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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Category Archives: poetry

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

17 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 132 Comments

Tags

America, autocracy, COVID19, Democracy, ecology, fascism, pandemic, poem, poetry, Resistance, TheGreenNewDeal, truth, verse

 

snow covered mountain under blue sky

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

 

You think you are a stone. 

I say, we are a mountain. 

You think you are a thread. 

I say, we are a tapestry. 

You think you are a drop. 

I say, we are an ocean. 

 

big waves under cloudy sky

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

 

We are a mighty mountain 

A million men and women wise

Surprise! Surmise

What we can do —

You and you and me and you!

 

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com

 

We are a tapestry: 

Rainbow rayed with light arrayed;

A pattern that will still unfold

Reveal our true color: bold

Share inventions not yet played. 

 

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We are an ocean 

A wave, a tide, a tidal wave

A thousand miles wide,

If we can summon brave 

Feel our brotherhood; eschew false pride.  

 

IMG_3794

 

Believe not those whose only play is hate and fear;

Empty promises that hide behind a hidden tier; 

Russian dolls and chopping halls, 

Down and drown in putrid falls,

Flimsy flash and dazzle — naught inside. 

 

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Voices of the damned divide and hide

The nature of the power of the people all in unity.

Czars seek division; cheat with false impunity. 

Have no love; offer no warm hand;

An iron glove; a loud brass band. 

 

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

You think you are a stone. 

I say, we are a mountain. 

You think you are a thread. 

I say, we are a tapestry. 

You think you are a drop. 

I say, we are an ocean. 

 

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—————————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Life is a Dance

The Declaration of Interdependence

Author Page on Amazon

Index of “best practices” in teamwork and collaboration

Comes the Reign

Trump Truth Treason

The Ailing King of Agitate

 

Put in the Fool; Put out the Fool

11 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, double-cross, fascism, pandemic, politics, Putin, traitor, treason, truth, USA

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

Another bright and shiny thing!

Let’s all shout and dance and sing!

It glitters in polluted air!

It makes you want to sit and stare!

The newest bright and shiny thing!

happy woman

Photo by Jesus Arias on Pexels.com

 

I’ll cage the babies! Ain’t it fun!

I’m chosen as The Chosen One!

I’ll bring you pain; I’ll bring you down. 

But as of now, my game’s in town!

At end of day, my game is done.

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All my wondrous treacherous creatures!

All my crimes — now being reported! 

But I’ll fight back with reporters deported. 

Let’s open schools and kill some teachers!

They’re over-eager over-reachers!

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

 

Black lives matter? What’s with that? 

I’ve grown fatter! Chomp on my chat!

I’ll spew and spatter racist chatter.

I’ve stolen so much my platter is flatter.

I’m careful as a junkyard rat.

 

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

My Pelf on Shelf – he’s such a Sweetie!

Never tries to do his duty:

Lock me away to save the nation.

He’d rather mouth his incantation: 

“Lootie, Booty, Gawd-darned Tootie!”

person holiday people cute

Photo by Public Domain Pictures on Pexels.com

 

I’ll rest at last when all is mine,

“Der Fooler” they will claim’s divine! 

Pootie will show me how it’s done!

Torture, steal — it’s all such fun! 

Just drink a little chloroquine! 

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

What’s that you’ve given me to drink? 

Why Vlad, you’ve broken rank

Given me polonium — and I drank. 

I threw others under bus and tank, 

But I gave you your life long prize. 

You betrayed me  – what a surprise!

You said I was the light — just right —

The son you never had

Oh, Vlad, Oh, Vlad.

You used me like a tool it seems.

close up photo of woman holding lollipop

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

I never thought in foulest dreams

You’d play me for the fool.

You’re bad. 

You promised me and now I’m had.

Winning bigly is so sad. 

I’ll tell! I’ll tell! They’ll all believe

Me when I say…

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————————————

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life!

Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Plans for us some GRUesome

What about the butter dish?

A profound and utter failure.

Essays on America: The Game

Winning by Cheating is Losing

 

The Ailing King of Agitate

05 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 83 Comments

Tags

ANTIFA, COVID19, Democracy, fascism, life, pandemic, poem, poetry, politics, Putin, traitor, treachery, treason, truth

IMG_1442

 

A lonely lackey claims a throne:

A peasant traitor to the bone;

A peasant who’s impressed with gold;

A coward who pretends he’s bold. 

