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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: sonnet

First Things First

01 Sunday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in poetry

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Tags

peace, poem, poetry, sonnet

The year is new! It’s newly new! For you!

So will you don the iron glove? Or love? 

Seek peace on earth? Pursue revenge? Eschew

The beauty all around, beneath, above?

Go listen to the siren song of hate? 

Or sing and dance with birds and bees and cease? 

The endless tired march of war’s sad fate? 

Gain wounds & burns; mouth words that lie or peace? 

The winds that swirl around this world bring rain

Refreshing water to the thirsty crowd.

And will the winds dispel the angry brain

Made mad by beating drums, exploding loud?

That choice is hers and his and mine and thine.

Let’s let life breathe and grow; let blossoms shine!


Dance of Billions

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

They Have no Word for War

The Crows and Me

Guernica

Fencing

Listen

Symphony

Siren Song

After All

Dick-Taters

Roar, Ocean, Roar

American Dream 2

12 Sunday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, insurrection, poem, poetry, politics, sonnet, truth, USA

(For a time, Sunday’s are for sonnets. We begin with free, chaotic verse that coalesces into a sonnet, but with ABBA stanzas, rather than the more traditional ABAB of Shakespearian sonnets).

PREAMBLE:

A loser.

More than anything.
A loser.

Love: A loser.

Business: A loser.
Bravery: A loser.

Elections: A loser. 

No creator, just a hater.
A waiter for the Putinate. 

The dawn upon the lawn

Shows the blood of many innocents.

Not a teacher, not a preacher.
If he can, he’ll try to reach her,
Stick his sickly sticky stubby hands 

Beneath her bands.
It’s his closest approach to broach 

The subject of true love.
Lady Liberty he’d gladly grope

If he could con a trope of rope-a-dope. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Like a friar with a briar in his britches;

Like a pussy cat who hisses and then pisses 

Wherever he goes, he goes.

A splitter, not a hitter. 

A bit like Hitler with a soul that’s even littler. 

His littleness a wonder as he tries to tear us all asunder. 

He snatches Bibles as well as pussies. 

He’s a fellow who is yellow to his heart of wobbling jello. 

He’s a puppy and a puppet; a sorry little muppet. 

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com



A rap sheet for a rat sheep. 

A giga-gaga fool who’s jowls are spraying drool

The mango Mussolini who’s a mangy melon fool.

His ship has sailed. His coup has failed. 

His acts will soon be nailed to the wall he never built. 


He is crooked as a broken cow; 

A man absurd, without a word

That anyone can count on. 

Putrid knows it well. He’s just poison in the well.

Mango Mussolini would never ever dwell

In office if Putrid’s coup prevails.

Crude, lewd clowns who spray themselves with gold

Are less than dime a dozen. Putrid would install a cousin.  

He trades in sumps and sewers.

Names are used as skewers. 

Like a crow that loudly cawed, 

He’s a frankly cranky fraud. 

A pawn who likes to fawn

Upon his own necrotic dance. 

An odd and frowsy drowsy prance.

He’s a rag tag brown down

Largely baggy clown.

With a suit of downtown diapers, 

He tries to reason treason with his pipers.

From the Foe-Fox Terriers & Suckers

Carl’s son & Smucker’s cluckers & his clones.

Droning on and on and on until the lie seems natural.

Screams a meme, a theme, until a dream seems actual. 

SONNET:

The crews who snooze; they’ll wake upon the land.

They’ll see what seemed such grand orchestral songs

Was just a band of candy coward schlongs. 

Mirages mirrored & wavering o’er the sand. 



Both time and tide will ebb and flow; and know

That truth will win the day at last and hate

And fear — that sea of filth — will dissipate.

The cuts all sutured; nature nurtured. Though

We must take care. Lay bare the plot to kill

Democracy through wealth & pelf & greed.

Corruption spreads a weedy, cancerous seed.

We’ll hoe, and weed, and weed and hoe until:

We’ll share the truth & goods for all alive. 

Until all folx of earth survive & thrive.

Author Page on Amazon

Sonnet: American Dream

Dance of Billions

Vlademort Putrid

Dick-Taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Donny Boy Attends a Veterans Day Parade

What could be better? A horror story.

If Only…

American Dream

05 Sunday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Democracy, ethics, poem, poetry, sonnet, truth, USA, violence

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Betray just once: Destroys both love and life.

Can you still hear the shot the world around?

Do sounds and echoes yet rebound around?

As Pattern, Betrayal fosters endless strife. 

When life and love don’t matter to some few;

When greed and lies become their normal ways,

Civility’s turned inside out and days

And nights whirl out of step into Gray and Blue.

Return, return, to common ground or sound

Of songs won’t long remain. Retained instead:

The din of war will echo in your head.

