Collected Poetry
VOLUME SIX
Copyright © 2011 by Gary Bachlund All international rights reserved
"The best way to convince a fool that he is wrong is to let him have his own way." Josh Billings, American humorist (1818-1885).
Do it your own way;
I'll bet against you, sure.
Do it the wrong way;
Perhaps there's no cure.
Foolishly strike out,
All on your own;
Time comes you'll shout
You should have known.
Proof's in the pudding;
A wheel's not a square.
The old "should" thing
Doesn't prove life is fair.
Reinvent wheels,
Reality circumvent?
Invest in such deals
Where everything's spent?
Have it your own way,
From teeter to fall;
Someone must pay
For the waste of it all.
Do it your own way,
But I'll wander off;
Comes debt to pay,
You'll weep. Shall I scoff?
"World leaders are actively considering mandating the International Monetary Fund to print more of its special currency to help solve the euro-zone crisis, according to several people familiar with the matter. Asking the IMF to print more of its Special Drawing Rights—essentially an IOU that countries can exchange for cash—is one of the ways the Group of 20 industrialized and developing countries is considering supplementing European efforts to stem the debt crisis that is threatening to spark a global financial meltdown and another recession." In "Special IMF Money Considered," Wall Street Journal, 4 November 2011
Borrow more money to give it away,
For that's the charitable game today.
Then print yet more for the money store,
And loan it out as if not keeping score.
Give more and give more by piling up debt,
Then borrow yet more, and then more yet.
The handlers then siphon a share for themselves
And leave yet more debt on emptying shelves.
Charity no longer begins at home,
When so many bureaucrats wander and roam
To give away money that is not theirs,
Urging others to debt while setting their snares.
The game is gamed by the gamers' own rules
And games like this are for con men and fools.
Borrow printed money to toss it about;
Pretend not to know when steep losses all mount.
Give and give more by pyramids' debt,
Then borrow and borrow, ignoring the threat.
The handlers can pocket a chunk for their work,
And hector whole nations with a smile and a smirk.
The game is built to keep handlers in cash,
Until the game's all over, with a thump and a crash.
"'What’s so troubling is that politics seems to be the dominant factor,' said Ryan Alexander, president of Taxpayers for Common Sense, a nonpartisan watchdog group. 'They’re not talking about what the taxpayers are losing; they’re not talking about the failure of the technology, whether we bet on the wrong horse. What they are talking about is 'How are we going to manage this politically?'" In "Solyndra: Politics infused Obama energy programs," by Joe Stephens and Carol D. Leonnig, Washington Post, 26 December 2011
They're not talking
Except about themselves;
Even green boys and girls
Think the whole things smells.
Political thinking worries
How to manage all the fuss,
Without first considering
The loss to the public -- us.
This is how our servants serve
Themselves above their land,
It seems simply too absurd,
But one concludes it is planned.
They're not talking
Except about themselves;
Even green boys and girls
Know the bankrupt mess smells.
"Cuba says it is expanding free-market reforms, opening more of the retail services sector to private business. From 1 January workers including carpenters, locksmiths, photographers and repairmen will be allowed to become self-employed. They will be able to set their own prices, while paying taxes and leasing their premises from the state. The measures are the latest reforms aimed at reviving Cuba's socialist economy by boosting private enterprise. President Raul Castro, who took over from his brother Fidel in 2008, has said the changes represent an effort to update rather than abandon the socialist model." In "Cuba expands free-market reforms," BBC, 26 December 2011
To update failing A, you add successful B;
To fix what all is broken, you change the alchemy.
To right the listing ship, the ballast is set right;
To affect most any cure, one attacks the parasite.
To acquire even a little, one must begin to save.
You free your people, friend, or else you re-enslave.
The socialist aristocrats all say they will reform,
And why? Because freedom becomes the modern norm.
To update social's "ism," allow private enterprise?
It was this the revolución tried to centralize.
Alas six decades passed, and yet again socialism fails,
So now each aging socialist buckets up and bails.
Boosting private enterprise is decades late for some,
But revolutionary fervor suppressed it; yet it's come.