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

The teeniest hands in all the lands;

The teeniest glands among the bands. 

The frailest ego ever found.

The smallest heart to ever pound.

 

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

A shroom: Ka-boom! An ort of sorts.

The base proclaim his magic warts.

Eschews a fight that’s not a fix. 

The courts are clogged with crappy tricks.

 

woman with face paint with pumpkin

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

Now watch him crumble; watch him fold;

He’s frail and his tricks are old.

He’s flat and rancid as a toad

He’s stupidly squashed upon the road.

 

sign slippery wet caution

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

 

He cannot think from A to B; 

Betrays his country easily.

Now Weenie’s caught; he can’t be taught.

He does not do coherent thought. 

 

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He’s too inept to fairly race.

Instead he hides behind his face,

A mango face with wobbly head

He whimpers; cries of “foul!” Instead.

 

baby child close up crying

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

It’s he himself who’s truly rank

A Fraud as big as Deutsche Bank.

He sucks the wealth of everyone.

But now at last his time is done.

 

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He’s needless slain a host of lives

To compensate, he feints and dives.

He rants and raves; corrupts; depraves.

He likes to rape the younger slaves.

 

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

 

His daddy never showed him love;

Kowtows to every Putin shove.

He felt a quiver and a thrill.

When Putin ordered him to kill. 

 

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

But soon the people will arise

Vote out the Vichy Putinate!

The People all with open eyes

Will oust the King of Agitate.

 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

 


 

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: Wednesday

Winning by Cheating is Losing

Unmasked

Index of Patterns — Best Practices in Collaboration

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

(A myth about what happens when insatiable greed is combined with lying).

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

(A series of tales that features ethical, empathic, & effective leadership in times of crisis and uncertainty. Our tale begins as the leader of the Veritas seeks an eventual successor so she devises a series of seven trials that mainly test empathy.)

 

 

Trump Truth Treason

27 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, lies, pandemic, poem, poetry, Putin, treason, truth, verse

E808CBB1-00E5-4E7A-B871-4DD07E410F51“Try the truth! Try the truth!
Forsooth, forsooth
I clearly say and loudly state:
All those lies — just let them abate.
Try the truth and you might find,
The truth is good for heart and mind!”

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

“Go away you pesky fools,
Your real news hurts my orange head!
You count each death as really dead!
I like to fudge a bit instead!
Lies and cruelty are my tools!
I mix them up with bogus rules.” 

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“Would you try the truth today?
Would you taste the truth this day?
Tell the truth — just this once.
Try it Trump and you may see
Lies are for the cowardly.
Lies are for the little runts.
Heroes take the truthful way.”

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I do not like the truth at all!
I would not tell it at a ball!
I would not tell it on a call!
I would not tell it to a doll!
I do not like the truth at all!
It makes my teeny hands go itchy.
It makes my suck-lips go all twitchy.
I do not like the truth at all!”

4770779D-0898-482C-B861-83F8498070A4_1_105_c

“But try it once and you’ll discover
The truth means there’s no Cover-
Up and Down and Left and Right,
Let it all come out in shining Light!
You’ll be part of something great!
No need more to exaggerate.”

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

“I do so hate the truth at dawn.
I do so hate the truth at dusk.
I hoard the corn and tout the husk.
I flash my flab as though it’s brawn.
I tell them all I’m as smart as a whip.
And fly on a magic crystal sailing ship.”

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com



“Yet, if you’d try the truth you might well see
That truth, my friend, would set you free!
Sharing truth allows humanity
To cure disease and mount the moon!
Without the truth, no-one learns.
Without the truth, everything burns.”

toddler with red adidas sweat shirt

Photo by mohamed Abdelgaffar on Pexels.com



“I hate the truth since I was born!
Give others husk; I’ll gorge on corn!
Give others poo while I watch porn!
Steal their wealth and kids with lies!
Rape the kids! A sweet surprise!
I believe Putin; not our own spies.”

6ED86DEA-F6EC-4482-827F-8275A931F7F0

“Try the truth! For just for one hour.
You’ll find it’ll cure your cowardly cower.
You’ll find that you can learn from errors;
Improve; get better; leave more for your heirs.”

