Sunday Sonnet: Sadie the Sifter

24 Tuesday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, story

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

cat, dog, dogs, life, pets, poem, poetry

My Sadie is a sniffer and a sifter after clues.

The rainy days I find so gray and nondescript,

To her, are better for odiferous wetter news

She finds in dew on every bush and blade she’s nipped.

She finds the flights of crows a mystery and a soar

She loves the lights that twinkle in the starry sky

Not only now and then but now and evermore.

She follows — Wait! — the scent of rabbit wanders by!

The dislocation of my shoulder’s no big deal!

We can’t let that become priority o’er prey!

How can a merely human soul resist her zeal?

She streaks through every scene of every act each day.

And then…she snoozes with her head upon my feet.

How oddly weird that dogs make humans feel complete.

A Suddenly Springing Something

Hai-Cat-Ku

The Turtleets

Freaky Fractured Friday Fables:

13 Friday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in satire, story

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Tags

fable, fiction, parable, story

Mammon and the Misrepresentative Mentiroso Shaitan

Once there was a very ambitious man Mentiroso Shaitan who wanted very much to be rich. He spent all his time at the tavern complaining about how he wasn’t rich and wanted to be.

One of the men at the table said, “I am a woodsman. It is hard work, but you can make a decent living. And, you’ll stay in shape. And, you’ll get to spend a lot of time in beautiful places where the air is clean and clear!”

Shaitan said, “That sounds like too much work and not enough money. I want to be rich not decent.”

A bar maid who was delivering a round of drinks suggested, “Well, you could be a barman here or at another bar. It keeps your memory strong, it keeps your heart racing, it pays next to nothing, but the tips can be good if you’re nice to your customers. Oh, and another bonus. Once you see how absurd people act when they’re drunk, you’ll not be tempted yourself!”

Mentiroso shook his head and scoffed. “No-one gets rich as a barman. Not good enough for me.”

Another woman, now asked, “Well, what skills do you have? What kind of experience?”

Shaitan laughed. “Well, not much really. But I’m really smart! And, I really want to get rich.”

Another man slouched in the shadows at the booth at the end of the table. He had been silent till now. “I think I understand you perfectly, Mentiroso Shaitan. There’s no reason you can’t be rich very soon. And you don’t need experience or skills. Here. Tell you what. I’ll pay for your drink. Come back to my place where I can explain things privately. Clearly, these misguided fools think you have to work for a living and that having a job means you should have relevant experience and have evidence that you are quite competent and that kind of claptrap. But you and I — we’re beyond that kind of petty “get what you deserve” kind of life. Right, my friend. Oh, and by the way, my name is Mamman.”

Intrigued, Mentiroso Shaitan stood and walked to the end of the table and took Mamman’s hand in his. “Pleased to meet you Mamman! I’m Mentiroso Shaitan. Let’s ditch this joint and talk diablo a diablo!”

———————

Other short parables and fables:

Foolish Tree

What could be better? A horror story.

It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy

The Doltzville Library

Coelacanth

Their Dead Shark Eyes

Hot Dog!

30 Wednesday Nov 2022

Posted by petersironwood in fiction, story

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

abuse, dog, life, revenge, story, USA

Hog Dog

“Stupid crappy mutt! She smells like butt! What the hell were you thinking? To get a dog so stinking!”

Steve undid the leash and threw it into his catch-all corner. “Do you know what she was trying to eat out there? Do you?! Poop! It’s goop! Who wanted a dog? You! And now I’m walking her to pee? Me! I don’t care how sick you supposedly are. You take her!”

While Steve towered and glowered, the dog cowered in the corner and emitted a quiet “woof, woof.”

Mary sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get sick. She’s a dog. Vet said she doesn’t yet know any better.”

Mary’s attempts to placate Steve touched a gentle part of him inside. A part he gated and hated. As always, it made him angrier. “I don’t need a damned dog! I have you!I work hard all day to put a roof over your head. Roof! Roof! Last month, she tried to eat that poison philanderer plant. She’ll put anything in her mangy mouth. If she doesn’t stop eating turds, mark my words! I’ll make you cook her for dinner!”

Mary waited for Steve’s rant to ebb. “I read on the web today about a dog who ate corn cobs. Surgeon had to cut him open. You’d think dogs would know what was good for them, but apparently, they don’t.”

“Naturally I’m right! I’m bright. She’s just one more bitch too stupid to know what’s good for her! Reminder: last week, I bought a meat grinder for her food.”

“Thank you, Steve. I’m sure I’ll be able to make really good use of that. And, it will save money on dog chow. And how!”

Steve sneered and growled and uttered something unintelligible.

The puppy chanced a growl of her own. Steve ignored it. Instead he snarled at Mary. “What in the Holy Name of Hell are you watching now?”

Mary replied, “A movie. Almost over. Do you … ?”

Steve barked, “Another damned True Crime Docudrama? Jesus, Mary. Turn on the real news!”

Mary bit her lip and then obeyed; flipped on White Nation. She shook her head. She couldn’t get over how ugly the man being interviewed was. She wondered again why so many seemed to adore him. She had long ago learned not to share her opinion. Steve was absolutely certain White Nation News was the one source to be believed. He’d thrown her entire inheritance into a “sure-fire” White Nation get rich quick scheme. Hadn’t panned out as planned. Steve’s addiction to “Tricks to Get Rich Quick” showed no signs of relief. Not satisfied with enough, he remained sure the next scheme would make him wealthy beyond belief.

Mary saw something dark and evil behind the interviewee’s dead eyes and painted orange face. But Steve was dead sure he was America’s salvation, or at least White America, the “Real” America, as Steve liked to say, not the “gay, black, liberal, smart-ass, immigrant, foreigners trying to take over the country.”

Steve leaned forward, face glowing blood red. Mary glanced over; saw it as lit by the TV. Steve, eyes ever glued to the tube, barked another order: “Beer Here!”

Mary gathered her strength. No matter how she explained it, Steve couldn’t conceive of “Long COVID.” He didn’t really believe in COVID; he thought it all a hoax invented by liberal folks. That’s what his favorite podcasts claimed. Yet he bought ivermectin, “just in case.”