The fort - castro in Spanish - has its walls now breached,
Which says it was a lie, all that those Castros preached.
Private enterprise updates the creaking central state?
Market forces have been at work, before and as of late.
To update failing A, you add successful B;
To fix what's broke, you change the alchemy.
In changing sails you trim and tack to steer a new-set course
And admit it's coming time to abandon the decrepit Castro force.
Government policies to “stimulate” growth have not done so. Everyone except flacks for the White House knows that the 2009 stimulus package failed miserably to produce the promised results. But even if you buy the White House’s argument that the $800 billion package created 3 million jobs, that works out to $266,000 per job. Taxing or borrowing $266,000 from the private sector to create a single job is simply not a cost effective way of putting America back to work. The long-term debt burden of that $266,000 swamps any benefit that the single job created might provide. In "The Sharp Pencil Test," by Lawrence B. Lindsey, Standard, 13 June 2011
The Blackwing numbered Six-O-Two has a cult which loves it dear and true,
But this "best" could never, ever write a figure so large enough to indict
The folks who'd spend a hefty sum to buy one inexpensive little crumb.
Pencil in your favorite line, but prepare to erase your sketch so fine.
The Blackwing numbered Six-O-Two will never draw lost revenue.
"Real estate can be a rough business, but music is rougher, he said. 'Music is a very cruel mistress -- she takes everything, leaves you high and dry, and moves on to the next one,' he said. 'It's tough.'" In "The Sound Of Music Stirs Manhattan Broker," an interview with Dan Danielli, by Mary Umberger, Inman News, Halstead Properties, 10 May 2010
A cruel mistress, some have said,
Still she is mine, past my death bed.
Rough or tumble, aching sweet,
Mistress Music plays discrete.
Most can see and hear and feel
While fewer all her depth reveal.
Mistress Music, sometimes cruel,
Is both gentle art and tool
For honing sound and time as one.
It is this that's all the fun.
Mistress Music seduces, loves,
Leaves, deceives and even shoves
Its many johns and many beaus.
But, ah, such joys she still bestows.
A cruel mistress, some have said,
And I have trod where many tread.
Rough and tumbled, arching sweet,
Mistress Music, I entreat
To tumble roughly, softly, wild
And I shall ever be beguiled.
"'Politicians are sh*theads,' he said in an interview that appears in the January edition of the magazine, which is on newsstands now. 'That’s how they become politicians, even the good ones. We’re actors, we’re artists, we’re very nice to each other. They’ll turn around and stab you in the f**cking back." An asterisk-laden quote by Daniel Craig, in "Daniel Craig: Pols are 'sh**heads'" by Tim Mak, the Politico, 26 December 2011
Asterisk is a three syllable noun
through Middle English from Late Latin.
Linguistically sometimes it's a frown,
the mark hatching down to batten.
A transitive verb it oft might be
when used, marking letters as stars,
Or absenting wrong with brilliant right,
or hiding vocabulary's scars.
I prefer no asterisk at all,
saying politicians are shitheads,
Because it's plain and true and right;
most should be taken to the woodsheds.
“The stimulus bill, which was under the other administration, was put together because we didn’t know what the hell was going on and you know, and we were trying to do things that we thought might help stimulate the economy. We set aside quite a bit of money for what we call ‘shovel ready projects’ which we thought would create jobs right away but it didn’t." Representative Mike Honda, D-Ca, in an interview with The Daily Caller, December 2011.
Trying, we thought, would help a bit,
So try we did without much wit.
It didn't work, those billions spent,
But trying is the way we went.
The trying, we tried, didn't quite work out,
So we'll try to try, as trying we pout,
We'll try and try and try again,
Because we might succeed somehow. Amen.
"An EU official said Britain was still expected to contribute €30.9 billion (£25.9 billion), leaving the country as the second biggest contributor to the new IMF fund behind Germany and equal with France." In "EU demands £25bn lifeline from the UK," by Tim Ross, and Bruno Waterfield, Telegraph UK, 18 December 2011
I squeezed the golden goose
for one more little egg,
But for that I also ended up
breaking its little leg.
My work done, egg quick consumed,
I had a thought for more.