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a

“More? You’re nuts! That wouldn’t be wise!
My wealth is based entirely on lies!
I’ve never worked! No a day in my life.
Just ask my wife or my wife or my wife.”

IMG_3071

“Well Mr. Trump, if you won’t try the true,
You’ll be out of a job; even Pu-
Tin can’t rig the entire election.
Lies will spoil your climb to power!
Lies will ruin not only the garish Trump Tower,
But even the teeniest shroom of erection.”

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

 ———————————

The Truth Train

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Pandemic Anti-Academic 

Happy Talk Lies

A Lot is Not a Little

It’s Just Tommy Being Tommy

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

A Profound and Utter Failure

Essays on America: The Game

How did I get Here? 


 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead?

13 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

communication, coronavirus, COVID19, death, Impeachment, pandemic, plauge, Putin, Trumpandemic, truth, wisdom

adult affection baby child

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

With space-Alien violence, people all across the world are ri

pped from their worlds and taken to those special beds.

The COVID beds. 

And just as in the movie an alien presence is 

forced down their throat and in their 

head

Perhaps they wonder whether they

Will get a final say 

Departing to those left behind 

The wisdom of an old, yet un-befuddled mind.

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B 

Of, if befuddled, who’s to say

Whether older wisdom may filter through 

To light a little (just a little), our path to a brighter day.

3FC757BE-A645-4C45-B75F-BD101D6225AC_1_105_c

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

Perhaps they whisper one and all with the self-same silence of the lambs

The lambs led to slaughter from the King-Con Man of the Cowards. 

Supported by the most menial of the Blowhards. 

If they have no breath, 

If no-one speaks before their death, 

Then,

 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

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No-one can say. 

That’s kind of the whole point, don’t you see? 

Everyone is different. 

Everyone learns something different. 

Everyone has a piece of the puzzle laid before us growing ever larger till it will overwhelm

And when no-one will dare to grab the helm. 

And so these lives go silently 

Out of this life and into something else entirely.

 

Are we learning 

Through the burning 

And the yearning unfulfilled 

All the turning unwilled

That we are all:

photography of maple trees

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Leaves upon the Tree of Life. 

The Life of the Tree

Depends upon the health of every Leaf

And every Leaf 

Depends upon the Health of the entire Tree. 

Is that so hard to see? 

That’s it — in its entirety. 

Like most trees, humanity 

Must be its own gardener, 

Tender, 

Lover.

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How can we grow and glow 

Without the unspoken words of the many 

Dispersed instead of our waiting ears,

The unspoken syllables slide into the bowels of a machine?

 

And some few recover.

We should be listening carefully to each one. 

They are bringing tales from distant lands 

Which we hope never to visit ourselves. 

 

Are they, then, the Speakers for the Dead? 

And what, prey, do they tell? 

 

Or, shall we let the politicians far and wide 

Whose ear-to-ear grins have never faded.
Regardless of thousands of corpses laded.
(They’re playing for the other side) 

Shall we let them be 

Speakers for the Dead? 

No, they will not be Speakers for the Dead.

Because they cannot hear.
Because they cannot see.

Because they cannot feel. 

Because they have forgotten that Truth is not “ours” or “theirs.”

4770779D-0898-482C-B861-83F8498070A4_1_105_c
Truth belongs to the Tree of Life 

Not to one Leaf or Another.

Every single Leaf’s your sis or brother!

Let us sing then; sing together.
Heal the Tree wherever it’s needed. 
That’s how forests are reseeded. 

worms eyeview of green trees

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com

 

Other Poems on the Web

The Impossible

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Isa Dream?

Ah Wilderness!

 

The Watershed Virus

20 Saturday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 40 Comments

Tags

America, cooperation, diversity, life, love, poem, poetry, teamwork, truth, USA

view of city street

Photo by IKRAM shaari on Pexels.com

The virus splits us

How many tears are left?

One from another. Every day bereft.

Divides us. Stable genius.

One from another. Teeny tiny 

They may call it: Pity party for the party

“Social Distancing” Of the absurd & no true word

But we already — We’ve been flipped; chipped

Distanced ourselves from others.

In the evil oil dipped — baptized anew.

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We divided the world into countries,

How do we distribute goods?

Countries into regions,

Who deserves another raise? 

Regions into cities,

Those who own the town? 

Cities into neighborhoods.

