27 Friday Sep 2024
Alive among your many dazzling days.
Before you rush away toward whiz-bang flash,
Accept around you beauty’s bursting blaze.
Because your body’s bones will fall to ash;
Because you’ll have no need for brash and cash;
Consider well your days upon this earth;
Consider filling most with love and mirth.
Decide if you are desolate, alone;
Contrariwise, consider that your birth
Developed yet another side of known.
—————
26 Thursday Sep 2024
Posted in nature, poetry, Walkabout Diaries
Since first I spied those wild blue eyes,
I found this world a happier place;
Saw gratitude and hope as wise;
Stepped off the endless track of lies.
Since first I spied those wide blue eyes
No longer ran alone my race.
I dance in every day: surprise!
I found the world: A happy place.
———————
The Walkabout Diaries: Levels of Beauty
The Walkabout Diaries: Natural Variation
The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony
The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise
The Walkabout Diaries: A Now Rose is a New Rose
The Walkabout Diaries: How Beautiful and Green
The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way
The Walkabout Diaries: Lest We Forget
The Walkabout Diaries: The Life of the Party
The Walkabout Diaries: Friends
The Walkabout Diaries: Mind Walk
The Walkabout Diaries: Racism is Absurd
The Walkabout Diaries: A Walk in the Park
25 Wednesday Sep 2024
It’s Jay and Dee and Gree-Viance,
He lies and spies; an ugly dance.
(Yet, only men are granted pants).
He leers and leans and haps to chance:
A Couch he sees and makes advance.
Alas, the Couch rejects his lance.
He’s horrified! A furtive glance.
As someone groks his deviance.
Around him, wafts weird, an ambiance—
As though he cannot stand his stance.
It’s not surprising, don’t you see?
He always backs His Trumpery.
The Mellon Felon—Treachery
Depends on JD’s flattery,
He never claims a strategy;
He cannot think coherently.
In one born rich, some fluency
In English seems a certainty.
His speech rewards raw cruelty.
His lies have trained credulity.
The pair now head for failing big.
And one, at least, we’ll throw in brig.
The other branded as a prig.
The judges bought by Donnie zig
And zag a willy-nilly jig.
They’ll claim election fraud and shrig
Exploding blood beneath a wig.
A movie squib’s not hard to rig.
Yet nought can hide the vicious pig.
A jail will host his final gig.
At end of day, his act is old.
A story sad & too much told.
The bluster huckster plays at bold.
Yet all our people can’t be sold
A plan of hate and blame and scold.
The crooks will all scatter; the tents will all fold.
The joy guides our future instead of dead gold.
Economy grows and when kindness takes hold.
The caring and comfort will now start to mold
Society working where no-one’s left cold.
——————-
24 Tuesday Sep 2024
And, they’re eating our dogs!
And they’re eating our cats!
And they’re marrying hogs!
And they’re wearing their fleece!
And they’re eating our geese!
And they’re eating our rats!
My, oh, my, such a terrible shame!
They shouldn’t be able to cast their vote!
If their ancestors arrived by using a boat!
If their ancestors came from some other place!
Not if they’re folks of some darker race!
Or if they’re called by some novel new name!
Only the people who look just like me!
Only the people who think just like me!
Only the people who eat what I eat!
Only the people who cheat as I cheat!
Only the people who like what I like!
Only those folks who never will strike!
Only the people who do what I do!
Only the people who dress as I do!
Only the people who love as I love!
Only the people who like a big shove!
Only the people who throw and bat righty!
Only the folks afraid of God Almighty!
A country of one is all that I ask.
If we all hate together it’s a doable task.
If we hide our eyes and derail our brain.
We won’t feel the witches terrible pain.
The world I want is so simple indeed.
Described by the felon’s hate-filled screed.
17 Tuesday Sep 2024
The weirdly bearded long-tongued frog
The monstrous orange two-faced hog:
To sea they went in pee-gold boat
So heavy lead it could not float.
“Who shall we hate today, my Frog?”
“Let’s see ‘bout artists, I say, Mr. Hog.
Or tallish folks from Wichita
Or working poor from Saginaw!”
“Let’s tell some lies; they’re dime a dozen.
They eat their babies and do their cousin!”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Melon the Felon.
No matter how nutty, I’m sure we can sell on.”
The bearded frog and the orange-faced hog.
They happily planned their hatred when fog
Unnoticed it crept; surrounded their ark.
Then thrashing around them—a sharp-toothed shark!
“Don’t worry weird frog, a battery’s near!
Jump out and place it right by its ear!”
“Okay, Mine Fooler, surely, I’ll do it.”
“I thank you slave, if lethal, I’ll sue it!”
The weirdly bearded long-tongued frog
Became the morsel saving the hog.
The pee-gold boat was nothing but sticks.
Hog screamed and flailed and kicked his kicks.
But not for long was shark beside.
The hog became just chum in tide.
And soon the fog was silent, calm.
It seemed to be the ocean’s balm.
But ‘neath the waves the shark felt sick.
Such poisonous fare killed him quick.
His teeth fell out; his stomach churned.
Intestines burst—his gills all burned.
The poison greed of hog and frog
Destroyed all like mustard fog.
