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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: poetry

A Parachute Ripped by Lies

10 Friday Sep 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, pandemic, poem, poetry, Resistance, truth

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You need not wear a parachute

If you should plummet from the sky.

For gravity is just a hoax

That’s spread by all those liberal folks*. 

If what you’re hearing irks, just mute! 

Just listen to The Crooked Guy! 

You need not care he rakes in cash

Entices you to act the ash.

You need not wear a safety belt,

And brakes are over-rated too. 

Your faith is bountiful and strong!

It’s clear that nothing can go wrong!

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

For all that matters? How you felt!

Who cares at all if it was true! 

You prove to all how free you’ll be

Repeating Pravda endlessly. 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

You break a bone or crack your head — 

Then see your favorite talk show host!

Some salted trash or ragweed mash

Will cure each ill; just send them cash.

Photo by Vinu00edcius Vieira ft on Pexels.com

If you should die from what they said, 

Well, they don’t care — so why your ghost?

With Voldemort at last in power

You’ll doubtless think your finest hour. 

The problem is dictatorship

Is something people die to leave!

So why lean in to tyranny? 

Have faith in our democracy. 

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Don’t pee into the power strip;

Insist on rights but act naive.

Adult’s a verb; not just a noun.

Lie’s not truth and up’s not down. 

——————————-

  • This is satire. Gravity is not a hoax. And, should you feel compelled to jump out of an airplane from high in the sky, you will definitely want a parachute and not rely instead on a Faux News commentator’s words to cushion your fall. 

———————————

Essays on America: Wednesday

What about the butter dish?

Happy Talk Lies.

Plans for us; some GRUesome

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Where does your loyalty lie?

Essays on America: My cousin Bobby. 

Come back to the light

Roses gilded by the sunset

Let the Rainbows In!

31 Tuesday Aug 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

color, corporations, fun, meetings, nature, poem, poetry, rainbow

Something there is that doesn’t love a meeting.

I could say “elves” — but I think “selves” may be

Closer to the mark. We might walk along the river.

We could sit around my oaken kitchen table.

We could gasp in cold and driving rain and laugh

Beneath an overhang as thunder rounded under.

We might take a darkish corner of a happy pub

Sketch out worlds to conquer, castles to build;

Order another pitcher of Guinness or Sam Adams.

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

But the formal corporate tables – row on row –

Are cookie-cuttered, soul-guttered, flat.

Inside the gray walls, the gray points are made.

One by one the problems raised, dissected,

And out upon the table laid. That’s that. 

If the world outside is sun and rainbow rain,

It’s all just too Crayola for the corporate brain.

Chart of Acronym, Chart of Org, Chart of Plan.

Chart of Acronym, Chart of Org, Chart of Plan.

And all the while, a child grows; a world flows. 

Vines laugh their magic miracle of transmutation:

Water into wine. Sun shafts energy into raindrops:

Outside, a prism of possibilities seen and unseen

Is painted for our pleasure. Inside, our insight fades. 

But someday soon, I may open up the windows

And let the rainbows in. Would that really be a sin? 

Or, might the colors flash those numbers into life?

Might the living flesh of nature help us see?

Dissolve the strife? Prevent the strike? May be.

Photo by Ben Mack on Pexels.com

You like to think you know yourself all too well.

But maybe — just perhaps, you cannot tell. 

Spring may put a notion in your head too:

A meeting out of doors where people talked 

Of how things really are and then we’d dream a bit

Of how things then might really come to pass. You, yourself,

Might just open up that flat gray glass and 

Let the Rainbows in! Let the Rainbows in! 

————————-

To see the earth is vast expanse

Divining divinity

The Tree of Life

Life is a dance

Dance a whirling while or three

Maybe it needs a new starter

The Magic of Numbers

Dream Glider

Somehow

Come back to the light

The teeth of the shark

Ah Wilderness

Piano

Author page on Amazon

Come Together Right Now

30 Monday Aug 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

America, Democracy, pandemic, poem, poetry, unity, USA

Photo by Patrick Case on Pexels.com

“But, Doc, she can’t be really dead.

It’s all most surely in her head.

This Pandemic’s all a hoax.”

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

It’s not my style for telling jokes

Spewing lies and swill to kill 

(Oh, yes, oh yes, lies surely will!). 

