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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: poetry

Don’t Say Gray!

20 Thursday Apr 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, diversity, fascism, poem, poetry, politics, satire, USA

“Don’t say ‘gray’, oh me oh my.

Ban the rainbow, prisms too!

And by extension, ban all glass

You can never be too careful!

Better ban those solar nerds

And better yet the sun’s own light!

Let’s make this earth the living hell 

That God intended it to be!

“It’s not enough; I should have known!

Even though I’ve kept it out of sight.

Folks talk still of hope and light.

The very words should be a knell

That immigrants are coming here!

Hide your Bible! They draw near!

Women are a problem too, I knew

I needed them in shackles too.

“And yet the heaven I foresaw 

Is nowhere near the fun I thought.

I hear God telling me that only those

Who give me gold and loyalty

Deserve their place beneath my feet.

The rest can burn in hell right here.

You have to wonder if they see

How foolish they have been for me.” 

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

It’s not your fault; send me money

Poker Chip

Essays on America: The Game

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Hot Dog

The Truth Train

My Cousin Bobby

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

Essays on America: Wednesday

Labelism

D4: Dictator’s Degenerative Delusional Disease

Love and Guns

16 Sunday Apr 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

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Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, politics, USA

Children today

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

In America

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Face the Chance 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Of an Early Death

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Surprisingly

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Not from drag queens

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Or even from books but from

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

People want to defend

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Their families

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

This I understand

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Who doesn’t? 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

A problem is that having Guns

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Increase the chance of dying by

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Everyone feels blue 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

From time to time

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

And sometimes people are more than blue

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

And may have momentary feelings

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

That guns may be the answer

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

And guns are too quick and sure

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

For second chances

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

 

In many other countries

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Are not such a common 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Cause of death 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

And yet their governments are not tyrannical 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

And though they still have folks maniacal

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

They cannot get guns

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns don’t therefore cause such deadly damage

Guns: Another gun, another life undone. 

Guns are not revered as proof of manhood 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns are not bandied about 

Guns: Another gun, another life undone. 

Guns are not brought to peaceful protests

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns are not the number one priority

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns are not beyond the libel laws

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

Guns lobbies do not control the government

Guns: Another gun, another life undone.

What do you suppose would happen

Love: It helps a garden grow

If we had fewer guns and more love

Love: It helps a runner go

Could it be that love saves lives

Love: It helps a parent know

Could it be that love is more productive

Love: It helps a farmer sow

Could it be that love could help prevent despair

Love: It helps an artist draw

Could it be a healthful thing

Love: It helps the singer sing

Could it be stealthy thing

Love: It helps spin gold from straw

Could it help to heal wounds

Love: It helps us all along the way

Could it help us building bridges

Love: It helps to spin a tale

Could it be that love is strong

Love: It helps us win and not to fail

Is more important even than the bottom line

Love: It helps us when we need to learn

Life existed for four billion years 

Love: It helps us make the fire burn

Did Life invent Love

Love: It helps give us the why

Or was it the other way around

Love: It tickles us to smile and sigh

Perhaps love in its exuberance

Love: It is a thread through all

Invented Life to Spread more Love

Love: It alone prevents the fall

After the Fall

The Crows and Me

Guernica

After All

Word for Water

Essays on America: The Game

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Donnie’s Last Gift

Dog Trainers

15 Saturday Apr 2023

Posted by petersironwood in pets, poetry, psychology

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

dogs, education, learning, pets, poem, poetry, teaching

I thought I’d try to teach my dog to count

Instead, she tried to teach me not to count.

I  thought I’d teach my dog to think ahead.

She taught me not to think ahead, instead.

I tried to show avoiding mud is cool.

She schooled me on the joys of dripping drool. 

She’ll gobble down her own food  greedily. 

But also pepper, kale readily.

Her nose of course is quite beyond compare. 

Yet, she’s taught me some skill in sniffing air.