Whom to blame & whom, to praise? 

We speak different languages.

We all meet & greet; hate defeat.

We wear different clothes.

We all have garb for different moods.

We eat different foods.

We eat & dance & move our feet.

We hear different stories.

So we believe differently.

tombstone on cemetery during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

But when we die,

How does that turn out?

As it turns out,

The same for everyone?

We are all dead when we die.

When did we start to doubt?

Not breathing kills us all.

As sure as a gun (but not as much fun).

In every land, I see tears.

For the ungrateful dead.

In every land, I feel fears;

For the future tense, unsaid.

Heroes fight to save each other;

Thank you, sister; Thank you, brother. 

Heroes work to keep it together.

Sibling by another mother.

health workers wearing face mask

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Worldwide we face a hidden killer

It hides beneath falsehood & lies

And nearly all of us are trying

Greedy people make us fear.

To find a way to keep us all from dying.

Greedy people in a gentle guise —

Our days grow quieter and stiller.

Tell us only to like those just like us dear. 

Bravery is everywhere; in every land

Even if not-leader leads the band.

We zoom a virtual meeting,

Even if he cowers from his role. 

We play a virtual band

Even as his cruelty is his only lonely goal.  

We wave a heartfelt greeting.

He snivels, swivels in this land. 

And in this time of utmost need,

The time of hating passes and we

A very few show outsized greed

Can see once more our unity.

sky earth galaxy universe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

They lie and cheat and steal each dime;

We know again we will one. 

Use the crisis to spread their slime.

All we’ve been since we’ve begun.

Yet there is nothing worth that snort of power

They get from what could have been their finest hour; 

Instead, letting every opportunity turn sick and sour;

They sneak & hide and lie and glower and cower. 

 

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Heel spurs would never ever brave a bullet. 

Not even a grown chicken; he’s just a pullet.

Afraid to fire people face to face. 

Afraid to run a fair, untainted race.

At last, the vast majority will see their worth

We all will know the very roundness of this earth.

We all at last will laugh at tyranny’s yoke,

And shrug it off like a tired orange joke. 

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We’ll work together you and me and all of all 

We’ll mend life’s spinning precious ball.

We’ll only let true leaders head our bands.

We’ll only let the truthful lead our lands. 

Seven billion souls will not be slaves, 

However loud the loveless liar raves.

Life is for the living and we will find

Ways to grow our vast collective mind.

Heart to heart, we’ll dance new ways

To show our love and show our care. 

Heart to heart, we’ll green our days;

We’ll build a world for all to share.

A world where fair is fair is fair.

Liars lie in muck and mire;

If you care, put out the fire.

Raise your voice in loving song.

Love, you see, is strongest strong,

Will conquer all this sickly wrong;

You and I can get along

Just fine without a tyrant king.

It’s love — just love — of which we sing.

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Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: Labelism

Use Diversity as Resource

Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Cancer Always Loses in the End

Math Class: Who are you?

Parametric Recipes and American Democracy.

Index of Pattern Language for Cooperation

Author Page on Amazon

  

   

 

Answers to Your Many Questions

15 Monday Jun 2020

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

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Democracy, equality, poem, poetry, truth

Answers to Your Many Questions

The light was green?
The light was red?
The road was dry?
The road was wet?

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Isa black?
Isa white?
Isa yellow?
Isa red?

Hasa lotta money?
Hasa lotta nothing?
Hasa lotta plastic?

pile of gold round coins

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Isa patient.
Isa headtrauma?
Isa kidney?
Isa quad?

Hasa lotta care?
Hasa lotta not?
Hasa lotta hair?

Hasa correct diagnosis?
Hasa good prognosis?
Hasa signed release?
Will the screaming ever cease?

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Wasa person?
Wasa wreck?
Severed spine?
Broken neck?

The room was white?
The room was green?
The uniforms were white?
The uniforms were green?
The forms were black and white.
And read all over?

health workers wearing face mask

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

The glass was sharp.
The road was hard.
The graph was flat.
The spark was gone.

What else mattered?

A life was shattered.

 

 

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com———


Blood Red Blood 

Mirror, Mirror

Author page on Amazon

Ah Wilderness!