Mary sat up; nearly fainted; rose and traipsed to the fridge. Steve didn’t notice the Oxy capsule she emptied into his beer. She quietly placed his Bud on the end table. She fell back again in her chair, too exhausted to continue her Agatha Christie. She couldn’t stand White Nation News. From beginning to end, she thought it in bad taste; noxious and possibly poisonous. She tried to think back to an earlier time when Steve was nice. She couldn’t think of such a time. She decided maybe that was a good thing, under the circumstances.

After a few doctored beers, Steve sprawled comatose. Although they had agreed to share dog duties, it was always Mary who fed her.

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

Until she had quit three days earlier.

Mary stopped the microwave before it beeped; shuffled over to the snoring Steve and poured the Pyrex beaker of hot bacon grease into his torn polka-dot boxer shorts. Hungry puppy didn’t even wait for it to cool before chowing down like a hungry hog.

“Good dog!” Choking back tears, Mary whispered, “Good dog!”

—————————

Coelacanth -1

Coelacanth – 2

Coelacanth – 3

The Declaration of Interdependence

The Bill of Obligations: Article One

The Bill of Obligations: Article Two

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a Vodka

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

TV-Based Dog Training: Yes or No?

12 Saturday Nov 2022

Posted by petersironwood in fiction, satire, story

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

dogs, fiction, parody, pets, satire, story

I wonder whether anyone has experience they’d like to share in using Lassie movies as training devices for their own pooch. I am still learning to distinguish which of Sadie’s many barks means variously:

1. I have to go potty.

2. I *really* have to go potty!

3. I *really* have to go BIG potty!

4. I don’t really have to go potty and I really am bored and so maybe you’ll take me out to go potty so that I can:

3a. Find a poison mushroom to inhale before I even notice it’s there

3b. Bark at anything out of place such as a fallen leaf

3c. Pretend to be docile and then try to dislocate my shoulder when she sees a mosquito float by. Or a leaf. Or a hallucination.

On the other hand, Lassie is capable of communicating with cunning, compassion, and coherence with the adults in her life. I grant you that theoretically, it might be that the adults on the show are much cleverer than I am. It’s a reasonable hypothesis, but no…if I had abandoned mine shafts and unused wells all over my farm, I’d make damn sure any kids knew they were not to go there! And, I wouldn’t cover over an unused well hole with a couple of loose two by fours either. For that and other tedious reasons, I don’t think the genius in the Lassie family lies with the humans. It is Lassie who has the title role and she is the one with outstanding skills.

Witness episode N+1:

Lassie gallops into the kitchen and skids to a stop right beside Gramps and barks:

“ARF! ARF!”

“What’s that Lassie? What is it, girl?”

“ROOF! ROOF!”

“What? Something’s wrong with the roof?”

“BOW! WOW!”

“I will not! Anyway, I already fed you.”

Lassie, noticeably frustrated, circles twice and grabs a can-opener in her muzzle, sprints to the liquor cabinet and begins banging the can-opener into the lock.

“What? You’re trying to jimmy the lock open? You want a drink?”

Lassie grabs one ear with her paw and barks.

“Oh! Sounds like ‘jimmy’! Oh! Let’s see…’Kimmy’, ‘dimmy’, ‘Limmy’, I don’t know girl. There aren’t many words that rhyme with ‘jimmy.’”

Lassie barks: “ARF! ARF!”

“Lassie, are you sick or something girl?”

Immediately, Lassie springs into the air and does a somersault onto her back and waves all four paws in the air.

Gramps muses aloud. “The opposite of sick. Healthy? Something is healthy? No? Hale? Fine Fettle? Hardy?”

For each guess, Lassie barks a sharp short “No!”

Gramps frowns and says, “Well, I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Lassie. I’ve got to get back to carving my pipe here.”

Photo by Agatha Zambronelli on Pexels.com

Lassie stands on her hind two legs and begins using ASL with her two front paws. However, she quickly notes the looks of bewilderment on the visage of Gramps and she rightly concludes that he still doesn’t know ASL, despite her admonitions. So, she begins again with the barking: “ARF! ARF!”

Gramps says, “You’re not making any sense, Lassie. Timmy wouldn’t fall down a well. Why would he?”

“ARF! ARF! ARF!”

Gramps frowns and tilts his head so fast he pulls his sternocleidomastoid. “What? He fell down the well just last week? No, he didn’t. That was two weeks ago. Last week, Timmy fell down an old mineshaft. Oh! Wait! Are you trying to tell me that Timmy fell down a well again!? Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Needless to say, Gramps calls the sheriff and after he arrives Gramps explains. The sheriff draws his gun and charges out toward one of the 17 abandoned wells at Gramps’s place. But Lassie begins barking — again!

“ARF! ARF! WOOF! BOW!”

The sheriff glares at Gramps and uses his best shoulder shrugging head tilt as though to say, “Well? You going to shut up the mutt or am I?”

Gramps scratches several places; for instance, behind his ear. Then he says, “Lassie is simply pointing out that while a gun won’t help get Timmy out of the well, a long rope might.”

“I knew that!” The sheriff speaks in a huff while Lassie merely rolls her eyes and winks at Gramps. Then, off Lassie scampers to the tool shed, picks the lock with a handy nearby roofing nail, nudges the door open, and scampers back with a long loop of strong rope.

Soon, she leads them to one of the many abandoned wells. By the time Gramps and Sheriff catch up, Lassie has tied a loose bowline one one end of the rope and two half hitches around a sturdy nearby oak stump, tosses the bowline down to Timmy, and barks her orders to him. Gramps and Sheriff pull on the rope, and soon enough, Timmy, cold and wet but alive, politely thanks Sheriff and Gramps for pulling him out and then throws his skinny arms around Lassie. “Oh, Lassie! Thanks, girl, for saving me! You were right! I shouldn’t have tried to walk across the well on those rotten planks after all!”

Lassie merely rolls her eyes.

———-

I’m not saying that if Sadie watched any one episode that she’d learn every skill all at once, but over time, it might help. Right?

Assuming, of course, that I can ever get her to notice anything on the TV screen. I’m thinking of smearing bacon grease around the edges.

(Shadow says: “I’ll save Timmy!”)

