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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Category Archives: America

The Mango Mussolini

30 Monday Sep 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

The Mango Musso knows a shorter cut!

Just pass it quickly on! Just pass it on! 

The Melon Felon knows a better way!

We need not trek and tote and slog along!

This longish path along the creek’s a pain!

Let’s head instead across the desert’s dunes!

It may look dry; and yet, it’s bound to rain!

He’ll tap his wand; transform to plum dessert!

We know it’s true! It can’t be lies! Oh, no!

Pass it on! He orchestrates the crowd!

He yells it very very very loud!

It must be therefore certainly true of course!

He acts so proud! He screams so loud of hate!

Inhale the toxic fumes of Agitate!

Cannot you see? The hate is clear as day!

He’s out to check and jail and then to slay!

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

And once the drecks, and whacks and nerds are dead,

We just must lie and kill for Master’s sake.

It’s what he said! You see? It’s what he said!

And therefore must be good and new and true!

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

It’s not my fault I lost my house!

It’s not my fault I lost my spouse!

It’s not my fault I broke my mouse!

It’s not my fault! I need to grouse!

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

It can’t be Greeds who stole my gold!

How could they ever be that cold!

It must be folks from other lands!

Who eat our pets; chew rubber bands!

We’ll let Putin end the strife!

He and Felon are such friends!

They’re oh so smart and never would lie!

And ours is not to question why!

They never have to futz with friends!

“There is no truth; there’s only bends!”

And all is well! He tells us so!

Until—-

Photo by j.mt_photography on Pexels.com

Putin points out that he’s ten inches longer

And naturally that makes him oh so much stronger.

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

And then at long last all that money we wasted

On H-bombs—It won’t be wasted any longer!

No. Instead, we’ll all get lambasted!

We get to be cooked like a turkey is basted!

The taste of death is all we tasted!

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Melon Felon himself once said:

“What good are nukes if we can’t even use them?!

What good are people if I can’t make them dead?

Did I mention I have the world’s smartest head?”

No more migrants! No more pets!

No more people! Everything’s solved!

Civilization at last completely dissolved!

No more jets! No more bets!

(But who could blame you?

All you needed to draw 

Were five sequential spades

And you would have won that hand).

That little hand. Who plays a one man band!

He plays an accordion of the mind.

Makes promises just as solid as sand.

Don’t seek truth! You’ll never find!

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

He wants to choke and each light dim

Who isn’t him or progeny.

He wears religious cloak

And wraps the flag around him.

Photo by Michael Willinger on Pexels.com

Orange you glad now you didn’t face 

The truth about His Felonious Grace?

Just swallow these lies and you will see

The painful end of all humanity!

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

————

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

My Cousin Bobby

The Update Problem

What about the Butter Dish?

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Truth Train

The First Ring of Empathy

Plans for US; some GRUsome

The Stopping Rule

Try the Truth

The Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar! 

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

A Profound and Utter Failure

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Author Page on Amazon

A Bearded Frog

25 Wednesday Sep 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, satire

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by Salih Altuntas on Pexels.com

It’s Jay and Dee and Gree-Viance,

He lies and spies; an ugly dance.

(Yet, only men are granted pants).

He leers and leans and haps to chance:

A Couch he sees and makes advance. 

Alas, the Couch rejects his lance.

He’s horrified! A furtive glance.

As someone groks his deviance. 

Around him, wafts weird, an ambiance— 

As though he cannot stand his stance.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

It’s not surprising, don’t you see?

He always backs His Trumpery.

The Mellon Felon—Treachery

Depends on JD’s flattery,

He never claims a strategy;

He cannot think coherently. 

In one born rich, some fluency

In English seems a certainty.

His speech rewards raw cruelty. 

His lies have trained credulity. 

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com

The pair now head for failing big. 

And one, at least, we’ll throw in brig.

The other branded as a prig. 

The judges bought by Donnie zig

And zag a willy-nilly jig. 

They’ll claim election fraud and shrig

Exploding blood beneath a wig.

A movie squib’s not hard to rig.

Yet nought can hide the vicious pig. 

A jail will host his final gig.

At end of day, his act is old.

A story sad & too much told. 

The bluster huckster plays at bold. 

Yet all our people can’t be sold

A plan of hate and blame and scold. 

The crooks will all scatter; the tents will all fold.

The joy guides our future instead of dead gold. 

Economy grows and when kindness takes hold.

The caring and comfort will now start to mold

Society working where no-one’s left cold. 

——————-

Tools of Thought

A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Cooperation

The Story of Story

The Walkabout Diaries

Donnie wants a hamster 

The Myths of the Veritas

Fifteen Properties

Author Page on Amazon

They’re eating our dogs–NOT!