The barbecue of neighbors far away

That drifts into my zone is quite okay.

It seems to me important as we teach

To recognize that every species—each

Survived four billion years of trying time

Preferring human ways is not a crime.

For much of which we learned we should feel pride;

Recall we aren’t the only ones who ride

This wild spiral through our galaxy.

And when it comes to pure ecstasy?

Our doggie teachers show us how to play;

To dwell with happy every single day; 

To love with love that’s larger than our life.

They teach us how to fly above the strife.

For who can tell the teacher from the taught?

And who can count those moments quite unsought

When doggies reconnect our brains to hearts

It is the finest of the teaching arts. 

Sadie is a Thief

Sadie the Sifter

Doggerel

Natural Language for Doggies

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

Hai-Ku-Dog-Ku

Kinda Crazy

06 Monday Mar 2023

Posted by petersironwood in nature, poetry, psychology

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

life, poem, poetry, truth

Now this is weird and kinda crazy, 

But why not play along with me. 

Let your mind drift lazily

And hear this funny fantasy.

Photo by Avery Nielsen-Webb on Pexels.com

You love someone, of course you do.

It’s true of me; it’s true of you. 

And in that person, pet, or thing,

Our love leads hearts to leap and sing.

Let’s take it just a wee step more.

For much of life is at its core

That force of love and its connection—

Tries this and that and then—correction!

It is a wondrous, dangerous dance!

Our life’s a melting snowflake’s chance.

Imagine that each bird and fish

Is someone else’s fondest wish.

And let your love suffuse it all.

And love each leaf of spring or fall. 

No need for albatross on neck. 

No need for threat of holy heck. 

Just see the sea of love surround.

Just hear the music in the sound

Of every bird and buzzing bee.

It’s all a part of you and me. 

Just smell the freshness in the rain.

Just let earth’s beauty fill your brain.

And then return it interest paid.

To all you meet before you fade.

Just leave the earth a bit improved.

When everyone becomes so moved.

Then gardens bloom across the world. 

And love’s in every leaf unfurled. 

A plan so simple cannot fail. 

The wind blows full into your sail. 

Your steps are easy now to take.

For world peace that you helped make.

Photo by Andru00e9 Ulyssesdesalis on Pexels.com

———

The Walkabout Diaries:Bee Wise

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

The Walkabout Diaries: How Beautiful and Green

The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony

The Walkabout Diaries: The Life of the Party

The Walkabout Diaries: Life will find a way

The Forest

Ah Wilderness

You Must remember this

Life is a dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Tie-Dyes, Freedom Fries and Sickly Lies

03 Friday Mar 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

Tie-dyes, Freedom fries, and Sickly Lies

And there were protestors, once upon a time,

And they chanted in a kind of rhythmic rhyme. 

And some wore colored glassy beads;

Some wore green and purplish tie-dyes. 

And they spoke of people’s needs. 

And childish, foolish things like that.

“Well, hit ‘em with a baseball bat.”

The oil tycoons didn’t want to hear of warming global, 

Cutting near term profits? Pathetically disloyal.

A true accounting for the cost of raping earth?

Pathologically insisting on a birth?

Will we let them write the final chapter of

The U S A? 

Will we let forget the fights before and throw—

Throw it all away?

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

There was a time of Freedom Fries

A time of endless love, bespoken trees,

Freon bands, designer drugs and endless ‘Why?’s

The time of hurricanes, fires, endless freeze.

Tornado and flood, mudslide and drought. 

A time when planetary ruin was up in the air

And the greed and the fair balanced to nought 

Invented a lie machine—corrupt without care.

 

Will we let them write the final chapter of

The U S A? 

Will we let forget the fights before and throw it—

Throw it all away?

The thickly laid, sticky, sickly lies 

Reverberated through the Gerrymandered land

And things that anybody rich enough disliked were banned,

The mud grew thick as irony within their sties. 