A funny kind of funky freedom

To owe your soul to Tweedledum

And give your body to disease

Enslaved & doing as you please

Or so you think.  It’s so absurd

To disavow a doctor’s word 

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

But think that talk show hosts are sane.

“Don’t tell me that they rot my brain.

Aside from cash, they’ve naught to gain.”

Photo by Dmitry Demidov on Pexels.com

So, on we go to chapter four.

Where selfishness is de rigueur.

Those who scream the loudest score.

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

Democracy is shaken more

Than simply stirred. It’s time to pour

Your heart and soul into the fray—

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Or Nazi crews will win the day;

Ineptitude and treason sway;

As Putin smiles his work to see.

But we can still show unity. 

And touch a touch of sanity.  

Restore our sense of dignity. 

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Rebuild our country full of love.

Kick away the thrown glove.

See the land as though above. 

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com

That we all differ? — That’s our soul! 

We must recall our journey’s goal. 

Diversity! It makes us whole! 

Outside forces force our hand

Trying to destroy our lovely land. 

But you and I and everyone 

Don’t have to play one for one.

Our common fight for freedom’s fun. 

And, one fine day, pandemic done,

We’ll all shun GRUesome treachery;

We’ll shun the grime of lechery;

Instead, adults will opt for good. 

We always knew we should and could.

You’ll be amazed what we can do:

When all of each and each of you

Together seek the light that’s true. 

————————-

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine all the people

Opponent is not an enemy

Comes the reign

The only them that counts is all of us

At least he’s our monster

Plans for us some GRUesome

The isle of right

I can’t be bothered

Walkabout diaries racism is absurd

Walkabout diaries Life will find a way

That cold walk home

How did I get here?

That first time is so special

What about the butter dish?

The stopping rule

Where does your loyalty lie?

My cousin Bobby

Essays on America: Wednesday

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-academic

Death Cultery on Parade

The Watershed Virus

Masklessness is not Manliness

Use Diversity as a Resource

Not-Separateness

Author page on Amazon

To See the Earth in Vast Expanse

17 Saturday Jul 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

flight, poem, poetry, sunrise, sunset, technology

Photo by Kristin Vogt on Pexels.com

To see the earth in vast expanse,

That far forge of crimson fire,

Miles of cloudiflower faces, mewling Maine Coon cats,

Puppies romping and the grinning cheeks of witches, 

Waves and waves – a host of golden waffledills. 

Photo by paul voie on Pexels.com

Above the smoky wisps,

I spy the wink of evening star. 

Then, she shyly sheds her veil, 

And still, still I see the endless sunset:

Ruby opalescences 

Knife-blade thin along the margin of the sea sky scape.

Photo by Izaac Elms on Pexels.com

Hawaii? 

This is no escape, but a plunge

Into the very midst of it all. 

My eyes hurt, but I forget to blink.

Alice, Alice, what you dreamed, I live — 

For there below me lies the earth in vast expanse.

Huge frogs, gigantic prawns,

Rhinos chasing Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

So much we take for granted.

What would my grandfather’s grandfather have given for

This moment?

Or this, or this?

Ever on it goes. 

Sailing on this sea of air, the very air we breathe,

Toward vacation or catastrophe. 

That first, the evening star

Winkling, twinkling her eye at me again through her veil, 

Ogling me with lust;

Then, with cold appraising passion

Through the porthole of the 757.

Photo by Vitor Almeida on Pexels.com

On wings of steel,

On wings of steel, 

I ride my metal steed!

I follow the sunset!

I sing the body electric! 

It may be indeed that these are the worst of times.

But it may be too that these are the best of times. 

What do you think, Merlin? 

——————

(An earlier version of this poem appeared in World’s Strand: An International Anthology of Poetry. ISBN 3-934285 55-4)

Life is a Dance

Is a Dream

Take a glance join the dance

How the nightingale learned to sing

It needs a new starter

A wildly webbed world 

The watershed virus

The bubble people

Who are the speakers for the dead?

Dance a Whirling While or Three

15 Thursday Jul 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

poem, poetry

Every once in a while, 

Every so often,

It seems quite worth our while

To take a glance 

At what is outside our 

Usual reference Frame, 

That habitual way of seeing

And notice just this once instead

The very essence of our being.

In truth, you see,

We are each a universe of miracles.

After 4.5 billion years of trying, 

At last, long last, we now begin, 

Begin

To understand what we are spying. 