13 Saturday Jun 2020

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

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

ecology, environment, Feedback, GreenNewDeal, life, poem, poetry, truth, wilderness

(I first published an earlier draft of Ah Wilderness in Peng Poets e-zine, summer 1997. I’m nearly finished with the highly recommended book, The Overstory, and so I decided to take another look at the poem and then extended it with the dissolution of form of the poem meant to mirror the dissolution of our society moving at last into prose but then, hopeful with the seed of form returning. I realize poetry is not everyone’s cup of tea. One reason I like it is that its dancing always on that same razor edge where life itself does its dance: chaos and regularity; change and stability).

scenic view of lake in forest

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ah, Wilderness!

The words may well connote a false un-blurring
A fear, a chill — not from frozen stone alone
Or lake wind’s sweep; but from the urgent stirring
Of some soul still hiding restless in our bone.

Curse not the thorns of tasty blackish berry;
They keep fruit safe from claws less clever.
Curse not how swift the prey, how very wary;
They shaped our brain; & helped us know forever.

Curse not the winter’s churlish wind unkind
Or burning hot dry summer’s cinnamon sun.
They invented beautiful raiment through our mind
And taught us numbers soaring far beyond one.

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Curse not the change of season; or the suddenly sliding slope –
Unpredictable now and in the future as ever always
They make us search for patterns far beyond our scope of grope.
Ah Wilderness!

You are me as seen in Darwin’s mirror of minutes and hours,

And days of ways taken and untaken & lead us here at last.

We strive to take it all and make it all, all ours, all ours!

Churning every fragrant flower and pine to dust,

We must! We lust! We must! We lust!
We don’t have time for this and that.

We want everything now and that’s that!

air air pollution climate change dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

And if in time all wilderness is bleak and dead,

Our bodies too shall wither and die and by and by

Our souls shall be but number: grey, unloved, unfed.

Asphalt, plastic, concrete & glass. None will die

Because in our endless war on nature, we are all “Undead.”

The Zombieland: machines gone mad; machines gone bad.

Swaths of humanity wishing to meld to macabre, merciless machinery!

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Life is what works! Life is constant change and innovation. But it’s been working for over four billion years! Look around you! It not only works! It’s marvelous! Machines don’t smell like that. Machines don’t look so beautiful as that. Machines don’t sound as melodious. Machines may be used to magnify malicious malignities if we let them.

Life is cooperative and interconnected and everywhere at once dancing on a razor’s edge between chaos and regularity. Machines are built to be efficient and effective and just tolerably presentable enough to be purchased — purchased by people who typically do not have to deal with the machine day in and day out. What do they care whether the machine is loud or smells bad or ruins your hands or explodes every so often or pollutes whole towns or scares away all the birds or kills every fish in the stream and every frog and that more trees will have to be cut down to feed it and more land raped to oil it?

Life is the invention of Love yet Love requires Life. (Maybe that’s why Love created Life; so it would have a way to express itself). Machines can be built to help save lives. Other machines are designed to kill lives. A machine that’s designed to kill lives never decides, “You know what? I never signed up to shoot peaceful protestors. That sucks and it’s anti-American. I quit.” At best, machines are amoral.

What to think of people who want to destroy life and replace it with a strict unmoving hierarchy with a life-hating king at the top? Don’t they see that they would not truly be alive in such an arrangement? They would not “decide” or “dream” or “change” or “love” or anything else without the permission of someone or some rule who knows nothing about how they really feel. And doesn’t care. Do you?

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

To destroy all wilderness means humanity would be signing its own death warrant.

The attempt to replace life, which we know works, with machine will eventually fail and fall and take damn near all of humanity with it over that cliff of ever-lasting greed.

Ah, Wilderness.

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Ah, Wilderness.

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Author Page on Amazon

Introduction to a Pattern Language of best practices in Teamwork & Collaboration

Index to Pattern Language for Teamwork & Collaboration.

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

The Impossible

 

Essays on America: Poker Chips

02 Tuesday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ Comments Off on Essays on America: Poker Chips

Tags

America, Democracy, Dictatorship, life, poem, poetry, prejudice, racism, solidarity, truth, USA

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Oh, the pride, the swelling swell of pride

To be a chosen for the window side

On this long and deadly suicide ride, 

This pact of humanity’s genocide!

ace of spade and multi colored chips

Photo by j.mt_photography on Pexels.com

Thank God you’re white! You’re white!

It proves you’re bright! You’re bright!

