic, cash and steel. 

While all around us: Family. 

Love every creature large or small.

We choose our love’s diameter.

It’s something you may choose to do:

So, you can choose to love it all. 

Or, keep your circle very small.

You get to pick parameter.

Your sphere of loving? Up to you.


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Doggie Doggerel

The Forest

Ah Wilderness

You Must Remember This

Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Mother’s Day

The Magic of Numbers

Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Skirting the Turtle

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

Sadie is a Thief!

A Cat’s a Cat

A Suddenly Springing Something

Doggie Doggerel

10 Friday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in nature, pets, poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

dogs, life, pets, poem, poetry

Seeing Sadie standing in the daisies

Helps me deal with the crazies;

When she’s got her muzzle grounded

It helps me stay robust and rounded.

Sadie is a golden doodle

She doesn’t look much poodle

But she’s just as golden as can be

In the sunlight she’s just as she as she can be

Which also makes me feel more me.

She romps along the beach

Chase and chasing anything that isn’t still.

Tries to meet and greet by nosing each

And every moment is a lifetime’s thrill.

At end of day, she dreams her dream

Tomorrow is another day

For her to spring and sniff and scheme

For her to turn the world to play.


Sadie is a Thief

To Relish the Steps

Hai-Cat-Ku

A Cat’s a Cat and That’s That

Happy Darwin Day!

Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

The Walkabout Diaries: The Life of the Party

The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony

The Walkabout Diaries: How Beautiful and Green

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Skirting the Turtle

Grandpa Fed the Animals First

Sadie the Sifter

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

A Suddenly Springing Something

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Freedom Fries

03 Friday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com

Freaky Friday and French Fries come to alliterate my mind. 

Do you recall when we called them “Freedom Fries”?

Do you recall why we called them ‘Freedom Fries’?

Because the French didn’t join in our Second Gulf War. 

We’ll show them! 

We’ll show them!

How many times in your life have you heard someone say that?
How many times in your life have you said to yourself: “I’ll show them!”

And how many times in your life did that actually work for you?

Here. 

I’ll raise my hand and volunteer to go first. 

And the answer is: 

(Drum roll please!) 

And the answer is: 

(Longer, louder drum roll! Don’t forget to ready the cymbals too!).

And the answer is: 

(Maybe we should lead into the drum roll with a simple flute solo).

(Maybe we should let the violins pick up the tune and let the whole string section join in). 

(Maybe there’s a brass counter-point). 

Photo by Nork Photography on Pexels.com

If we decorate this house of cards ornately enough, perhaps we can slide right by the answer which is:

Never. 

I’ve shown many things to many people and taught such things as: 


How to design an experiment.

How to conduct an interview.

How to do Analysis of Variance.

How to tie a shoe

How to throw a spiral pass 

How to serve a tennis ball 

But never once

Never once have I

Successfully shown anyone anything by being mean. 

Freaky Friday and French Fries come to obliterate my mind. 

When did making fun of a friend make them a better friend? 

Ever? 

Here?

There?

Anywhere? 

Hmm…

Next time, I think I’ll just offer some ketchup. 


Dance of Billions

Knock Knock

Listen You Can Hear the Echoes

The Wall

The Crows and Me

A Drop at a Time

After All

After the Fall

Siren Song

Lost the Word for War

The Forest

You Must Remember This

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

A Cat’s a Cat

A Suddenly Springing Something

Who is Tending the Garden?

29 Sunday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, psychology

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

life, poem, poetry, story, truth

Garden or guard? 

How does your garden grow? 

How about your guard?

You see what I’m getting at here?

I hope not.

Not yet, anyway. 

To put it another way,

How much for plowshares?

How much for swords?

How much for love?

Or for planes above?


Planes that have bombs.

Bombs that explode

Sending shards in every direction. 

Killing anyone around.

It’s not just a loud sound. 

So this is a killing for willing and unwilling alike.

Soldier in hiding or a boy on a bike. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

And, yes, it is true. 

A garden unguarded can be taken from you. 

But do you ever wonder 

How far down the killing path

We must go

To guard our garden? 

Let it grow? 

How does our garden grow?

How about our guard?

And, speaking of guards. 

Are we really guarding what needs to be guarded? 

Are we really sure of the guards who guard us?

Photo by Jakob Jin on Pexels.com

Do we arm every school bus?

Avoid walks in the sun? 

I once dreamed of a tall skinny man 

Who built a nice garden with veggies and green

The nicest plots I’d ever seen

So he was happy for a good long span.

Until he began to insist on a wall, 

The tallest wall but that’s not all.

Upon the walls, hired shooters sit

The garden’s gone to weeds and silt. 

The alarm awoke me to a sunny day.

And I forgot the dream until today. 

Thank goodness that nightmare’s done.

I’m so happy that type of error

Is never for the the daylight air. 

Never for the real time fare. 

Aren’t you?

—————-

Wall

After All

Crows and Me

The Word for War

Guernica

Siren Song

Math Class: Who Are You?

Dick-Taters

Ironic

28 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, satire, story

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, fiction, irony, politics, satire, story, truth, USA

So, our instructor assigned us to write a story with a strong emphasis on irony. Mine is about a hypothetical future American tragedy of a coup financed and designed by the Kremlin. By way of summary, this is how it related to irony and I appended this to the story for the instructor’s edification. 

“And, the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy was this: even though he spent his entire life conning others, it was beyond his ken to consider that Vlademort Putrid was likewise conning him. He had been lying and bragging so long about his competence in all things that he actually came to believe he was smarter and a better strategist than Putrid. Putrid likely could have done it alone. But, of course, he did not do it alone. Putrid had the collaboration of highly trained, highly dedicated KBG/GRU professionals to help. 

“In principle, perhaps he could have enlisted American experts, but he didn’t feel the need. Furthermore, he faced a real dilemma. He couldn’t openly ask any but the corrupt for help against American interests. And those who were corrupt were generally far less competent and always less well connected to a healthy network of professionals than their more numerous and genuinely patriotic counterparts. 

“I said that was the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy, but there are near contenders. Another highly ironic part of his entire con game was that the played the game as though the only thing in the universe that mattered was his own pleasure. Of course, no matter what moves he made or is yet to make, he is not actually immortal in and of himself. By lying to himself and everyone else, he essentially cut himself off from being part of The Great Tree of Life (or at least from being a non-cancerous part). Rather than living on through his actions that benefited the whole, he delimited his life, curtailed it, circumscribed it to his own physical mortality. 

“The intertwined corollary of the above is that even while he lived, he missed out on the best feeling in life: being in caring and loving honest relationships. In order to absolutely and positively ensure that he grabbed as much as possible for himself, he limited his “prizes” to mere material crap and the pleasure of cruelty. “

So, this is how they responded: 

“When it comes to being ironic, this is definitely A plus material. 

However, sad to say, there are also some serious problems with your narrative. First, of all Americans are too well educated to fall for the lies of a known con man. And, why not simply make the character more believable? It’s not plausible that so many people would fall for the con. Apart from that, the cowardice you portray on the part of so many within his own party is also unbelievable. 

Still, the mechanics of the writing was also clean, so I’m giving you a B+. Next time, focus on believability rather than forgoing that to punch the irony.”

Was that a fair grade, I ask you? 


Poker Chip

Donnie’s Final Gift

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Ailing King of Agitate

Dick-Taters

The Titanic

Con-Con’s Special Friend

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Wednesday

Labelism

My Cousin Bobby

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Dance of Billions

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