But bitter herbs & shiny shards are found. 

American dream too gladly grasped by greed

Escapes like wisps of smoke of self-served creed. 

———————-

Author Page on Amazon

Guernica

The Crows and Me

All for one; and none for most

All of us 

All together now

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Dick-Taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Imagine all the People

The Forgotten Field

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration & Cooperation

Sonnet of Vlademort

06 Sunday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, Putin, sonnet, Ukraine

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

I lie!  I cheat! And then, I win! Makes ME
The best and baddest Putin-tate of all!
I kill my people who tell truth, you see,
I have to do it or I’ll seem so small. 

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

I’m such a chicken and a rat,

I cannot fight myself, of course, so then

I send young men to kill and die and that?

It makes me feel most powerful! And, when

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The blood of babies, moms, and elderly

Flows through the streets that are not mine. 

My heart leaps up in joyous revelry.

It is my substitute for having spine.

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com



I steal the wealth of Russians in my thrall.
That’s not enough for me! I want it all!

Photo by Samira on Pexels.com

————————-

Absolute is not just a vodka (poem about dictatorship)

Overheard Conversations of Fiction (Between Putin & TFG)

Voter Suppression is Life Suppression (Essay showing why this is so)

Essays on America: Wednesday (How we can “paint ourselves into a corner” psychologically).

The Stopping Rule (The *lack* of stopping rule for Dictators is a problem; for any procedure, algorithm, or machine, there needs to be a stopping rule).

The Update Problem (Essay about how when things change, we don’t always update all the relevant attitudes & beliefs we have).

The Ailing King of Agitate (Poem about whomever comes to mind at the Title).

The Truth Train (Poem about TFG’s disastrous misleadership on COVID)

The Pandemic Anti-academic (Poem about how anti-intellectualism aided the COVID virus).

Poppa Goes the Weasel (Thoughts about Vlademort).

Life will Find a Way (More hopeful reflection on how life will find a way.)

Cancer always Loses in the End (Essay about how cancer is absurdly stupid. It kills wantonly and ensures its own death. Hmm. Sounds like someone in the news lately.)

At Least he’s Our Monster (Story illustrating the absurdity of people who think if they just kow-tow low enough to people like TFG & Vlademort, that they will show them loyalty back.)

Captain Donny Boy Steers the Titanic (Story with a pretty self-explanetory title).

The Con-Con-Man’s Special Friend (Reflections on the irony that while TFG uses people and never has true loyalty, he has apparently convinced himself that Putin who also uses people and never had true loyalty *does* have loyalty to TFG! That is a symptom of the disease of narcissistic personality disorder.)

Small Steps (So, in the midst of all the types of chaos that we face, what can we do? Here are some things).

Stoned Soup (A story that riffs on the folk story of Stone Soup — a community works together to make a wonderful soup through cooperation).

The Orange Man (Part of the lore of the Veritas, this tale shows how greed and lying together may result in disaster for many).

The Three Blind Mice (Another tale from the Veritas. This is a parable about how the powerful and greedy divide the people so as to stay in power).

All for One and None for Most (Poem with a self-explanatory title — what happens in dictatorships).

Lying to Your Kids (Why would you ever do that? And, yet people may be trying to trick you into that very thing)

My Cousin Bobby (My cousin Bobby conned me when we were young. More than once! How can we minimize the chances of being conned?)

Happy Talk Lies (This essay explores how people can continue to believe the incredible panoply of lies told by TFG over the past decade. He’s lied about virtually everything; yet some believe only him. It’s an addition, basically).

Where does your loyalty lie? (A good question to ask yourself. Here’s some of my reflection.)

Come back to the Light Side (It’s never too late to help our civilization survive and thrive).

The Cancelled Flight to Crazytown

11 Saturday Dec 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

chaos, COVID19, Democracy, insurrection, pandemic, poem, poetry, sonnet

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The station splayed a crazy random “plan”

With Omicron disheveling every port.

Has “Tree of Life” lost patience with mere man?

They say that “Politics is only sport.”

Only Sport.

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

It’s JFK reborn to Dallas place!

It’s “Carpe Pussy!” who’s become our God.

You can’t come in. I can’t disease displace.

The touch once smooth and warm is cold as cod.

Cold as Cod.

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com



Though every flight is cancelled, we are here.

But JFK is nowhere to be seen.

We tore the Truth itself; it seemed so dear.

Uprooted once again to land unseen.

Land Unseen.

Photo by Trace Hudson on Pexels.com



And now we live in constant flux and change.

As airports melt. Mosaics of crazy strange.

Crazy Strange. 


The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Essays on America: Wednesdays

Essays on America: My Cousin Bobby

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Toddlerhood Nation

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

That Cold Walk Home

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Author Page on Amazon

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