The Biggest Threat

11 Thursday Aug 2022

Posted by petersironwood in story

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Tags

fiction, life, myth, story, truth

On the longest day of the summer, it was their custom to stay awake around the central fire and dialogue. This particular year, they found themselves arguing about which animal was the most dangerous to the tribe.

No, the most dangerous is NOT the seagull.

One spoke: “Crocodile has many teeth and strong jaws. Besides, he can creep silently along, looking much like a floating log until it is too late.”

Another spoke: “True enough. Yet, what of Panther who lies still and unseen upon a tree branch in the night? Then, he pounces with teeth and claws?”

Yet another spoke: “Terrible indeed. But what of Rattlesnake? He can lie unseen in deep grass and though he is small, he injects a poison that can kill? And, there are many more of them than there are Crocodiles or Panthers.”

Photo by Donald Tong on Pexels.com (not a rattlesnake, but you get the idea).

On through the night, one by one, they would bring up dangers to the tribe. At first, they spoke only of animals, but one pointed out the danger of lightening and another of flood. Another spoke of the year without summer and others pointed out the red pox had killed many.

At last, a short time before the sun began to re-emerge over the horizon, and the sky paused on the brink of deciding to stick with the mild pink color or paint a different scene, they began to speak no more, awed into silence by entire sky aflame in a sea of crimson.

And, they all knew.

They all saw it.

They all realized it was more deadly than anything they had discussed before.

And they all realized it was up to them to tame this monster.

Love is life. Hate is death. It’s that simple.

————

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Dick-Taters

The Ailing King of Agitate

Author page on Amazon

OLIE & the Z-Lotz

20 Monday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in story, Veritas

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Tags

Democracy, politics, story, Veritas

With Shadow Walker looking on with his sword at the ready, Many Paths searched the Z-Lotz stranger for concealed weapons. They tied a length of rope around both his ankles so that he could shuffle along, but not run or kick. They also tied OLIE’s hands behind him. While performing these tasks, Shadow Walker & Many Paths carried on a rapid conversation in Veritas and watched for signs of comprehension but saw none.

Shadow Walker spoke to the fettered man using a combination of signs and the broken Z-Lotz that he knew. “We do not plan to harm you. As we said, some might try. Their anger might burn out of control before they think. We will prepare people first to help ensure your safety. We have bound you, but you would be foolish to try to escape. The last time Z-Lotz came under a flag of truce, they left deadly poisonous “gifts” and many among the Veritas consider this … unworthy … a most unworthy action for a human being.”

Many Paths led the trio back toward the Center Place of the Veritas, while Shadow Walker walked behind their prisoner. He forced himself to stay ever-alert to the possibility that the man might bolt into the underbrush or use some hidden weapon or signal some nearby warriors to attack. Though he didn’t consider this likely, the consequences of being too complacent could be catastrophic. It occurred to Shadow Path that having a “prisoner” was actually a burden. It slowed down their progress considerably. It made conversation between himself and Many Paths stiffer and more circuitous. Though he was reasonably sure that OLIE really knew very little or no Veritas, he couldn’t be completely sure. Maybe everything was play-acting. Maybe they were walking into — or even already in — a trap of some kind that he could not foresee. How could a people become like the Z-Lotz — full of deception and deceit? Couldn’t they perceive how much more difficult it made life for the Z-Lotz themselves?

Many Paths engaged in silent reflection of her own. She had been astounded at how little the Z-Lotz seemed to have known about the Veritas. And yet — the thought that haunted her was that the Veritas themselves has known so little about their neighbors. All their neighbors. Knowing more about the other tribes would make war less likely, but if war came, she reasoned, it would also make for a less costly victory. She frowned. She realized that it wasn’t just knowing about the other tribes. It was also understanding them. It wasn’t enough simply to know that the Z-Lotz and the Cupiditas had chosen their leaders by mortal combat. Now she knew that. In fact, bynow, all the Veritas knew that. But none had any idea why they did that. Yet, if OLIE were to be believed, even the priests of the Z-Lotz could see that it was now leading to too much bloodshed. Again, if OLIE could be believed, having Shadow Walker step down as king — or, to put it more accurately — flee the Z-Lotz City — Read-It OLIE had called it — Shadow Walker had fled the Read-It and that caused more chaos.

Though the mind of Many Paths never strayed far from the puzzle of how to have the various tribes work together to ensure peace, her senses stayed tune to the world around her. The path back to the village was extremely well known to her and she stayed on the lookout for the slightest evidence of the presence of additional Z-Lotz. Her next thought made her suddenly chuckle to herself. She said to Shadow Walker, “Ask OLIE why their custom is to choose their leader as the one most lethal or … perhaps that is not the way they think of … just ask how they pick their leaders and why they do it that way.

Shadow Walker tried to think how best to phrase the question. “OLIE, you said my leaving suddenly made things worse for you. For that, I am sorry. One thing we Veritas cannot understand is the whole — I don’t really understand exactly how you choose leaders and I have no idea why you choose them that way. If I understand it, someone always dies and … never mind. Please explain it as you do to your own children. We truly wish to understand.”

OLIE continued to shuffle along for a time then said, “How do you choose a new leader?”

Shadow Walker frowned. He translated the question for his Partner. She chuckled but made no attempt to answer the question. Shadow Walker said, “Our leader stays in power only so long as she — or he — is seen by the people as doing a good job of leading. Initially, the old leader devises a series of trials for those who would be leader. Most recently, our old leader devised a series of seven tests. Many Paths was the only one to succeed at all the trials. So, she became the leader.”

OLIE nodded. “Why do you choose leaders in the way you do?”

Shadow Walker pursed his lips. He translated the question for Many Paths. Then he sighed and answered this way. “It is custom, I suppose. It seems to work. I have heard many reasons and thought of a few myself. First, the current leader knows what it takes to be the leader. She, or more rarely, he, has spent much time trying to honestly understand her mistakes and how she could have avoided them or how her successor might avoid similar mistakes in the future. She learns from everyone in the entire Tribe and from the place we live — the birds, the lizards, the bees, the flowers, the trees, the river, the mountains. They all inform her of what the people need to learn and especially what the leader must be able to do.