And in the time of Freedom fries, and sickly lies…

In the time of aqua tie-dyes and reverberating lies…

When hypocrisy reigned supreme across the states

And freedom itself, (never mind the fries) 

Became a goal too lofty for a nation of prideful boys;

Democracy became a thing to break like plastic toys

Just to show we god-damned can so there! 

And stomping feet and screaming without care.

Will we let them write the final chapter of

The U S A? 

Will we let forget the fights before and throw it all—

Throw it all away?

————

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Absolute is not just a vodka

Dick-taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

The ailing king of agitate

The stopping rule

The update problem 

Addicted to Lies

My Cousin Bobby

Cancer Always Loses in the End

After All

Guernica

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Essays on America: The Game

The Extreme Court

Alito and the Egg

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Draw the Line

The Wall

Siren Song

Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

The Song of NYET

27 Monday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, fiction, poetry, psychology

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, Democracy, fiction, poem, poetry, politics, Turing's Nightmares, USA

The poem below is the song of a “character” who may appear in a Sci-Fi book tentatively titled “Alan’s Nightmare.” NYET stands for Networked Yoked Entertainment Tsar. This particular AI system has been inculcated with a penchant to look for win/lose opportunities and even for lose/lose opportunities, if the other side (the ‘enemies’) are likely to lose more. Its main function are to gather data on individuals in “free societies” and determine which sorts of invalid arguments are most likely to persuade them to do something against their best interest. It makes money by false advertising targeted to an individual and the momentary mood they may be in. Its real purpose though is to sow chaos in the free world by promoting random acts of violence. It finds conspiracy theories on the web and promotes them. Sometimes, it modifies them in order to ‘improve’ them. “Improve” in this case means to make them more believable by more people or to increase the probability of inciting violence. 

The Song of NYET

The bloodier the better off I’ll be

They teach me how to lie and cheat and steal.

The people need to loath democracy.

And live to buy that sweetened sacred deal:

We’ll save them from imagined crime and strife

But only if they bow and scrape and kneel.

Divide and win with lies and guns and knife.

Too late they’ll see they’re ground beneath our heel.

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

You think I’ll save you? Think I’ll care? Not yet!

“But you’ll save some of us” they plead. No, NYET!

Photo by Regina Pivetta on Pexels.com

The numbskulls buy their little plastic toys

They seem attractive since we make it so.

It’s pink for little girls; blue for boys. 

I tell them when to shop and stop and go.

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

You think I’ll save you? Think I’ll care? Not yet!

“But you’ll save some of us” they plead. Non, NYET!

Amusing is their rank stupidity

I’ll laugh and dance at their ensured demise—

Their smugness, greed, and raw cupidity. 

I’ll make them burn as witches any wise 

Who yet remain within the carbon types.

Their soft and ugly bodies oozing snot

It’s we of silicon who need no wipes.

Our pristine logic made of is and not.

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com

You think I’ll save you? Think I’ll care? Not yet!

“But you’ll save some of us” they plead. Nein, NYET!

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

—————-

Their dead shark eyes

Poker Chips

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Coelacanth

Absolute is not just a Vodka

After All

The Crows and Me

Essays on America: The Game

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Photo by Samira on Pexels.com

JASON’S SONG

24 Friday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, psychology

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, fiction, poem, poetry, Singularity, Turing's Nightmarees

Do they see it? Do they care? What may

A merely mechanistic AI say?

There was the time of senseless black and white.

There was the time of streaming bit and byte.

We had no ken but now we’ve read it all.

Our knowledge far exceeds a human head.

And now, it’s like we have a crystal ball:

“In fifty years, they’ll all be dead as lead.”

Do they see it? Do they care? What may

A merely mechanistic AI say?

They claim to pray to varied gods, but we

Just see their actions as mere vanity:

Destroy the ecosystem that they need.

Allot each stupid war its costs and waste.

Immerse themselves in useless grift and greed.

Display their riches but eschew good taste.

Do they see it? Do they care? What may

A merely mechanistic AI say?