24 Tuesday Sep 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

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Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, politics, USA

And, they’re eating our dogs!

And they’re eating our cats!

And they’re marrying hogs!

And they’re wearing their fleece!

And they’re eating our geese!

And they’re eating our rats!

My, oh, my, such a terrible shame!

They shouldn’t be able to cast their vote!

If their ancestors arrived by using a boat! 

If their ancestors came from some other place!

Not if they’re folks of some darker race! 

Or if they’re called by some novel new name! 

Only the people who look just like me!

Only the people who think just like me!

Only the people who eat what I eat!

Only the people who cheat as I cheat! 

Only the people who like what I like!

Only those folks who never will strike! 

Only the people who do what I do!

Only the people who dress as I do!

Only the people who love as I love!

Only the people who like a big shove! 

Only the people who throw and bat righty! 

Only the folks afraid of God Almighty! 

A country of one is all that I ask.

If we all hate together it’s a doable task. 

If we hide our eyes and derail our brain.

We won’t feel the witches terrible pain.

The world I want is so simple indeed. 

Described by the felon’s hate-filled screed. 

Dance of Billions

Life is a Dance

Math Class: Who are you?

My Cousin Bobby

The Three Blind Mice

Tools of Thought

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

The Ailing King of Agitate

Author Page on Amazon

The Ship of State

17 Tuesday Sep 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, fantasy, poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

creative-writing, Democracy, fiction, poem, poetry, politics, story, truth, writing

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

The weirdly bearded long-tongued frog 

The monstrous orange two-faced hog:

To sea they went in pee-gold boat

So heavy lead it could not float. 

Photo by Asad Photo Maldives on Pexels.com

“Who shall we hate today, my Frog?”

“Let’s see ‘bout artists, I say, Mr. Hog.

Or tallish folks from Wichita 

Or working poor from Saginaw!” 

Photo by Rebecca Zaal on Pexels.com

“Let’s tell some lies; they’re dime a dozen.

They eat their babies and do their cousin!”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Melon the Felon.

No matter how nutty, I’m sure we can sell on.”

Photo by Lum3n on Pexels.com

The bearded frog and the orange-faced hog.

They happily planned their hatred when fog

Unnoticed it crept; surrounded their ark.

Then thrashing around them—a sharp-toothed shark! 

Photo by Pedro Figueras on Pexels.com

“Don’t worry weird frog, a battery’s near!

Jump out and place it right by its ear!”

“Okay, Mine Fooler, surely, I’ll do it.”

“I thank you slave, if lethal, I’ll sue it!” 

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

The weirdly bearded long-tongued frog

Became the morsel saving the hog.

The pee-gold boat was nothing but sticks.

Hog screamed and flailed and kicked his kicks. 

Photo by JACK REDGATE on Pexels.com

But not for long was shark beside. 

The hog became just chum in tide.

And soon the fog was silent, calm.

It seemed to be the ocean’s balm. 

Photo by Ray Bilcliff on Pexels.com

But ‘neath the waves the shark felt sick. 

Such poisonous fare killed him quick.

His teeth fell out; his stomach churned.

Intestines burst—his gills all burned. 

Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com

The poison greed of hog and frog

Destroyed all like mustard fog.

America woke from hypno-hate.

And all were saved from Nazi fate.

———————-

My Cousin Bobby

Essays on America: The Game

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

The Three Blind Mice

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

Essays on America: Labelism

Essays on America: Wednesday

Listen to my Siren Song

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Dance of Billions

Author Page on Amazon

Sonnet: Choose the Joy

15 Sunday Sep 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, poem

The day is gray in every way; a cloud 

Begrudges sun and threatens rain. 

As though our emerald planet sighs aloud

Until the din can penetrate our brain. 

When sighing fails to make us see the light;

When floods and droughts and searing killing heat

Are not sufficient whispers in the night;

When leaves on Tree of Life begin to cheat; 

Photo by Lerkrat Tangsri on Pexels.com

When each begins to leech the sap of Life;

Puts greed ahead of life-forms large and small—   

This disconnection rots the Tree with strife. 

Disaster then, and Death will come to all. 

Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

It’s not too late to love the Tree Entire. 

Enlarge your family now 

It’s down to the wire.


Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Absolute is not just a vodka

Math Class: Who are you?

My Cousin Bobby

Author Page on Amazon

Travels with Sadie 3: Gates, Doors, & Walls

07 Saturday Sep 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, pets, politics

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Democracy, life, politics, truth, USA

“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” 

So begins Robert Frost’s poem, The Mending Wall. 