“Second, the tests or trials are themselves a learning experience, especially for those who wish to be the leader, but also for the Tribe as a whole and also for the current leader.

“Third, the trials are not secret as to outcome, and everyone who wanted to be a leader can see who did the various tasks well and who did not. All of those who tried to be leader could see for themselves how well Many Paths did on these tasks. If they are honest with themselves, they all realize that she performed the best.

“Fourth, the tribe itself sings of these trials. Not only the recent ones, but all of them. The stories in our songs also speak of how the various leaders actually were — how they behaved — what their successes and failures were. So, we not only learn from the trials and from the past leaders but also look for mistakes in how the leaders were chosen. One of our tales is about a would-be leader we call ‘The Orange Man’ — our tale tells of how his lying and his greed resulted in the death of an entire village as well as his own death. He was never actually a leader but he wanted to be in charge of everything and everyone. Such a one would never be chosen by a real leader, but if he had been chosen, the people would soon have called for a new leader. As it was, he was rightfully just an outcast. But if he had been a leader of the Veritas, and if he had actually passed some tests, we would incorporate the failure of those tests to discover this dishonesty and greed.

“There may be more reasons, but tell me why you choose your leaders the way you do.”

OLIE began what seemed to be a well-rehearsed recitation. “The Book that tells us All says leaders choose themselves. Only the strongest and the smartest will survive. Only the strongest and the smartest will be leaders. Thus, it has been from the beginning of time. Thus it is now. Thus, it shall always be.”

OLIE shuffled forward adding nothing to this quotation.

After a time, Shadow Walker said, “That says nothing about mortal combat determining the outcome. Is there more?”

OLIE stopped in his tracks. He turned awkwardly to look at Shadow Walker. “What do you mean? It says that only the strongest and smartest will survive. What else could it mean?”

Many Paths had turned around as well. “Is everything all right?”

Shadow Walker recapped his little discussion with OLIE.

Many Paths beamed! “Wonderful! Keep going! This is excellent. Fill me in when you can.” The tiniest hint of a smile curled her lip and she looked at Shadow Walker and raised one eyebrow.

Shadow Walker felt himself blush slightly, but plunged back into his halting conversation in Z-Lotz {Translator’s Note: here reproduced without the haltingness}. “There are many contests of strength! Felling trees, swimming rivers, lifting stones, wrestling. A contest of strength doesn’t have to be a fight to the death.”

OLIE frowned. “But fight to the death is the natural way. All animals do this.”

Shadow Walker stifled a laugh. “No they don’t! A few fight for top position, but such fights are rarely lethal. I have never witnessed one, but our tales say it is possible. Even in such a position, the top wolf or elk will consider input from all. They are not all-powerful. That makes them blind to what is really happening. It has to. They are under constant fear that someone will kill them at any time, with or without but probably with the help of traitors. But that means, no-one really trusts anyone. If everyone must hide the truth…? Did the Z-Lotz build Read-It?”

OLIE shook his head. “No, they were built by the ancients. Then, they left because god told them to and left the City for the homeless and nomadic Z-Lotz.”

“Could you build such a City as Read-It again?”

OLIE shook his head. “You ask strange questions. I have never heard anyone speak of such a thing. But it is obvious the answer is ‘no.’ Much of what the Ancients left us, we do not understand. If we do not understand, it is safest not to touch it. Some died touching things that they did not understand. But we have no knowing of how-to such buildings nor the magic stems that bring us water. Nor the vines that bring us light. What does this have to do with how our leaders are chosen?”

Shadow Walker nodded gravely. “You came to something you did not understand. When you tried to learn from it, people died. You as a people decided that you didn’t want to challenge knowledge and explore because that would be dangerous. You liked having an absolute King so that all disputes could be settled at once though arbitrarily and almost always in favor of the King’s own interests. Such a King would rarely be motivated to do great good for a great number of people. That would simply enable more challenges to his rule. He would instill fear in the people by brutality. And that brutality would be aimed precisely at the strongest and the smartest! He would want to eliminate this most likely challengers. What he would prefer are the most pliable and, frankly…But let me hear what you think about this. You lived there. I only — let us say — visited.”

————————

Author Page on Amazon

The First Ring of Empathy

Other short, free, no ads stories.

If only…

Satire Saturday: Gifts for WORMS

Fractured Friday Fables: The Sty at Seaside

The Mammoth and the Mouse

Unobtainium

The Power of the Unbrella

It was in his nature

Happy Raven Angry Golfer

The Cancelled Flight to Crazytown

Zeus and the Bolts from the Blue

The Open Road

Organizing the Doltzville Library

I Can’t Be Bothered

Do Unto Others

As Gold As It Gets

Donnie Plays Doctor Man

Plans for US; some GRUesome

The Trust Dilemma

06 Monday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in story, Veritas

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, legend, meeting, myth, USA

Many Paths eagerly took the hand of Shadow Walker. The latter said, “Let’s walk to the top of Wolf’s Back Ridge. We can pick some blackberries on the way. I wanted to tell you about an interesting conversation I had with Horse Whisperer the other day.” Many Paths smiled and nodded in assent. Despite the opening, they walked in silence for a time. This suited Many Paths for her mind was still on the conversation she had just had with She Who Saved Many Lives. At last, they came to the bend in the path where the blackberries grew. They were warm and luscious from the sun.

As they picked — and ate — Shadow Walker said, “So. Horse Whisperer. Of all the people we know, he surely is the most fluent in ROI.” Shadow Walker could see that a dark cloud passed over the face of his lover. “I know. I’m no fan of the ROI either. Yet, eventually, we need a way to invite them to the Meeting of the Six Tribes. Tu-Swift vouches for him, in a way. Horse Whisperer was okay with being part of the business of stealing children and selling them for slaves to the Z-Lotz. That’s true. But now, I think he is … his mind is more aligned with our ways than theirs. He is happier than he ever was in the ROI. And, he knows that. He mentioned it to me when we were fishing the other day.” Shadow Walker laughed and added, “Well, when I was fishing. He knew nothing about it. Can you imagine? All his life was ordered around taking care of the horses. He knew very little about fishing, or even hunting, or being a warrior. The ROI — they are very — their lives are put into different urns. And, they live most of their lives in those urns. Or, I suppose, I should say ‘lived’ because I’m not even sure there are enough ROI left to have a way of life separate from the Z-Lotz. I told him what I saw and heard when I was a captive of the Z-Lotz; namely, that after the ROI lost their village, the ROI who fled to the Z-Lotz village were little better than servants — almost slaves, really.”