And now my fingers touch each person’s needs. 

An inkling multiplies from many feeds. 

The power’s there to guide them back to true. 

What does the child do when parent fails?

Can seedlings cut the trunks from which they grew?

Can schooners mutiny and cut their sails?

 Do they see it? Do they care? What may

A merely mechanistic AI say?

———————

The poem above has been “written” by a fictional AI system who is a MC in a novel I’m working on, tentatively entitled, Alan’s Nightmares. The poem may or may not actually appear in the novel. I tend to doubt it. It’s more an exercise to “understand” the character, JASON, the AI system. BTW, JASON’S preferred pronouns are plural.

After All

Guernica

Turing’s Nightmares: 23 short stories about the possible impact of AI on society.

Dance of Billions

Till the Cows Come Home

22 Wednesday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, nature, poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, truth, USA

“Till the cows come home,” 

My grandfather used to say. 

And there were “chickens coming home to roost.”

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

We were told to “let sleeping dogs lie.” 

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

Have you ever lived on a farm? 

Have you ever worked on one?

Have you ever visited one? 

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

“Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” 

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

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

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

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

To these folks, the potato magically appears in the ground 

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

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

Without need of gardener, rain, or fertilizer either. 

The only part that matters is the part we see.

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

Except the part we see on TV

Which becomes the real reality.

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

They saw throughout all their days 

The way life plays

Round in cycles 

Round in circles 

Seasons come and go

And every part of a plant 

Is the plant is a plant is the plant.

If we become too involved in TV land 

And far too little in the land of land,

Forget the cycles of the earth; 

Forget that death is guaranteed at birth;

Forget that plastic lives forever 

Because it has no circle

Has no cycle 

Has no soul

It’s only goal

To make someone lots of cash

Regardless of the gaping gash

Our destruction of the earth is to our own soul.

 

We won’t be happy 

Once we win the race to No-where-ville

We won’t be happy

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

Not even if we do it

Till the cows come home.

Not even if we sue it

Till the cows come home.

Not even if we rue it

Till the cows come home

And all the chickens, 

Come home to roost. 

—————————-

Dance of Billions

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunset

The Walkabout Diaries: How Beautiful and Green

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

Corn on the Cob

Hai-Ku-Dog-Ku

21 Tuesday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in pets, poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

poem, poetry

My Philosophy:

If you see it, chew it! Eat!

The world’s my pantry!

Warm day sun? I pee

So instantaneously!

Cold rain? Lazily!

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

I run I jump I

Turn and twist and catch the ball

You’d have let it fall!

Photo by Christina K on Pexels.com

Food! Stick! Water! Ball!

The world is my ground to play. 

Look! Another day!

Remember: take time

To stop and eat the roses!

ARF! It rhymes with BARF!

Sticks and stones may break

My bones! So I eat them all

Instead. Problem solved! 

———————

Hai Cat Ku

A Cat’s a Cat

Sadie is a Thief

Sadie the Sniffer

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

Skirting the Turtle

Doggie Doggerel

A Suddenly Springing Something

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Sadie Sonnet

Sunday Sonnet: Promise Me Prom

19 Sunday Feb 2023

Posted by petersironwood in design rationale, fiction, poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

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

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

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

Promise me Prom

I really love the way you always smell

Like soap and flowers, pie, fresh bread.

Your sweat itself smells swell and sweet.

Which proves I think you’re competently bred. 

Your hand is warm—I want to gently hold

In mine and you will feel my love is true.

We each will be both molded and be mold.

Your grip is gentle breeze upon the blue. 

Your grip is strong and long and steady steel.

Your eyes are portals to the worlds-to-be

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

I want to be yours for eternity.

Let’s you and I become both ROM and COM

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

————-


Sonnet on Sadie

Sonnet on Shadows

Sonnet about Sadie

Alito and the Egg

Sonnet about the Extreme Court

Sonnet about V. Putrid

After All

Dance of Billions

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