We are a universe of miracles

Surrounded by a sea of miracles:

The cat beside me;

The chair she lies upon

While she licks her fur —

With her dampish tongue of bur;

The house that holds us both;

The computer that I type upon; 

The internet that links me 

To you

And you

And you

And you

All across our common miracle:

That Eden

That garden of green and blue 

That whirling ball, 

Of ocean, river, stream, and waterfall. 

That garden filled with flowers

Which the prism of evolution 

(Or creation if you prefer)

Has refracted into a revolution 

Of colors, shapes, and sizes. 

There are no greater prizes; 

Nor more wondrous surprises.  

We are here. 

We are alive. 

Each of us:

Seventy trillion cells apiece. 

We are a universe of miracles.

The product of 4.5 billion years of trying.

Most of us — 

Cat be nimble;

Mouse be quick;

Human living in a house of brick;

Humans who have built the house, 

Every human being 

And every, every living being. 

We dance this dance together, 

Don’t you see? 

The music never ends, 

The dance will morph around a billion bends. 

And every move of every player, 

Telegraphs its fireworks display 

Like a soothsayer 

Like a prophet, 

Like a sinner, 

Like a saint. 

Ever-changing, 

Ever-ranging 

In our planet’s spiral dance

Across the utter and unspeakable vastness of space

Across the everywhere of place. 

Take a glance.

I know we buzz as busily as a bee

With little time to contemplate eternity. 

But take a glimpse every now and then, 

You might be shocked at what you see. 

Look beyond the daily grind 

And you will find

Millions of kinds of minds 

Of creatures large and small

And that’s not all!

They are dancing each and every one!

In that great and magic dance of life!

On and on the music goes.

On and on the rhythm flows. 

On and on the mystery grows.

Just because our own brief turn will end at last. 

That doesn’t end that endless dance divine!

No matter how you moan; no matter how you whine,

The earth will sing and spin even when your life has passed

(So fast). 

Just take a little peek and you at last will see

You change, you morph, you flash. 

But, regardless of your stash of cash

You won’t outlast infinity; 

You won’t outwit eternity.

Don’t plot & scheme to check & slay and fight & clash.

No, help our cousins on this great green spaceship earth.

Help make this dance more graceful, fine, & filled with mirth. 

You can dance your dance without destroying; 

You can do your thing without annoying.

You have a million ways to thrill 

Why pick out one instead to kill? 

The sun is sinking red and low 

The wind begins to blow and flow

Into the pines who dance with love

Inviting air and water, dirt and sun,

To join her in her laughing life-long dance

“You too can join in all the fun!

Become a part of me and you’ll have won!” 

Take the time to take a glance.

The ordinary world we live in is 

Extraordinary in every single way!

Every molecule of it sings.

Every moment has its million miracles! 

Take the hands on either side. 

Across the world, the world is wide. 

We’re divided just as far as we’ve decided we can be.

This division shows a silly decision; 

Not an ever-fixed reality.  

When we see the truth, 

We will have won.

The truth

Is that we’re one.

————————————-

Essays on America try to make sense of current politics in America though many of the issues extend beyond American borders.

Here’s a link, e.g., to an essay about how it can be hard to change your mind. 

The Myths of the Veritas is a fictional series that explores leadership, ethics, and empathy in another time and place. Our tale begins as the leader/shaman of the Veritas tribe seeks an eventual successor so she devises a series of increasingly difficult trials that mainly test empathy.

Here’s a link to The First Ring of Empathy.  

You might find value in this attempt to catalog “best practices” in teamwork and collaboration in the form of a Pattern Language. 

Here’s a link to the introduction.

Here’s a link to the index of Patterns. 

The Door without a Key

07 Wednesday Jul 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

contradiction, dilemma, life, poem, poetry, puzzle

There was a door that lacked a key;

There was a box without a door;

Insoluble viewed as mystery…

Yet here’s the truth at very core:

You are not inside that cell 

No. You are outside — outside it all. 

The only thing? You bought the “SELL!”

Inside you? The only wall. 

Inside of you? The Master key. 

Unlock yourself to all of Life, 

You can learn beyond humanity.

You’ll help end the endless strife. 

Unlock your thoughts & preconceptions 

As best you can and you will see

A hundred paths and new perceptions!

Life is there for you to be.

Don’t waste your time on triviality;

Embrace instead infinity.