Shadow Walker paused to create a space for Many Paths to comment. None was forthcoming so he ventured on. “When I told him that, he simply nodded and said that he would suspect as much.” There was no trace of anger or resentment in his voice. It was as though I was describing a tree or a way to climb a bluff. He didn’t seem to blame the Z-Lotz. He was not surprised. Anyway, this led to a deeper conversation about his own beliefs about the world. He has very little to say about how the various tribes have decided to arrange themselves other than to acknowledge that there are vast differences. He enjoys living among us.”

Many Paths nodded. “Yes. I think so too. Tu-Swift said that he was a kind as he was allowed to be, both with him and with the horses. He doesn’t seem to enjoy cruelty, but he was not averse to being cruel if and when custom required it. But what are you suggesting, exactly?”

“The Z-Lotz, we now know well, can be quite treacherous. They came to us with supposed gifts and they were poisons that ruined Stone Chipper and requested … well, really, demanded that you go see them. I have no doubt that they would have killed you … or perhaps demanded we surrender to them in order to save your life.”

Many Paths grimaced at this. “I hope you would have sense enough not to ever go along with such a trick! They are not to be trusted!”

Shadow Walker nodded. “I agree. But you are well-loved, and not just by me. It may have been difficult … anyway, the point is, how do we bring the ROI and Z-Lotz to the Meeting of the Six Tribes when we cannot trust them? And, we know very little of their language and customs. We tried having us sneak into the Z-Lotz village to learn more and that certainly did not go as planned. Eagle Eyes & I were very lucky to have escaped. And now we find ourselves in a position of ignorance about their current situation. The parents of Cat Eyes, Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns, were prisoners long enough to have learned something of their ways. Other than that, we have learned the most from Cat Eyes herself.”

“True,” said Many Paths, “But who are we talking about here? Horse Whisperer? Or, Cat Eyes?”

Shadow Walker sighed. He smiled and realized he wouldn’t mind a few more blackberries. “I am not sure I have the full answer. I just have a feeling that Horse Whisperer can be trusted and he knows much about the ROI. If the ROI were still in their separate village, I would say we should send him to meet with the ROI and convince them to come to the Meeting of the Six Tribes. Unfortunately, we don’t have that option. The ROI are embedded now with the Z-Lotz. And, the person most well-suited to dealing with them is Cat Eyes. Although…”

Many Paths plucked a few more of the delicious blackberries and placed one on the lips of Shadow Walker who closed his eyes with pleasure. He chuckled and said, “That is the most delicious berry yet!”

Many Paths tilted her head and asked, “Although what?”

Shadow Walker sighed. “They might. They might still view me as their leader. I don’t know. It would be risky.”

“What!?” Many Paths frowned. “You are not going to go there again! As you said, you were lucky to escape with your life! I need you and the Veritas need you. It’s true that I cannot well predict the Z-Lotz, but it seems quite likely that they would simply kill you on sight. Or worse.”

Shadow Walker spoke quietly. “Yet, just a few minutes ago, you said that if we could save your life by surrendering to the Z-Lotz we should not do it.”

Many Paths scoffed. “Because there wouldn’t have been any point! They cannot be trusted to keep their word!”

Shadow Walker bit his lip. “I know. That’s why I think we have a dilemma. You don’t trust them. I don’t trust them. The person who knows them the best — Cat Eyes — she certainly doesn’t trust them. I think it may be in their nature. In the same way that Horse Whisperer would help his tribe steal children without seeing anything wrong with it, I don’t think the Z-Lotz think lying and cheating and going back on their word means anything — or at least, it doesn’t mean what it does to us. We need to be careful. But if we really can’t trust them at all, then, what can come of a Meeting of the Six Tribes? Perhaps it should only be a meeting of the Five Tribes. Perhaps, when the Z-Lotz see the advantages to all five tribes, it could get them to change their ways. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Many Paths let out a long sigh. “I think we have eaten enough berries for one day. We’ve tamed eagles. And we’ve trained wolves. And we’re learning to tame horses. From Horse Whisperer. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s too large a leap to trust them at a council. That still leaves the problem of how to separate the ROI from the Z-Lotz and even if we succeed, that will certainly do nothing to help the Z-Lotz trust us! The last thing we did was to destroy — or at least temporarily disable — their precious killing sticks.”

Shadow Walker frowned. “We had to do that. If not … “

Many Paths nodded vigorously. “I know! I know! You did the right thing. I agree. But just as it’s hard for us to trust them, it will be hard for them to trust us as well.” Suddenly, Many Paths put up her hand for quiet and made the short but quick gesture to get down. Shadow Walker fell silently to his belly and put his hands behind his ears for better listening. The two of them slowed their breathing and listened. Something — or someone — seemed to be slithering in the blackberry bushes.

——————————-

The First Ring of Empathy

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Watershed Virus

The Truth Train

Author Page on Amazon

Fractured Friday Fables: The Sty at Seaside

03 Friday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

fable

Matt the Pig, who called himself “Matt the Magnificent,” strolled along the hill when he heard a curious sound. It sounded a little like the roar of a lion but very distant. He turned to his companion, Marjory the Muskrat and asked, “What could be making that sound?”

Marjory Muskrat, who secretly called herself, “Marjory the Magnificent” flung her backpack off her shoulder and searched for an idea hiding among the many assault weapons, but she couldn’t find an idea anywhere. That was not surprising because she had not really had an idea for many years. Nonetheless, she smiled at Matt the Pig and said, “I know exactly what that is!”

Matt tilted his snout and stared at Marjory with his beady pig eyes and wiggled his pig ears and said, “Really? What?”

Marjory Muskrat wriggled her muskrat nose and said, “What what? What are you talking about?”

Matt sighed in a porcine manner and said, “You said you knew what made that roaring sound. What is it?”

