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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: USA

Life is a Dance

13 Monday Apr 2020

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

≈ 73 Comments

Tags

America, cheating, courage, cowardice, Democracy, fascism, globalism, poem, poetry, science, truth, USA

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

All life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge:

Honor the Truth — or Live out the Lie.

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Photo by Gelgas on Pexels.com

You might fight for the right

And still end up dead. 

You could turn from the luminous light

You can slink and surrender instead. 

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You can wrap a leash around your neck

And hand the lead to a feckless wreck.

Say, “Here you go; I’m your slave now.

Train me how to bow and kowtow.” 

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He’ll wink and nod and blink, the old sod. 

“I want you to do me a favor though.

You see those people; they look so odd.

I want you to shoot them row by row.”

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Having leashed your soul to the Worst of the Worst, 

You’ll kill more lives in an endless shift-show.

You’ll lie to yourself; be an elf on the shelf. 

Bow to the will of the First of the Cursed. 

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You’ll force a false-faced smarmy smile, 

As you shout out your shoddy sickening “Heil!” 

Millions may die but you care not a jot.

You’re already dead so you let the lot rot.  

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Life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

Of rigid and chance.

people dancing on dance floor

Photo by Prime Cinematics on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off the ledge: 

Honor the Truth — or, Live out the Lie.

time lapse photography of waterfalls during sunset

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You may fashion a last and desperate try

To derail the Failure that many see wrapped

In the “Finest of Finery” — armored with Lie,

Unable to move — in his own web trapped. 

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Think and link in a world-wide win.

Throw off the shackles of such shadowy sin.

Refuse to play for the Clown at the Helm 

Or his shadowy puppets all over the realm.

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They’ll stumble and fall and all turn to ash.

Their only bonds are their hatred and cash. 

You’ll join with others across this vast land;

You’ll sing together your fairness demand. 

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Those who shrugged and laughed at need?

Protections fall from those slaves of greed.

Even the cruelest of the cruel can bleed.

Fertile fields will fill with thorn and weed.

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If no-one will drive, none will survive. 

If no-one will pick — none left alive.

If no-one will cure, bake or douse fire?

Those cruelest are building their own Karma pyre. 

orange flame

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

Life is a dance

On that thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

pile of stones

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge: 

Honor the Truth or Live out the Lie.

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The dealers of death want to close all the blinds

Shutter out light; squelch questioning minds. 

So, poke a small hole — let the light shine through!

The future of freedom? It’s all up to you. 

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And me. 

And you.

And you. 

And you.


Author Page on Amazon

Ripples: How Actions Today Determine Our Future

You Know: Do you Feed the Good Wolf or the Bad Wolf?

Rejecting Adulthood. It’s Easy to Pass on Responsibility 

The Truth Train: What went so Wrong? 

Citizen Soldiers (1)

Citizen Soldiers (2)

Citizen Soldiers (3)

SHRUGS: Super-Hyper Really Ultra Greedy Swindlers 

Impossible

A Tale of Karma

Winning by Cheating is Losing 

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

  

 

 

Donnie Plays Bull-dazzle Man!

01 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, story

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

allegory, America, childhood, criminal, Democracy, fiction, games, satire, sociopath, story, USA

orange excavator on brown hill

Photo by Anamul Rezwan on Pexels.com

Donnie looked outside and saw a bulldozer moving a large pile of dirt. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I want one! Get me one!” 

Donnie’s mommy sighed. The noon radio programs weren’t even on yet and this was the fourth impossible request Donnie had already made today. 

“I told you yesterday, Donnie, you can’t play in the dirt. You’ll get your hands dirty.” 

“But I want a big orange thingy! What is that thingy?” He pointed his teeny fingers at the bulldozer.

“That’s called a bulldozer, Donnie. And only big people can have one.”

“Daddy said I could have one! He said I could have a bull-dazzle! He said I could have two bull-dazzles!” 

bulldozer engine equipment heavy

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I’ve no time for your nonsense, Donnie. You can’t have a — they’re called “bulldozers” — and you can’t have one till you’re a lot older. Look at that man. See? He’s much older than you. And, I still have laundry to fold.” 

Donnie said, “Yes, mommy.” But secretly, he was thinking about various ways to get revenge on stupid mommy. 