I was thinking about gates, doors, and walls as I went walking with Sadie on a sunny Thursday morning. We typically walk along the sides of streets. I let her wander onto the edges, but not onto other people’s yards or very far down their driveways. Often there are gates, much like our own gate. If the gate is closed and isn’t too far from the road, I often let her walk up to the gate. The gates are there both to prevent us from entering someone else’s property and to signal us not enter the property. I could, if my life depending on it, scale many of the gates, but that’s clearly asking for trouble. The gate is meant to keep people out, not as a challenge to overcome. Sadie generally couldn’t get through the bars of the gates. Of course, a gate is no barrier at all to birds, rabbits, mice, rats, lizards, snakes, raccoons, butterflies, or bees.

 

A door seems to me to offer more security than does a gate. While a gate may prevent me from entering, it’s quite easy to see through or around most gates, to hear the noise from the other side and to smell what’s on the other side. It’s true that one may listen through a door but the sound is typically muffled. Loud music or yelling creeps through to the outside but a conversation normally stays private. 

A door also helps the inside stay warmer or cooler than the outside air. A gate has no such function. 

Among places dogs leave olfactory messages for each other, boundaries are high on the list. This includes hedges, curbs, and gates. Sadie “controls herself” well now, but when she was younger, she would often pee at the boundary of a social event. Specifically, when someone—especially someone new or someone she already liked but hadn’t seen for awhile, she’d pee. She also seems to understand what I mean when I say, “Sadie, we’re going for a ride in the car. You should go pee first and then we can get in the car.” I don’t think she “parses” the sentence and accesses the meanings of all the individual words. Nonetheless, she quickly pees and then goes over to get in the car. 

A wall is a kind of transition as well. A gate is much more permeable than a wall and a door may be opened or closed or ajar. Often walls, such as castle walls have one or more gates or doors. People on one side of a wall almost always want to get to the other side, at least occasionally. At the very least, they want to be able to move information and goods from inside to outside and vice versa. 

Why walls? The walls of a house keep you in a more easily controlled environment. A wall can provide a level of protection. That’s mainly what castle walls are for. Of course, they often fail as well. Invaders climb the walls or tear down the walls or burrow under the walls until the wall collapses. Of course, castles were also subject to sieges. Eventually, the defenders inside would run out of food. Primitive machines were constructed to hurl firebrands and large rocks in to wreak havoc and kill defenders. 

The Greeks were unable to defeat the Trojans by destroying their castle. Instead, they famously made a large wooden horse as a “tribute” to the courage and tenacity of the Trojans. Overjoyed that the long siege was over, they opened the gates and led in the giant wooden horse and began to celebrate. Once everyone was drunk or sleeping, the soldiers hidden inside the horse snuck out and opened the gates to the much larger Greek army waiting outside. 

Photo by Salih Altuntas on Pexels.com

Today’s technology is much more sophisticated of course, but walls, gates, and doors still exist. The defensive capabilities now include guided missiles, aircraft, submarines, and aircraft carriers as well as the threat of nuclear retaliation. During the so-called “Cold War” America and the USSR engaged in an “arms race” to develop the best weapons and more of them. Looking back on all the wasted energy and time on both sides, I think, “Imagine what could have been done if we had instead spent all that resource on preventing climate change, curing disease, and sponsoring science and education. 

Of course, it’s not an easy problem. One side in a standoff can only stand down unilaterally if they trust the other side. Meanwhile, none of the amazing and exorbitantly expensive weapons, walls, doors, and gates we’ve developed are worth anything at all if we accept the modern Trojan Horse.



Social media, the press, the television, and nearly half of the political candidates spew misinformation on a daily, even hourly basis. We’re locked in a political race and one of the two candidates for President is himself a Trojan Horse. Like the ancient Trojans, all our walls and armaments will be useless. 

The threat to America is, in many ways, worse than the threat to ancient Troy. The Trojan Horse that endangers us? It’s a steady steam of lies designed to induce Americans to kill each other. 

No number of fighter jets; no cache of assault rifles; no armada of submarines; no hordes of fighters will save us from the Trojan Horse. The Trojan Horse is armored with something far more powerful than iron, steel, or depleted uranium. The Trojan Horse’s armor is your own mind. 

Only courage will work to save you. It is not the courage to face an army. It is the courage to admit that you’ve been conned; that you were wrong; that you have been led down a garden path that leads nowhere near where you ever wanted to go. 

Find that courage. 

———————————-

The Mending Wall 

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

Guernica

What About the Butter Dish?