Marjory Muskrat never felt obligated to answer a question, especially when she didn’t know the answer (which was usually) and would be caught in a lie (which was always) so instead she said, “Follow me and I’ll show you!” With that, she scurried up the side of a nearby dune.

Matt the Pig came snuffling after her. His cloven hooves spiked deep into the soft sand. Marjory, on the other hand, found that her feet allowed her to climb up the dune quite easily. She waited at the top for her more cumbersome companion to join her. Finally, he clumsily clambered up beside her. He huffed and he puffed. He wanted to ask her again, but he never got the chance. Marjory Muskrat was skittering down the other side of the dune toward the seashore.

Matt the Pig ran a few more steps before he tripped himself up with one of his own lies and somersaulted head over hooves down the far side ending up in some wet sand. It felt good. For awhile, he forgot what he had wanted to ask Marjory.

The roaring noise returned, much louder than before. “What is that? What’s making that noise, Marjory? You said you knew?”

“That” began Marjory, “is the sound of a million billion trillion migrants swimming ashore on our borders!”

Just then, a Teacher walked by. Having overheard the Misguided Muskrat, he said, “Nonsense. It’s just the roar of the ocean waves.”

Matt the Pig oinked with delight. “At least, it’s not a lion! I like the sand. I’m going to build a house here! Do you want to help, Marjory?”

Marjory Muskrat grinned so broadly that all fifty of her little white needle teeth showed. “No, you go ahead. Since you’ll be working hard building a house with your oh-so-powerful snout and hooves, I’d better go find us something to eat. I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

Matt muttered, “Typical. I’m left to do all the work. It’s okay. It’s easy to dig here in the soft sand. I should have a house in no time at all. Matt the Pig began shoveling with his powerful long snout.”

No sooner had he begun, however, than the Teacher said, “Excuse me. My name is Teacher. If you build your house here, the ocean will wash it away.”

Matt the Pig scoffed at the teacher. “What do you know? It’s easy to dig here. I’ll make the quickest house ever. I shall name it, The Sty at Seaside.

Teacher cocked his head to one side and said, “You’ll want to rename it Bye Bye Sty, because, as I said, within a few hours, the ocean will come and wash it away.”

Matt the Pig didn’t see any reason to believe a teacher of all people. “Nonsense! You’re just jealous you didn’t think to build a house here first! What do you know, anyway?”

“I walk this beach nearly every day. Also, I look at the tide charts. Every high tide, the ocean comes in much further than where you are digging and … “

Matt the Pig grunted. “Hah! I see where the ocean is. I see where the house is. Foolish man!”

Teacher shook his head and walked off. He muttered, “Suit yourself. You’ll see.”

Matt the Pig continued to wallow and snuffle and snuggle into the sand. He began to grow hungry and he looked up to see whether Marjory Muskrat had returned with their lunch. No sign of her. As hungry as Matt the Pig was, he realized that all the hard rooting around had made him very thirsty. He wobbled over to the ocean and began lapping up the water.

A Doctor who was out for his morning constitutional noticed that the swine was swizzling seawater. “Hey!” Said Doctor. “That’s salt water! You can’t drink that!”

Matt snorted. “Hah! That shows how much you know. I just did drink some. Though not enough because I am still thirsty.”

Doctor sighed. “Yes, I mean you can drink it, but it’s bad for you. It will only make you thirstier! It’s salt water. I’m a Doctor. Believe me when I tell you that it’s bad to drink it!”

Matt snorted. “Hah! Who cares what a Doctor thinks. Water is water! Everyone knows that! I’m plenty thirsty so I need some more so I can finish the work.”

Doctor shook his head and walked off. He muttered, “Suit yourself. You’ll see.”

Matt realized that despite having drunk quite a bit, he was thirstier than ever. He decided he would see whether the Doctor was telling the truth so he pulled out his smart phone and googled, “Do Doctors Lie?”

Matt looked at the results page. Over 8000 results! Matt snorted. “I guess that proves it! Eight thousand results! Of course, Doctors lie!”

Matt the Pig was getting seriously hungry as well as thirsty. He glanced at the dunes, but didn’t see any sign of Marjory Muskrat. He wondered out loud to himself, “Surely, there must be something to eat along this beach. Clams? Oysters?”

Matt began rooting for shellfish. It wasn’t long before he dug one up. He was about to smash it on some nearby rocks, when a Wild Boar came crashing up beside him, “Whoa there, fellow! Can’t you see the Red Tide? Don’t eat shellfish now! You’ll get deathly ill!”

Matt snorted, “And who are you, pray tell, that you should interfere with my dinner?”

“I’m a Wild Boar. My friends call me Crashing Boar, but you can call me Mister Boar. Everyone knows that you don’t eat shellfish during the Red Tide. Why are you digging up such a large part of the beach anyway?”

Matt snorted. Again. “I’m making a new home here. I’m naming it The Sty at Seaside.”

The Wild Boar frowned. “This is not a good place for a home. You’re right near the ocean!”

Matt snorted. He seemed to be snorting a lot these days. He didn’t care. He said, “That shows how much you know! This happens to be a perfect location! It’s easy to dig. There’s plenty of water and food within easy reach!”

Wild Boar nearly gored himself with his own tusks. “What?! Listen, Pig. The tide will come in and wash away your home. And the water is not potable. The shellfish can sometimes be eaten, but not now. You best find another place for your home.”

Matt snorted yet again. “Hah! You just want this excellent location for yourself. Leave me alone. And, no, I am not sharing my clams with you. Nor can you have any of that water which I claim for myself.”

“That’s the ocean! You can’t “claim it” for yourself! It belongs to everyone! But anyway, you can’t drink it.”

Matt snorted until his nostrils bled. “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do! I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions! Be on your way. And let your more civilized cousin finish his house.”

The Wild Boar galloped up a nearby hill and began crashing through some underbrush. He looked one last time back at Matt the Pig, shook his head, and sauntered off.

Matt the Pig, meanwhile, realized that all his work and arguing had made him uncommonly thirsty so he went back to the ocean and took a few more tremendous gulps of brine. It didn’t help. “I must be very hungry. That’s the problem,” Matt muttered. So, he dug up a few more clams and smashed all of them on nearby rocks and ate them all. That satisfied his hunger but he still found himself to be extremely thirsty. He decided to take a short nap in his new seaside sty. He lay down in the nice soft sand.