It was a sunny spring day, but not really warm. Snow still sprinkled the yard, so Donnie grabbed one of his sister’s jackets. That will annoy her, he thought and smiled. Outside, he couldn’t see much to do. Junior and Maryanne were up in the treehouse playing cards. They had tried teaching him a couple times, but they kept making up rules that didn’t make him win every time which was stupid. So, he threw all the cards on the ground. They hadn’t invited him a third time. 

brown wooden tree house on snow covered ground

Photo by Street Donkey on Pexels.com

He walked over to where the clothes were hanging. A gentle breeze billowed the shirts and sheets. Junior and Maryanne didn’t even notice him. It seemed they never did. 

He tugged at one of the sheets. Nothing happened. He grabbed with both hands and yanked down on one corner. He threw his legs out just like he did when he had a temper tantrum. His teeny hands slipped off and he fell on his butt. 

He ground his teeth, and walked over to a nightshirt he could reach. This time, when he pulled one of the clothespins snapped off. He got the other one off too! Success! He looked up at the treehouse, but his siblings were still ignoring him. Good, he thought. He tried several more items of laundry and managed to get another nightshirt and even one of the sheets off. Time to tattle. 

white textile

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

He walked back into the living room where mommy was already relaxing and listening to Abbot and Costello with her eyes closed. He wondered whether she had noticed him go out. He went to the dining room window and stared out. From there, he could see the treehouse, but his siblings were hidden by the plywood paneling. Perfect, he thought. When a commercial came on, Donnie said casually, “Mommy. Is Junior supposed to be showing his thingy to Maryanne?” 

“WHAT!?” She sprang up from her chair and came to the window. She could see the treehouse but no children. “Where are they?”

“They’re right up in the treehouse, mommy. I think they are hiding so Freddy can show his thingie.” 

Mommy went to the back door and flung it open hard enough to loosen one of the screws that held the hinge. The door flapped against the siding and sprang back violently, scratching her hand. She screamed, “JUNIOR! MARYANNE! Get in here this instant!” 

She walked out onto the back stoop and began skipping down the stairs. That’s when she noticed some of her laundry dragging on the dirty ground. 

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“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KIDS DO TO MY LAUNDRY! GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!” 

The puzzled faces of two kids peeked out of the shadowed treehouse. 

Maryanne spoke first, “How come, mom? We’re playing…”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE PLAYING! Get down here! Now” 

She went over and snatched up one of the nightshirts and tried to brush the dirt from it. Her brushing only ground the dirt in more deeply. Crap, she thought, I’ll have to wash this again. 

“What the hell is wrong with you two!? I worked all morning on this laundry!” 

In the corner of his eye, Fred Junior could see the smiling grinning face of his younger brother staring out at the scene from the dining room window. 

“LOOK AT ME when I’m talking to you! Why did you pull my laundry down! Never mind! Get inside! Both of you. I need to talk with you privately, Mister. No. Go to your rooms. I’ll have Fred talk to you when he gets home. That new belt of his will talk to you!” 

When she had redone the laundry and stopped cursing under her breath, Donnie thought she had cooled down enough. His enemies were still confined to their rooms, Donny said, “You know what, Mommy. You’re right. I’m too young to have a real bull-dazzler. But maybe Santa will bring me a pretend one for Christmas?” 

“What? Oh, sure. Sure. Maybe.” Her mind was swirling. Should she tell her husband about the … well, she hadn’t actually seen it. But the laundry was for sure. Junior would get a beating for that. Would he really have shown … surely, he’s too young for that. Fred would go crazy though. Maybe best not to say anything. She’d just watch Junior a lot more carefully from now on, watching for signs. 

Donny stared out the window. He felt pretty proud of himself. Someday, he thought to himself, I will have a whole bunch of bull-dazzlers working for me. What fun! I like bull-dazzlers!

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———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Keys that Open; Keys that Close

31 Tuesday Mar 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

America, COVID19, crisis, Democracy, USA

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His whispers seemed so warm and seductive, breathing into her ear: “Come on, it will be nice.  I can protect you.  Give me the keys.”

Lady Liberty, scared, but determined, shook her mighty head, “No.”

The warm breath of the seducer blew on the ear of Lady Justice.  “I need more power.  Then we’ll all be safe.”

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Lady Justice might be blind, but she knew this voice well.  She had heard similar voices in ancient Egypt, in Imperial Rome, in all ages and places.  The languages changed but the message was the same.  “Hand me your freedom.  Just a little.  And I can make you safe.”  Inevitably, of course, there were invasions, plagues, earthquakes and hurricanes and people were not safe.  The voice said, “Yes, that was too bad.  But, you see, you didn’t give me quite enough of your freedom.  Give me just a little more and I can keep you safe.” Lady Justice and Lady Liberty had learned to see these lies for what they were.

woman in black dress holding balance scale

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

The Bill of Rights, the Separation of Powers — these are some of the master keys to America (though many citizens think the master keys are baseball and fireworks and grilled hamburgers so that giving up freedom wouldn’t mean all that much).  The Ladies though; they have been around the block a few times.  Thank God. 