——————————-

Here’s a link to a chapter from “The Myths of the Veritas” which relates the same puzzle in a different form: https://petersironwood.com/2020/11/18/two-boxes-each-contains-the-other-boxs-key/

Two Boxes: Each Contains the Other Box’s Key

Thinking Tools 

A Pattern Language for Collaboration & Teamwork 

Roar, Ocean, Roar

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Author page on Amazon

Divining Divinity

29 Tuesday Jun 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

ecsatsy, life, mindfulness, nature, peace, poem, poetry

It seemed your path had just begun;

Yet here you are again, again: 

Another trip around the sun.

Playing out your heart to win.

When you move & check & slay

I hope you save some time for play. 

At end of day, who can say, 

They’ve truly won? The truth, I say: 

We’re all just one. We’re one.

If all the joy you ever feel 

Is when you hold the golden prize,

You’ve missed the real within the deal;

You’ve missed the deal within what’s real. 

Surprise! Surprise! 

You could instead find joyous joy 

In every move; in every shot. 

You need not be a dull robot;

You need not play the useful toy. 

All it takes is letting be

In life’s essential ecstasy. 

It’s all there is — yet quite enough.

It’s not about acquired stuff 

In the attic, coats of dust, 

Nothing but a coat of “must.” 

Feel your leafness in Life’s Tree. 

You be you and I’ll be me. 

Your mind is useful in a pinch;

Don’t let it steer your every inch.


He and she? — all part of we 

Exploring all Infinity; 

Sharing Life’s discovery;

Each being each our eachest each 

Extends our reach while teachers teach. 

Be the Hamlet! Eat that peach!

In every dance, you’ll feel romance. 

In every glance, you’ll seize your chance.

In every blade of grass you’ll see,

Lurking there: Divinity.

Life is a dance

Take a glance & join the dance

Math Class: Who are you?

https://www.amazon.com/author/truthtable

As Michael’s Poem Itself Demonstrates

05 Saturday Jun 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

allusion, death, life, poem, poetry, TS Elliot

My college roommate Michael Brill recently published a poem that interweaves heavily with T. S. Eliot’s poem, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock.

You may want to read those two poems first, before moving on to mine. In case you do, here are the links.

T.S. Eliot’s poem: T.S. Eliot’s poem

https://www.communitynews.org/princetoninfo/specialsections/summer_fiction_poetry/cicadian-rhythm-the-love-song-of-j-alfred-proof-gone/article_d4faefa2-cd8d-11eb-8fc7-f3b3094f5329.html

And, here’s my reply, entitled As Mike’s Poem Itself Demonstrates

Your poem is more than mere allusion. 

It’s really a cross-generational collusion: 

TSE & Michael’s word convolution 

Is artfully woven: two songs in fusion; 

It sings in polyphonic illusion

Sans our mind’s favorite delusion:

That our lives will reach conclusion

Numbered like ancestors antediluvian.

That wish is truly a tainted infusion. 

Yet our minds are limited; rife with confusion. 

We’re one with all Life — in all its profusion.

When it comes to Life, there is no seclusion.

With time enough, there is no exclusion. 

We’re all part of Life’s ongoing diffusion.  

Death recycles its vast & vital suffusion.

Your poem is more than mere allusion.

It’s really a cross-generational collusion,

Proof that death itself — is just illusion.

———————————

More about T. S. Elliot’s poem.

——————————-

Links to other poems of mine that touch on life and death

The Bubble People

Ambition 

Fate and Late on the Interstate

Life is a Dance

Mothers Day

Answers to your Many Questions 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead?

Comes the Dawn

Good Morning

The Tree of Life

Take a Glance – Join the Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

——————————-

Author Page on Amazon

The Magic of Numbers

15 Saturday May 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

love, mother, Mother's Day, poem, poetry

(Today is the Ides of May — my mother’s birthday).

My mother:

In baseball (9 players per side; 9 innings long; 3 outs per side per inning)

They retire numbers for

Someone special.

The phone company — 

I’m not so sure.

“Reach out and touch someone.”

They used to say,

As though they:

Cared.

As though they cared,

About someone other than those billion little pictures of Washington, Lincoln and Grant

That flow from 

Your

Wallet to

Theirs.

Theirs.

Now, there’s a neat trick

Allowing us to communicate

(At the speed of light = 186, 000 miles per second; which despite their ads, they did not invent)

(as though that is not in everyone’s interest, for all to communicate)

And pay the price.

Meanwhile,

216-733-1751 jumps yet again into my head,

Is reassigned to a stranger.