Matt lay basking in the hot sun. Matt lay in his new home and enjoyed the sound of the name of his new home, The Sty at the Seaside. The many clams he had eaten satisfied his hunger, but he still felt terribly thirsty. He closed his eyes and thought back to the sty where he used to live. He remembered the girl in the gingham dress who filled his water trough with cold clear water. He wished Marjory Muskrat could be more like the little girl. It felt to Matt as though the world was spinning around. Or, that he was spinning around. Or that everything was spinning around. Suddenly, he felt very sick. He wanted to go somewhere else. But the roar of the water. Confusion. Where was that Muskrat, he thought to himself. Why is my home so wet? I’m so smart I know everything. But I don’t know why my sand home is so muddy now. And I’m so thirsty.

No-one knows even to this very day whether Matt died of food poisoning, or dehydration, or drowned. Marjory didn’t care. She knew he was still fresh enough to eat and that’s all that mattered to her. He went very well with the Russian dressing she had gotten at the market. He tasted okay — but way too salty. She felt oddly tired and distant as she finished off the last morsel and stared at his well gnawed bones. I’m too tired to move, she thought to herself and then mumbled, “Best to just let the waves wash over me. They make a nice wet blanket. Later, I’ll turn him over and eat the other half. Right now, I just need a long, long nap.”

Indeed, Matt had been right about one thing. The Sty at Seaside did make a nice home.

For the crabs.

Author Page on Amazon

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The Mammoth and the Mouse

The Orange Man

Dick-Taters

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Plans for US; some GRUesome

As Gold as it Gets

Do Unto Others

Thrumperdome

Listen to my Siren Song

My Cousin Bobby

What about the Butter Dish?

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

True Believer

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Tales from an American Childhood recounts early experiences & relates them to contemporary issues & events.
The Winning Weekend Warrior delves into the mental game for all sports.

Fit in Bits suggests many ways to put more fun, variety, and exercise into daily chores & activities.

Turing’s Nightmares explores the ways that Artificial Intelligence could impact society.

He is the Very Model of a Modern Consigliere General

29 Wednesday Jul 2020

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

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, Barr, BLM, Corruption, COVID-19, Democracy, Election, pandemic, parody, politics, racism, satire, treason, USA

{Satirical Impressions from the Consigliere General House hearing on July 28th, 2020.}

Gym “I see no child abuse” Jordan: “Let the man answer the question! You brought him here to hear his answers. Let him answer!”

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

House Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “OK, I will ask you again. Did you or did you not discuss with the President where you would deploy storm troopers to suppress the vote in blue states?”

Bilious Barr: “Hmm. Discuss. Discuss. Well, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘discuss’ — there are many kinds of discussions. I don’t think discussing things is a crime. Not in my book. It’s a free country. A country is larger than a state but smaller than a continent. But still a lot bigger than a city. Well. Typically. You see, the Vatican is actually, in many ways, a country. But it is inside the city of Rome. Which is inside the country of Italy. Which is inside the continent of Europe. What was the question again? I know I’ve forgotten and hopefully so has most of the TV audience.”

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “Did you discuss with the President where you would deploy storm troopers to suppress the vote in blue states.”

Bilious Barr: “Hmm. Is your time up yet? No? Ok, well, in that case, let’s discuss the word discuss. Or did you say ‘debate’? Because ‘discuss’ and ‘debate’ are similar but different.”

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “I reclaim my time. I ask you a simple question. Yes. Or no. Did you — or did you not discuss with President Trump the deployment of troops to suppress the vote.”

Bilious Barr: “I will not reveal the details of my discussions with the President. I might accidentally reveal important — you know — it could compromise the security of the country. Excuse me. Can I have a five minute break? I really am having trouble keeping a straight face here. Just let me go laugh for five minutes in the rest room and I can come back out here and lie and obfuscate a bit more. And — you know — keep up the “sincerely trying to help” face.

Jerry Nadler: “We’re almost done. You need a break right now?”

Bilious Barr: “Well. Yes. It will seem unseemly to laugh about national security but Jesus H. Christ, you’ve got a traitor in the White House, plain as day. I mean why the … why do you think Putin put him in the White House? So he could learn golf? I can’t talk about national security issues. I really need a break or I am going to fall down on the floor laughing. Trump’s about to be dictator and you are acting like we’re going to be all polite and ask and answer questions. Is your time up yet? Can I have a break? Just five minutes.”

———————- (five minute break. To simulate that break, you could read this short story and return). ——-

Plans for us some GRUsome

—————————————————-

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “Did you discuss with the President sending troops to suppress the vote in November?”

Bilious Barr: “November of this year? Did we discuss troop deployments in November? No. It’s only July. We haven’t discussed anything in November yet. Did you know that the days of the week are named primarily after pagan gods. I think we should change that. Wednesday, for instance, is much like “Wodin’s Day” or “Odin’s Day.” And yet we have a Christian nation, under the one true God so…”

“Reclaiming my time.”

Photo by Lum3n on Pexels.com

Gym “It wasn’t my kids who were abused” Jordan: “Let the man finish the answer! You ask him a question but you don’t want to hear the answer!”

Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Did you or did you not discuss with President Trump, with regard to the upcoming election in November, deploying troops to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “Well, that assumes we will have an election. That’s a hypothetical. I don’t really answer about hypotheticals. And I definitely don’t rat out on other traitors in the White House, so I think that pretty much falls outside the scope of the inquiry.”

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Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Did you talk with the President about deploying troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “When? Today? I haven’t even seen the President today.”

Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Any time! It doesn’t matter when! Have you had discussions with the President about using troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “It’s an election year. So, I’ve been in Cabinet meetings. And in the Cabinet meetings, we naturally discuss what are important problems for the country and how to solve them.”

Democrat: “So what were the topics of important problems to solve? The pandemic? The economy? The Black Lives Matter movement? What?”

Bilious Barr: “Did you know that police shot more white people last year than black people? That’s the score. Only 8 black people needlessly killed and 11 white people! Seems to me, there’s no evidence of racism in this country. Why would you think there is any racism?”