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Listen to the Ladies. Listen to them well.


 

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Sunless Sunday of Faith

15 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, animism, faith, life, pandemic, poem, poetry, Sunday, USA

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Sunless, damp, and drizzly day —

Today;

Grimy slush pockets in a lifeless woods;

Yesterday’s clear path

Overgrown with treacherous bramble bushes.

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Where is my faith? Where is my faith?

A whistling wraith. Where can I find my faith,

Today, on this sunless Sunday?

 

The Supremes are singing novel tunes today;

A completely different style with a sanctimonious smile.

Today’s Chevy at the levy is a thousand pounds too heavy,

Dripping blood and oil from the bubbling boil of its cranky crankcase.

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A hole in the ground, today: A Holy hole;

And, all around I hear the desperate screams;

See the people scrambling; feel the flames;

Taste the broken dreams awash in a salty sea.

orange flame

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

And, so off we go again, half-cocked 

On yet another Crusade and once again

The children bear the brunt; 

The children feel the flame;

The leaders claim the fame.

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“The shot heard ‘round the world” has transmogrified:

“The shots heard all around the world.”

The New Centurions run roughshod

All around the world just because we can.

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

All my eggs were not in one basket.

But, today, even the baskets are unravelled —

Shredded reeds scattered all about the floor

Eggs splattered against the open door. 

Where is my faith? Where is my faith?

A whistling wraith. Where can I find my faith

On a sunless Sunday, a damp, and drizzly winter day — 

Today?

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Cardinals, singing, robins, crows;

Scampering squirrels. 

Onion grass, the red florets on maple twigs —

These are my counselors; these are my coaches –

Ministers to my soul, healers of my heart.

Not the famous, complicit in the illicit;

Distracting the base and baseless base

That has become our sad and hollow home.

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Life grows; life knows.

Summers always melt the snows.

And endless greed is yet a sterile seed

That sows its own demise,

While wisdom, ah, sweet wisdom

Will find and mind the wise.

I imagine, John. I imagine still.

I imagine, John. And I always will.

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———————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration 

Camelot is in your Heart

09 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

America, Camelot, Democracy, legends, myths, peace, poem, poetry, revolution, story, USA, war

 

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The Knights are mostly scattered now;
And Arthur Pendragon long since dead;
A Kingdom ruled by shadows instead. 

The castle lies in broken rubble.
The fields, fallow, untended and bare.
Our Flag doesn’t ripple in cold blue air. 

The maimed, the stunned, stumble, grumble
Of what was once so full of grace,
And now is gone without a trace. 

A grain of wheat is blown by wind,
I seize and touch, and then I see,
Those fields and fields wave goldenly. 

Upon the ground, a hunk of brick —
Its one of hundreds, standing tall
And thickly building castle wall. 

Beside the fallen orchard trunks —
A rotten apple laced with bees;
Inside that core are apple trees! 

Not in warfare, not in plans,
Not in science, not in art,
Not in numbers, not in chart, 

Camelot, 

My friends, 

Is in your heart. 

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Wonder, Wonder, Who Kept the Wonder?

08 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

America, fiction, life, love, parable, romance, story, truth, USA

woman in black jumper riding on purple component

Photo by Danielly Palmeira on Pexels.com

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you a wonder from the farthest corner of the world: a being that is half frog, half man!” shouted Carnival Barker.

“Whoa! Now, that’s weird, isn’t it, Denise?” said Boy.
“Weird, all right. But, kinda … wonderful in way too,” said Girl.