The notion that my mom is dead…

Maybe, I should call her.

She died a year and a half ago.

But, hey, you never know, as the lottery ad proclaims.

What with technology these days.

Maybe DSL means “Dialing Sacred Lives.”

Or: 

“Delaying Special Losses.”

Who knows?

Would there be a recorded annoucement?

“We’re sorry. The person that you tried to reach is:

Dead 

And

The number has been retired.”

Or:

Just a long, low, incessant ring of infinite duration.

Silence amplified by (a scientifically engineered) sound into a lonlier tone.

Or:

Would some bleached blonde 25.3 year old divorcee with 2.21 kids answer?

I’d say:

“Uh, Hi. You don’t know me, but … 

Well, I thought I’d call; let you know that my mom used to have this…er…your phone number.

And, earlier it was mom and dad’s and before that even, it was my number too.”

And, what would we talk about then?

(Assuming she didn’t call 911 on her cell-phone)

The flow of electrons, human life, and money, perhaps.

The high cost* of telephone service.

*(Does it make you wonder when all the phone commercials are about how cheap they are?)

What would we talk about while her kids whined about breakfast in the background?

Lucky Charms, maybe, or Count Chocula. 

I loved sugar too when young, in all its fine forms.

(A teaspoon of sugar has more calories than you can imagine.)

I Manipulated

Mom (you have 1 and only 1 mother but 2 grandmothers and billions of grand-fish ancestors)

Into letting me ruin my teeth. 

Wasn’t I the smart one? 

I haven’t had a new dental problem for a long, long time.

But the old ones (year > 40) recur and recur.

I pick up the phone

(engineered according to the numbers)

Hear that reassuring hum,

(the frequency is scientifically set) 

And then return it, gently, gently,

To the cradle.

By human touch alone.

I don’t calculate

The dollar cost of this small act

Although undoubtedly I should.

I just return it, gently, gently 

To the cradle.

By human touch alone.

The Impossible

Peace

Camelot is in your Heart

Maybe it Needs a New Starter

The Most Serious Work

Is a Dream

The Jewels of November

Mother’s Day

Snowflake

The Tree of Life

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Come Back to the Light

“It’s not Your fault; send me money!”

07 Friday May 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

demagog, Democracy, Dictatorship, fascism, poem, poetry, politics, satire

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

“It ain’t your fault you lost again

My no. 

Don’t you know?

It isn’t anything to do with your sin.

I tell you once again:It’s the Mexican. 

He’s the one that made you lose. 

Send me money!

See, it’s funny, 

But the more you give to me, 

I’ll make sure you get to keep it every day,

Not a penny’ll go to Paraguay,

Nor a farthing go to foreign Chile. 

Photo by Andru00e9 Ulyssesdesalis on Pexels.com

If you don’t mind folks from overseas, 

I’ve got another group that is disease.

I’m sure there’s one that’ll make you feel

You’ll love me with that arduous zeal,

‘Cause I’ll get rid of who you think bad. 

No matter who we kill, I won’t be sad. 

Religion, Sect, or side of town, Region? Race?

Who calls their home in a  different place?

Who the person likes to love,

Whether they pray to God above, 

Whether they’re fans of Rock & Roll, 

Whether they like their humor Broad or Droll,

Whether beer or wine or whiskey or Coke

I’ll widen the wound and nasty the joke, 

’Til everyone feels that they’re ready to choke. 

Send me cash & I’ll solve every woe, Okey-Doke?

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

Oh, you sent me your cash and I lost a landslide? 

I didn’t win; you see that as downslide?

Not all my dear donor and friend, 

I will continue this country to rive and to rend. 

I will come back as dictator if you sing me my lie

I will come back from the dead if I die.

I just need a bit of cash to see this through

You’ll see it my way when you know what I knew.

So fork over a bit more, many millions are due.

Before I leave for Katmandu 

Where Poppa Putie pledged me passion Paradise 

He’d never fail me, I surmise.

Was that mike on?

Well, I’ll be damned.

Fake News, friends, no con! 

What you saw was a signal jammed. 

No con here, not even a whiff. 

Just do me a favor — Don’t Sniff. 

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com

—————————————————-

The Truth Train 

The Pandemic Anti Academic

Absolute is not just a vodka

What about the butter dish?

The Watershed Virus

Stories Meant to Illustrate how a Sociopath Thinks

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