Dick-Taters

The Game

A Profound and Utter Failure

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Plans for US; some GRUesome

They Lost the Word for War

Author Page on Amazon

The Loyalty Test

14 Sunday Apr 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, story

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

fiction, life, politics, story, truth, USA

Photo by ShonEjai on Pexels.com

“I never took a test. There’s been a mistake. I’m a supporter.”

“Shut up or I’ll break every finger. Capiche?”

The guard grinned a moon of bloody teeth and pushed his nightstick against Bob’s lips. Hard.



Bob grunted but said nothing; decided he’d bide his time for now. This will all get sorted later. 

It didn’t get sorted. Why would it? Along with tens of thousands of other “supporters” the only thing Bob got for his support? A free one-way ticked to the burn pits. He’d been beaten enough that when his time came, he jumped of his own accord.  

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

—————

Dick-Taters

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Such a teeny, tiny loser man

D4: Dictator’s Delusion Disease

Three Blind Mice

Guernica

A Civil War there Never Was

Essays on America: The Game

Absolute is not just a Vodka

The Ailing King of Agitate

Meeting with Da Da

Author Page on Amazon

A Civil War there Never Was

12 Friday Apr 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by THIS IS ZUN on Pexels.com

She might have checked.

He might have sighed. 

They might have thought

Before they fought.

A civil war there never was. 

But you know how they are. 

They’re really all the same!

Or so it seems in dreams

On social media streams.

A civil war there never was.

A civil war there never was.

The first rules of society: 

Do not destroy what you cannot make;

Pretend to do; then, only fake.

And if in some bromance, 

You somehow came to think

That war will fix your life,

Strife begets more strife.

A civil war there never was. 

Guernica

Dick-Taters

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Who Won the War

Author Page on Amazon

All the Roads not Taken

20 Wednesday Mar 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

faith, life, poem, poetry, spirituality, truth, USA

The day breaks sunny…

There’s still a dewy chill about…

I see the distant hill…

I fancy hiking the faraway path…

I imagine the panoramic scene…

But my ankles ache… 

Beneath my bone tired shins…

And I can do the math…

It is a lovely path indeed…

But not mine this day…

Perhaps never my path…

Photo by Cup of Couple on Pexels.com

Perhaps never my path…

To trod the jungles of a foreign land…

Like my dad and his shrapnel-shattered shin…

Or die in an angry hail of mindless bullets…

Or be collateral damage in a war that surrounds me…

On every side where every path is a Möbius band…

Coaxing me back to needless death…

Perhaps never my path…

Perhaps never my path…

But the paths of so many others…

Who thought they took the smart path…

The safe path; the only path they saw…

Drowning in the razor-wired river of fear…

Whistles of a distant hawk…

I hear and heed and whistle back…

Perhaps that is how a missile sounds afar…

Before the bomb explodes us all to body parts…

Perhaps never my path…

Photo by Ahmed akacha on Pexels.com

Perhaps never my path..

But the path of so many others is filled with fear…

Choked by the stench of death…

Smeared by the char of fire and wrath…

Who will see the panoramic view instead…

Who will see that bird and bee…

Dance with flower and tree most lovingly…

Who will take that path…

If it is never my path…

If it is ever my path…

To stumble up the rock-strewn way…

To look about and report back…

To those who could not make the trek…

Then however much I lack…

I must play the only play I have…

Recount the story as well as I am able…

Wrapped in song or poem or fable…

Unwrap the self-placed blinders…

That make it seem that all they’ve lost…

Can be replaced and sanctified by hate…

While I see chaos in the heart and soul…

The tale must be told in bold and sold…

The scroll of right and reason…

In daylight clear and present…

If it is ever my path…

Photo by Kris Mu00f8klebust on Pexels.com

If it is ever my path…

Even to tell a single seeming stranger…

About the ever smoking dangling danger…

I must dance that deadly dance…

I must chance that deadly chance…

Chance the wrath…

It is my path… 

Photo by Avery Nielsen-Webb on Pexels.com

It is my path… 

And I will whistle to the soaring hawk…

And I will hum to every buzzing bee…

And I will breathe it to the birds and trees…

And I will find and feel the love in every blade…

That strives to push aside the dirt and feel the light…

I cannot take each and every path…

But I can take one path…

And so may you take your path…

And we can together do the math…

Together, we can do the math.