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“Thanks for a wonderful evening,” said Girl.
“So? Maybe we can go out again some time?” asked Boy, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

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“You look just wonderful in that dress!” exclaimed Boy.
“Thanks!” blushed Girl, as they spun through other the dancers.”

people dancing on dance floor

Photo by Prime Cinematics on Pexels.com

“I wonder how I ever got lucky enough to meet you,” said Lover.
“Oh, that ring! Wonderful! Of course, I’ll marry you, silly,” said Beloved.

photo of engagement ring

Photo by TranStudios Photography & Video on Pexels.com

“Listen, darling, they’re playing our song!” laughed Woman.
“Wunderbar, Wunderbar, It’s a bright and shining star,
Like our love, it’s Wunderbar!” sang the record.

photo of mountain under starry night sky

Photo by Marco Milanesi on Pexels.com

“You’ll wonder where the yellow went…
When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent,” promised Announcer.
“Turn off the TV. I’m trying to sleep!” mumbled Wife.

woman wearing crop top standing near wire fence

Photo by Lê Minh on Pexels.com

“Sometimes, I wonder where you ever learned to drive,” muttered Wife.
“Just shut up and let me drive,” said Husband.
“You’re going too fast,” complained Wife.

action asphalt automobile automotive

Photo by Taras Makarenko on Pexels.com

“Hey, Charley! Ain’t these great burgers? Hmm. Wonder what that siren’s all about.
Comin’ right by the place. I just wonder,” said Steve, sipping his Bud.

Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com

“Jeez!” The sheriff shook his head. “They must’ve been doin’ eighty when they hit that guardrail. Wonder what the heck happened. There were plenty of signs posted about the danger ahead.”

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“Someone must have fallen asleep at the wheel, I guess,” offered Deputy,
“Happens all the time. Don’t it?”

“Indeed it does,” answered sheriff. “Indeed it does.”

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com
Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com
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Author Page on Amazon

Index to Essays on America 

Trumpism is a New Religion

America

03 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, equality, life, poem, poetry, USA, Vote

flag of america

Photo by Sharefaith on Pexels.com

America —
The country I love.
The dream that was my dream.

My father wounded

(Shrapnel black gash, ankle to knee)

In the war against the
Tyranny of Hitler,
That Great Liar,
That Ultimate Cynic,
Playing on the Fears of the Masses.

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Who knew?
Who knew how easily a great Nation
Could be Lost?
We cannot see the forest.
We cannot see the trees.
We can only see the bushes
And the rushes, all around the slime.

Lost, as a leaf that waffles in the wind,
Lost, as a steep plunge into a swimming pool
Waterless, despite the golden promises.

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Plummeting from World Leader
To World Bleeder.
Leech and Destroyer of God’s Green Earth.

Or….

Maybe,
Just maybe,
All is not quite lost.
Maybe,
Just maybe,
We can rekindle the real dream.
Maybe,
We can live up to
Jefferson and Franklin
Maybe,
We can live up to
Abraham Lincoln
And the patriots who died
To set us free,
To build a nation:
Of the people
(Not the special interests)
By the people
(Not by the dollar-soaked lies)
For the people
(Not the oil barons).

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We might just make it,
You and I.
We might just make it
America
Once again.

Posterity,
Posterity will remember
Long after mere prosperity
Has faded into nothing.

It’s worth a try,
After a long cry,
To stitch together the broken pieces
Of the lost dream.

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Oh, America, wake up!
Oh, Americans.
After all, it is ours.
It is our country.
Let’s reclaim it.
Let’s name it
Once again:
America.

daylight forest glossy lake

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com


Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

It’s Just Tommy being Tommy!

11 Monday Nov 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

America, Democracy, Dictatorship, politics, psychology, truth, USA

It’s Just Tommy being Tommy!

group of people eating together

Photo by fauxels on Pexels.com

 

Imagine for a moment that you pack your family into your car and drive to your in-laws for the holidays. Of course, the traffic is horrendous. When you arrive at the nicely decorated house, a few snowflakes waft through the air. You and your family walk up the flagstone walk to the wreathed door and you’re greeted warmly. In you go, all five of you, each carrying a nicely wrapped present or two. Christmas music plays in the background and the smell of turkey with all the trimmings is in the air. Your mouth is watering! Your tempted to to short-circuit the introductory phase and head straight to the buffet — just for a taste. But that would be impolite. 

Yet, something seems amiss. What is that noise? Their spoiled little brat, Tommy is running amok in the living room shooting the loudest cap guns you’ve ever heard in your life. It slowly dawns on you that no cap gun makes that kind of noise. Those are actual bullets! They must have given their ten-year old who mistreats pets, bikes, and toys actual working guns for early Christmas presents. 

two men standing beside brown wooden cabinet

Photo by Kevin Bidwell on Pexels.com

What do you do now? I mean, on the one hand, your in-laws have prepared a wonderful Christmas Dinner. Your stomach is growling. Besides, it will be embarrassing to just walk out. 

On the other hand, you don’t want your kids to be accidentally killed or maimed for the rest of their life. You don’t really want yourself or your spouse to be killed either. 