A Poker Chip of Whitest White! 

That shows that you will win the fight.

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

 

Poker Chips of Red and Blue

Have nothing whatever to do with you!

You were born perfect – a White Chip too!

And Male to boot! How clever of you!

man in muscle back view

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

And, if you’re straight, that’s really great!

All will cheer when you find your mate!

If you can’t find, just buy your play date.

If you can’t afford that, just masturbate.

woman with face paint with pumpkin

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

If you’re dumb enough to say what’s true,

We may shoot out your eye, your orb of blue.

Turn it into gooey goo. You can’t sue, 

Just ‘cause you did as you’re free to do.

cold freezing frost frosty

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Be glad you’re a White Chip; they’re the best!

Till the game is over and then, like the rest.

You’ll also be subject to false arrest.

Swept away and put back in the chest. 

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How do you like being a Poker Chip, friend? 

Red, White, or Blue — all killed in the end. 

Our bus careens round another tight bend!

An exciting plunge is what will send

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Us to our cliffside fall of fabulous fame.

At last to extinguish the last of our flame. 

There’s no-one left but ourselves to blame.

Do you like “Poker Chip” now for your only name? 

tombstone on cemetery during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Poker Chip” —  doesn’t it have such a nice ring!

We must be grateful for our chance to sing!

The praises of our mad, inept, & orange king!

Putin’s Puppet, Mini-Hitler, Russian quisling!

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He’s out to kill us all, don’t you see?

He’s putting an end to democracy.

Poker Chips: we’ve now no rights nor any dignity. 

Regardless of our skin’s chromaticity. 

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Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

We were just toys to move and check and slay.

He told us so from his very first day. 

But you only heard he’d put them away.

You thought Poker Chips White could stay up and play. 

man wearing blue suit

Photo by Minervastudio on Pexels.com

That’s not the way it works, dear Poker Chip buddy, 

Your thinking’s been muddied by Fuddy-Duddy.

And soon you’ll see we’ll all be sick and bloody,

Look around you! It isn’t Great. It’s cruddy!

person s hands covered with blood

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

Take my hand; let’s break boxed greed. 

Regardless of color; regardless of creed.

It’s everyone’s time of greatest need. 

Stand together. At least, it’s a seed, 

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Of what we can do with Red, White, and Blue.

Working as one to get everyone’s due. 

Working as one to grow out of this goo,

It’s up to me. And up to you. It’s what we do. 

  IMG_9802

  

Author Page on Amazon

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Where does your loyalty lie?

Rejecting Adulthood

My Cousin Bobby

Labelism 

Screaming out a Warning

30 Saturday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

America, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, Dictatorship, fascism, life, pandemic, truth, tyranny, USA

selective photography of flying black falcon

Photo by Nigam Machchhar on Pexels.com

I have been screaming all my life
For you to wake up.
I see the train coming
And you lie there on the tracks
Arguing in your drunken stupor
Over this and that
Tit and Tat
While the mammoth Midnight Express
Barrels toward you full tilt
A million pounds of steel
Headed toward your soft
Mammalian bodies
And your huge but fragile egos.

group of people walking beside train rail

Photo by Guduru Ajay bhargav on Pexels.com

Do you think that if you win the argument
Somehow your flesh
Will withstand the razor wheels?
Somehow, the sheer logic of your position
Will harden you to titanium?
Or that the diamond sparkling clarity
Of your almighty rightness
Will armor that sweet soft skin?

medieval armor

Photo by Ott Maidre on Pexels.com

What kind of drug are you on?
That you don’t hear the roar
That you don’t see the lights
That you don’t feel the track vibrate?

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And I always marvelled at the squirrels
Darting into the road, zigzag,
Throwing themselves stupidly under squealing tires
When peace and safety were so close
And so, so straight ahead.
Congratulations!
We make them look like mammalian geniuses.

brown squirrel on ground

Photo by Irina Wildlife Photographer on Pexels.com

Clickity-clack down the track
We’ll all be sliced in two
And never even have eyes to look back
Never even

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

 

 

Where does your Loyalty Lie? 

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Truth Train

A Profound and Utter Failure

Rejecting Adulthood

You Bet Your Life

Essays on America: Wednesday

Trumpism is a New Religion

Creativity in Issue Resolution

Build from Common Ground

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

 

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