Photo by Lucxama Sylvain on Pexels.com

Democrat: “But… but black people are only 14% of the population!”

Bilious Barr: “That’s exactly my point. Why don’t we pay attention to the other 86%? What about them? The forgotten Americans. The poor, beleaguered white people who never get a break. If black people would just respect the police and not do stupid things like jog, or hang out, or walk out their front doors, or reach for their ID when the police demand to see their ID, or have roommates who own a gun, no-one would get hurt! By the way, have you ever tried to read a book that’s all black? No. I didn’t think so. You can’t even read the words, without the white space around the letters. I’m not prejudiced. I’m just stating facts.”

Democrat: “Let’s return to this question. Did you — or did you not — discuss with the President the deployment of troops or police or whatever to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘whatever’. We certainly did not discuss the deployment of B-36 bombers or any of the carrier groups. But who can say about whether we discussed ‘whatever’? You know – that’s a pretty big category! As I say, we talked about important things. Of course, the most important is the upcoming re-election and how to make sure that the results are secure.”

american flags and pins on white background

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Democrat: “We’re in the middle of a pandemic. There are 150,000 Americans dead. Science says it’s important to wear masks and to socially distance. The best way to let people vote safely would be to let everyone vote by mail. Yet, you’ve said, you’re against it. You claim there’s a chance of voter fraud if we have vote by mail.”

Bilious Barr: “Oh, yes. Substantial risk. Outsized risk. A virtual certainty. You know, other countries could easily print up ballots and forge signatures and the next thing you know, Putin would lose his re-election.”

Democrat: “Putin?”

Bilious Barr: “What about Putin?”

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

Democrat: “You just said ‘Putin would lose his re-election.’”

Bilious Barr: “I never said that.”

Photo by Nikolay Ivanov on Pexels.com

Democrat: “Well, you did just say exactly that.”

Bilious Barr: “Exactly what? What are we talking about? I thought you asked me a question about how wonderful our great President is. He’s saved billions of American lives with his speedy and brilliant actions about the pandemic. OKKK?”

Democrat: “My question is a simple one. Did you and the President discuss using troops or police to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “I can’t answer the question because I’m not sure what the scope of the question is. Are you asking me about something we might have discussed in a cabinet meeting? Or, just an off-hand conversation? Are you talking about a phone call? If it’s a phone call, are you asking about a secure line or a mobile phone or — you know I have four different phones? And, also I have four different e-mails? My favorite is consigliere@us.gov but are you including e-mail in the scope of the question?”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Democrat: “I reclaim my time. It’s a very simple question….”

Gym ‘once you’ve covered up for a buddy’s sexual abuse, it’s easy to lie for Trump’ Jordan: “Let him answer the damned question!”

Democrat: “Yes, by all means! Answer the damned question. Have you at any time in any place in any manner discussed using police or troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “Turnout as in ballet? My wife’s a big fan. I don’t go very often. But it is amazing how much they can turn….did you know they put their feet parallel to each other but not … but they are pointed 180 degrees from each other. Amazing! I couldn’t do that. Could you?”

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Democrat: “I reclaim my time. Did you discuss with the President using troops to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “Hmmm. ‘With’ is a problematic word, isn’t it?”

Democrat: “No, not really. Just answer the question.”

Bilious Barr: “So, let’s say, hypothetically, we are discussing important business for America such as launching investigations into the President’s political opponents. And then, a phone call comes in. And it’s a alarmed phone call meaning it’s top priority. So, naturally the President puts it on speaker phone so we can all listen in. And a general on the phone is talking about troops moving in Russia. We hear the word ‘troops’ and then he says, ‘Won’t it be great when black people aren’t allowed to vote any more?’”

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Democrat: “Did he say that?”

“Bilious Barr: “Did he say what?”

Democrat: “Just answer whether you talked with the President about voter suppression and using troops or police to accomplish that!”

Jim “All bullies are cowards” Jordan: “Let him answer the question! I have never in my 355 years as Congressman ever seen anything so rude in all my life. Let the man answer! Let him answer. Let him answer! These proceedings are a farce. A hoax. A fake news. There’s no proof I saw him in the shower doing those things to those boys who probably liked it anyway. They were pals for God’s sake. It’s not like being queer you know. Just because guys get sweaty wrestling and then…”

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

Jerry Nadler: “You are out of order. You are not recognized. The witness will answer the question.”

Bilious Barr: “Thank you. I have been trying to answer for a long time. I was pointing out the substantial irregularities and ambiguities with the word ‘with’ — honestly, we may outlaw that word after Putin’s re-election.”

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a

Democrat: “You said ‘Putin’ again.”

Bilious Barr: “Don’t be ridiculous. I said no such thing. Anyway, we all call him Vlad the Bad. We never refer to him as Putin in our strategy meetings so I definitely wouldn’t have called Trump ‘Putin.’ You know, secretly, we all have our pet names for Trump. It’s so funny. I wish I could share them but — not now. Of course, we have to be careful he doesn’t overhear us. And, the best part is, Vlad the Bad’s in on it too. He has — well, frankly, his names are the nastiest, but never mind all that.”

Jerry Nadler: “I see our time is up. I’d like to thank the witness for his thorough display of the entire spectrum of lies, deceit, and misdirection. Any last comments from the Consigliere General?”

Bilious Barr: “Nyet. Spasibo.”

—————————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

At Least he’s Our Monster

———————————————-

Purely Fictional Stories about a Child Sociopath:

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Donnie Visits Granny

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling

Donnie Boy Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man

Donnie Gets his name on a Trophy

Donnie Lets his Brother Take the Fall

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

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.

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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:

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.

A6253369-6ABE-4B57-884E-BEFF53F7F505

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.

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!

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

Category Archives: story

Sunday Sonnet: Sadie the Sifter

Freaky Fractured Friday Fables:

Hot Dog!

TV-Based Dog Training: Yes or No?

The Biggest Threat

OLIE & the Z-Lotz

The Trust Dilemma

Fractured Friday Fables: The Sty at Seaside

He is the Very Model of a Modern Consigliere General

Who are the Speakers for the Dead?