Sounds like a pretty absurd scenario, doesn’t it? 

But polls indicate that many Americans are just fine sitting down to dinner in this scenario. 

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If you are one of those folks, you don’t even insist that the guns be taken away from Tommy. In fact, many of you even encourage the parents. “It’s great that you’ve finally found something Tommy can feel responsible for.” Or, “Oh, well, that’s just Tommy being Tommy! After all, no-one’s perfect!” Or, “Well, yes, Tommy might hurt someone, but that’s true of all kids.” 

And that weekend, assuming there are no casualties at dinner, you are happy to send your kids over for a playdate. And there’s Tommy with his real guns loaded with real bullets putting real lives at danger. But I guess you wouldn’t want to embarrass your in-laws. And, who doesn’t like a free meal or free baby-sitting?

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It’s just Tommy being Tommy! 

——————————————- 

My first experience with real guns could well have been my last. Free chapter 

from “Tales from an American Childhood” 

Author Page on Amazon. 

A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Teamwork. 

The Myths of the Veritas. 

RIP, GOP

31 Thursday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

America, Cover-up, Democracy, Impeachment, lies, obstruction, politics, treason, truth, USA

Context: Today, after weeks of moaning and complaining that there needed to be a defined open process for impeachment, the Democrats in the House brought a motion to define an open process for impeachment. Not a single Republican voted for the motion. NOTE: This was not a vote on impeachment. It was a vote to do what the Republicans had been asking for over the last few weeks. Their obsequious partisan fawning over a treasonous, cruel, inept President signals, I think, the death of the Republican Party.

UPDATE (1/29/2021). That was the context back then, when I didn’t think the Republican Party (I was born into a Republican family) would sink any lower. But I was wrong! Now, there are Senators and Representatives who claim to be Republican, who are openly lying about the election and some of whom went so far as to incite violence against the peaceful transition of power. Many embrace absurd conspiracy theories and openly call for the death of their political rivals. They openly support White Supremacists. A new verse or two needs to be added to the dingbat dirge they drone as over the cliff they happily plummet.

UPDATE (6/25/2022). Just when you are absolutely sure that the Trumputinists — who, by the way, are the *actual* RINOS — Republicans in Name Only — but that’s where we are — just when you’re sure that the Trumputinists cannot sink any lower — that they have licked the bottom of the septic tank and made themselves beholden to and in thrall of the very worst dregs of humanity and therefore must — positively must — be now on an upward trend, you discover, nope. They can sink still lower. The 1/6 Congressional hearings reveal that it wasn’t simply that an angry mob spontaneously tried to overthrow our government and replace it with a Trumputin dick-tatership — nope, it was *planned* to happen that way. The Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers didn’t even bother to listen to Trump’s rambling hate speech. They went, as planned, straight to the Capitol for recon & waited for his angry mob to show up to breach. Then, we discover that many if not all of the Trumputinists in Congress who voted not to certify the election were in on the coup plot! Then, just when you find it hard to even think about their treason without getting nauseous, you find that Extreme Court is in on the plot to destroy America as well! Recent rulings reveal Putin’s dual agenda: Divide the Country racially, economically, and by gender and at the same time flood the country with lethal weapons. That’s what the Trumputinists in the Extreme Court are up to.

UPDATE: August 27, 2022 Just as cancer of the body is ultimately self-destructive, so too is cancer of the society — AKA Fascism AKA Nazism AKA Trumputinism and sadly, at this point AKA the GOP which has indeed become a death cult worshiping the golden calf in the form of a fat, out of shape, old, bald white guy whose grasp on reality is non-existent. Yet, the Trumputinists are too cowardly to tell the truth — that the would-be emperor has no clothes — and no leg to stand on to defend his treasonous actions in stealing — yes stealing, not removing — TOP SECRET documents and then lying about it.

close up photography of brown wasp

Photo by Nixon Johnson on Pexels.com

RIP GOP

I know a Grand Old Party 

Who swallowed a lie. 

Now, I don’t know why 

They swallowed the lie. 

Perhaps they’ll die. 

I know of a Party 

Who swallowed obstruction. 

They swallowed obstruction to hide a base lie.

But I don’t know why

They swallowed the lie. 

Perhaps they’ll die. 

closeup photo of vulture

Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com on Pexels.com

I know an old Party 

Who’s now quite absurd, 

They got absurd to hide obstruction.

They swallowed obstruction to hide the lie.

But I don’t know why

They swallowed the lie. 

Perhaps they’ll die. 