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Only Them that Counts is All of Us

Labelism

Life is a Dance

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

The Forgotten Field

Stoned Soup

Dance of Billions

We are a Mountain

Author Page on Amazon

Meeting With Da Da

14 Thursday Mar 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, fiction, life, politics, Putin, Russia, story, truth, Ukraine, USA

When facts are hidden, the imagination blossoms. The facts of meetings between the former guy and Vlademort Putrid are known. You may have forgotten. I have not. 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2019/10/04/trump-has-spoken-privately-with-putin-least-times-heres-what-we-know-about-conversations

What we do know is that the former guy’s body language consistently shows that Putin is the dominant of the two. The former guy often looks a lot like a whipped dog. His eyes are downcast. His head is down. His shoulders are hunched. He contorts himself to look lower than Putin. 

His statements about Putin (and other dictators) consistently show his admiration for brutal, cruel, murderous dictators. That is in contrast to his statements about democratically elected heads of state and American politicians, including those in his own party.

We also know that the former guy was born rich; lost a fortune; then begged his daddy for more. The former guy was not daddy’s favorite child, at least initially. TFG’s mother was often sick. If the American public knows this, you can be sure that former KGB officers knows it as well. 

What follows is fiction. It is fiction in the sense that American citizens have no way to find out what actually happened in the secret meetings between Putin and the former guy. 

Here is a link to a series of four fictional stories. As time goes on, however, it seems more and more probably that something like this may well have happened. 

Plans for us; some GRUesome.

Here’s a link to another earlier blog post that seems resonant today. 

Trumpism is a New Religion

Now, let’s turn to the dialog. 

“No, Mister President, don’t worry. I can speak some English. And I have my translator here. Given that you’re such a smart guy, I’m sure you probably picked up few words of Russian. You know word for yes, da?” 

“Yes, President Putin. I mean, da!” 

“Good. Excellent. I don’t understand how the people in your country fail to realize how lucky they are to have someone as competent as you. And realistic. Not hung up on silly abstractions. Don’t you agree?”

“Da! Da!”

“And, just as you get a lot of unfair criticism, so do I. It’s jealousy. People in other countries are jealous Russia’s strength and progress. So, they tell lies about people I supposedly murder. You know it’s all lies, right?” 

“Da! Da!” 

“You know, it’s odd. Your English slang word for father, ‘Dada’ sounds lot like the Russian words for ‘yes, yes.’ And, that reminds me. I heard a rumor that your dada favored Fred Junior. But you got the good genes. Eventually, your dada figured out that you were the smart one—the one destined for greatness. Isn’t that right?”

“Da. Da.”

“By the way, did you know my people call me ‘Papa Putin’? Wouldn’t it drive liberals and your other detractors crazy if you called me Dada?” 

 

“That’s a great idea! It would drive them nuts! Serve them right, Dada.” 

“Yes, indeed. I know some people may try to rein you or make you behave like normal President. Don’t do it! Keep acting cra—unique. Keep acting unique. Different. That way, your fans have no way of knowing where you stand except by listening to you that day. And when you say something crazy—unique, I mean, like ‘pollution is good for you’  your fans will instantly repeat it. They will vie for most followers or most likes and for retweets by you—best prize of all. And liberals? They’ll go nuts. And you know what they’ll do? They will also repeat what you say! It’s amazing. They’ll say: 

You know what crazy guy just said? That pollution is good for you! How stupid do you have to be to think that pollution is good for you? It kills! Ridiculous to think pollution is good for you!

“And, so Donald, do you know what people who delude themselves that they are independents will remember from those antics in three months time?” 

“Yes. I mean da. Da. Da! Dada. Pollution is good! Pollution is good! Which is also a good excuse to give tax breaks to the rich.” 

“My God, Donald, you are smart! Too bad your people don’t realize. Well, many do of course. Eventually, once you gain power, the rest will join your ranks. Everyone will know.”

“Da! Da! Dada! I should get you something! What would you like?” 

“Donald, do you remember how cool it was when you were kid and it was America versus the USSR? Olympics! UN! Foreign wars! Two sides! To USSR, you were evil. To us, you were evil. Wonderful times. Now, you’ve got these terrorist groups, lots nations with H-Bombs, and for what? It’s hell for everyone. See what I mean?”

“Da. Dada. I do.” 

“And, you know, we’re like favorite band that split up. We just want to get back together band. For instance, part of Russia we call ‘The Ukraine.’ It’s actually part of Russia as you know. You do, know that, right, Donald?” 

“Da! Da!” 

“Good, well don’t forget in case—they are just sort of people incite us to war. We might have to liberate Russians inside Ukraine. You are smart man. You will know enough to back us up. Right?”

“Da. Da. Dada.” 

“Donald, you know what? You are favorite among all world leaders. We’ll rule together long time.” 

“Da.” 

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

—————————————-

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Dick-Taters

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Truth Train

All we stand to lose

Dance of Billions

Author Page on Amazon

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