America woke from hypno-hate.
And all were saved from Nazi fate.
———————-
15 Sunday Sep 2024
The day is gray in every way; a cloud
Begrudges sun and threatens rain.
As though our emerald planet sighs aloud
Until the din can penetrate our brain.
When sighing fails to make us see the light;
When floods and droughts and searing killing heat
Are not sufficient whispers in the night;
When leaves on Tree of Life begin to cheat;
When each begins to leech the sap of Life;
Puts greed ahead of life-forms large and small—
This disconnection rots the Tree with strife.
Disaster then, and Death will come to all.
It’s not too late to love the Tree Entire.
Enlarge your family now
It’s down to the wire.
24 Wednesday Apr 2024
Once upon a time I longed,
To be an astronaut in space.
Me: flying through the galaxy.
Exploring planets, moons, and stars.
Was boosted by the Sputnik shock.
I read of planets hot and cold.
And watched the tale of Spock unfold.
I never tired of voyaging bold.
Humanoids are everywhere.
Diverse: each world a universe
That some day might just come to be.
Out beyond infinity.
A lifetime’s travel in my mind
Has brought me back at last to find:
A planet ‘neath an azure dome.
It’s blanketed with life—my home.
And here’s the lovely crazy cast:
A million species interact.
In ways surprising, subtle, vast
This network all a single clan.
This perfect planet filled with beauty,
Spirals through the milky way.
My spaceship’s filled with luxury
Kaleidoscopic every day!
It is, quite simply put, the best.
And though I’ve not seen all the rest,
Each flower I see: creation swirled
A wonder whirling living world.
————————
12 Friday Apr 2024
She might have checked.
He might have sighed.
They might have thought
Before they fought.
A civil war there never was.
But you know how they are.
They’re really all the same!
Or so it seems in dreams
On social media streams.
A civil war there never was.
A civil war there never was.
The first rules of society:
Do not destroy what you cannot make;
Pretend to do; then, only fake.
And if in some bromance,
You somehow came to think
That war will fix your life,
Strife begets more strife.
A civil war there never was.
20 Wednesday Mar 2024
Posted in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, Uncategorized
The day breaks sunny…
There’s still a dewy chill about…
I see the distant hill…
I fancy hiking the faraway path…
I imagine the panoramic scene…
But my ankles ache…
Beneath my bone tired shins…
And I can do the math…
It is a lovely path indeed…
But not mine this day…
Perhaps never my path…
Perhaps never my path…
To trod the jungles of a foreign land…
Like my dad and his shrapnel-shattered shin…
Or die in an angry hail of mindless bullets…
Or be collateral damage in a war that surrounds me…
On every side where every path is a Möbius band…
Coaxing me back to needless death…
Perhaps never my path…
Perhaps never my path…
But the paths of so many others…
Who thought they took the smart path…
The safe path; the only path they saw…
Drowning in the razor-wired river of fear…
Whistles of a distant hawk…
I hear and heed and whistle back…
Perhaps that is how a missile sounds afar…
Before the bomb explodes us all to body parts…
Perhaps never my path…
Perhaps never my path..
But the path of so many others is filled with fear…
Choked by the stench of death…
Smeared by the char of fire and wrath…
Who will see the panoramic view instead…
Who will see that bird and bee…
Dance with flower and tree most lovingly…
Who will take that path…
If it is never my path…
If it is ever my path…
To stumble up the rock-strewn way…
To look about and report back…
To those who could not make the trek…
Then however much I lack…
I must play the only play I have…
Recount the story as well as I am able…
Wrapped in song or poem or fable…
Unwrap the self-placed blinders…
That make it seem that all they’ve lost…
Can be replaced and sanctified by hate…
While I see chaos in the heart and soul…
The tale must be told in bold and sold…
The scroll of right and reason…
In daylight clear and present…
If it is ever my path…
If it is ever my path…
Even to tell a single seeming stranger…
About the ever smoking dangling danger…
I must dance that deadly dance…
I must chance that deadly chance…
Chance the wrath…
It is my path…
It is my path…
And I will whistle to the soaring hawk…
And I will hum to every buzzing bee…
And I will breathe it to the birds and trees…
And I will find and feel the love in every blade…
That strives to push aside the dirt and feel the light…
I cannot take each and every path…
But I can take one path…
And so may you take your path…
And we can together do the math…
Together, we can do the math.
How the Nightingale Learned to Sing
The Only Them that Counts is All of Us
06 Wednesday Mar 2024
Posted in Uncategorized
When down in the gutter,
There’s no time to stutter.
He feigns a proud strutter.
His nonsense is utter.
“I’m strong!” He screams weak.
His pants show a leak.
We don’t get a peek.
He struts like a sheik.
He plucks on the strings;
Of hatred he sings.
He crushes the wings.
Division he brings.
He sucks on men’s souls.
He states no good goals.
He’s as wobbly as foals.
His “logic” has holes.
He dwells in folks’ necks.
Our nation he wrecks.
All hands on the decks!
To stop Putin’s hex.
Or things won’t end well.
In slavery we’ll dwell.
No Liberty Bell
Rings inside of hell.
Essays on America: The Stopping Rule
petersironwood 