I know an old Party 

That’s blind as a bat. 

Think of that! 

As blind as a bat. 

They won’t open their eyes

Because they’d see lies. 

But I can’t surmise why, 

They swallowed the lie. 

Perhaps they’ll die. 

close up photo of dog

Photo by Helena Lopes on Pexels.com

I know of a Party- 

Who says they like dogs, 

But they act more like hogs. 

They pollute the sky; 

They feed in their sty.

They swallowed the bat

(Think of that! To swallow a bat!)

To catch the absurd

Lies that they told. 

Too afraid to be bold,

They embraced the absurd

To hide the obstruction.

They swallowed obstruction to hid the lie.

But I don’t know why 

They swallowed the lie. 

Perhaps they’ll die.  

white goat eating grass during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I know of a Party — 

It’s full of old goats.

Truth gets stuck in their throats, 

But I don’t know why, 

They’d let our earth die.

To cover the lie

That hides the obstruction 

That covers the lie?

But I don’t know why.

They swallowed that lie.

Perhaps they’ll die.

nature animal agriculture cow

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I know an old Party 

Who once sued a cow

I don’t even know how

They once sued a cow. 

They all swore an oath

To uphold the law. 

But Barr and Mitch? They both

Said “naw, we’re now Putin’s kitsch.” 

They swallowed their treason 

The whole summer season.

They gave as the reason: 

They swallowed the goat, 

That caught in their throat. 

They swallowed that goat, 

To catch the dog.  

Why such a hog? 

To swallow a dog?

They swallowed a dog

To hide the absurd. 

They claimed the absurd

To distract from obstruction, 

They all know they heard. 

They wouldn’t vote to protect our elections.

(Too worried about their own protections?)

They didn’t vote for needed construction.

But they swallowed obstruction 

To hide the lie — 

But I don’t know why 

They swallowed the lie. 

D27C46AA-C37E-4AB7-8FE8-8DA937E31A91

I know an old Party

Who swallowed a Trump. 

Now it lies in the Dump.

As still as a Lump;

As dead as a Stump. 

I know an old Party

Who lost an election.

And their teeny erection.

So they swallowed more lies

Adorned with sick flies

They brewed insurrection.

Without any reason,

They swallow his treason,

In every season.

They think a fascist state

Would help them masticate

The rotten meat of Putingate.

A party that once was grand and great.

Is now a mere degenerate.

RIP

GOP

(New Verses):

I know an old Party

Grown all fat and farty

Some love their beer and all fear the queer

They swallowed Trump’s lies

And covered their eyes

Held tight their noses

So poop on their faces

Might seem slightly less racist.

Lead Capitol tours for thug saboteurs

Said to women who get raped:

“Your vagina ain’t yours

We enslave you today!

If you’re poor or your black

We’ll place more on your back.

We cite the burners of witches

To prove you’re our bitches.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I don’t know why

GOP wants to die.

But they’ve gotten so bad

I’m not the least sad.

Treasonous cowards and traitorous sheep

They take the knife & plunge it deep

To stupid to see that when America’s dead

With a sulfurous head

Their own will be on the same chopping block.

The Civil War that they desperately seek

Won’t destroy just liberals or those who are geek.

The death will stink the entire landscape

The young and the old and most important of all

Even fertilized eggs will finally fall.

Not even the wealthy will find an escape.

Not a reasoning being on this planet earth

Can explain the cancerous GOP birth

That kills our sweet democracy

To replace with cruel theocracy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know an old party,

Who worships a warthog

Who cares not a whit

Instead he throws CONiption fit

Wallows in infinity snit

Trashes and thrashes both this way and that

Treasonous Season with no honest reason

Trumputinists dove through the deepest of slime

And just kept going double time

Silent as sin on sedition and crime.

Perhaps they’ll die.

I know of a Party

Who swallowed obstruction.

They swallowed obstruction to hide a base lie.

But I don’t know why

They swallowed the lie.

But now they can’t die.

‘Cause they’re already dead.

In the heart and the head

Just a cancerous mass

That’s a pain in the pass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know an old party 

Who likes to like kids

In a way that’s not good

And how they should 

They hide behind lies

Pretend they don’t see

They’re proud of their party

The Party is Not-See

Nor feel nor think nor build

Kill and steal is all they do

The bill is paid by me.

The bill is paid by you.

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Author Page 

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Extreme Court

Alito and the Egg

The Originalists

The Ailing King of Agitate

Guernica

After All

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Roar, Ocean, Roar

An Open Sore

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

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