And so I beat the golden goose
till it was bruised so sore.
Just one more little egg
is really all I need,
Though some will say my want
is really truly greed.
But need is like the omelet
for which one cracks such eggs;
I'll squeeze the golden goose again
until the goose reneges.
But, oh what horror is this,
to find the goose stone dead?
The answer is quite obvious:
I'll seek some other goose instead.
What say you, evil fiend?
You squeezed yours unto death?
But that was to be mine, all mine,
I growl under my breath.
What folly was it, stupid fool,
to kill your golden goose?
Yours was to have soon become
my next one to seduce
With squeezing and with battery,
with spirited urging strong.
But you have stolen this from me!
Reality tells erelong
That golden geese grow not on trees
nor in confinements hard,
But in the airy freedom
of a freely open yard.
Oh where, oh where is my goose now
that I had cooked so well?
Omelets gone and feathers plucked,
hunger comes to sit a spell.
Just one more measly egg
is really all I need,
Though truth might tell my want
was always simple greed.
I squeezed the golden goose
for one more little egg,
And after all was cracked and done
I was reduced to beg.
Will someone spare their golden goose
that I may once more break
A golden egg? Well, tomorrow
I'd make the same mistake.
I'd squeeze that golden goose....
"According to data collected by the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS), Medicare has spent more than $240 million of taxpayer money on penis pumps for elderly men over the past decade, and will surpass a quarter of a billion dollars this year for costs since 2001. The cost to taxpayers for the pumps more than quadrupled during that period, from a low of $11 million in 2001 to a high of more than $47 million in 2010. And these represent only the costs for external devices, technically classified as 'Male Vacuum Erection Systems,' not implantable devices or oral drugs such as Viagra." In "Quarter-Billion Taxpayer Dollars Spent on Penis Pumps," Benjamin Domench, Health Care News, 6 December 2011
The twentieth century gave us a phrase
By which to say a mess is a mess;
Cock-up is that once Brit-bred praise
When something is not even close to success.
A failure is a cock-up, one might well say;
Bankruptcy's a cock-up, as a rule of thumb.
But in government's cock-up, millions may
Be laid out for screwing at a costly sum.
The humor of language is just this:
Double entendres arise with glee,
And cock-eyed world taxes its folk
As limp government hardens its lunacy.
“If you say that this is how our culture is and then you send your child to a Swiss boarding school — you know, this is what happens with communism. It’s a great concept. On paper it makes perfect sense. But once you put a human being in power, it shifts. We saw it in Russia, we’ve seen it all around the world. It’s nuts. But, I keep my fingers crossed.” Whoopi Goldberg on the US television talk show, "The View," 20 December 2011
It makes perfect sense
Until people are involved,
Say the nicely perfect folks
Of the nicely perfect crowd.
If it weren't for damn people,
Such fine bright concepts all
Would work out in utopia
If folks didn't drop the ball.
A great-on-paper concept,
Perfect sense suggests,
Fails merely, or just simply
For it failure manifests.
A great concept, so she says,
Makes paper-perfect sense?
What about this argument
Where man is the offence?
Keep your fingers crossed?
It's nuts, some comic said.
Inanity makes perfect sense;
Ask the gulag's many dead.
Ask the bones in piles
Left by the Khmer Rouge.
Ask dead Chinese millions,
Or ask the Nazi's Jews.
Ask some dirt-poor Africans;
Or ask the North Koreans.
Ask the Russians freed at last;
Ask of Che's murdered peons.
It makes perfect sense
Until people are involved,
Say the nicely perfect folks
Of the nicely perfect crowd.
It's nuts, she says, but comics
Hold out such hope ideal
While generations prove the error
Which sensible comics feel.
"'A distinction should be made between traditional anti-Semitism, which should be condemned and Muslim hatred for Jews, which stems from the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinians,' Gutman reportedly said, according to the Israeli newspaper Yedioth Ahronoth. 'He also argued that an Israeli-Palestinian peace treaty will significantly diminish Muslim anti-Semitism.'" In "Obama Fundraiser and Ambassador Blames Israel for Anti-Semitism," by Daniel Halper, Weekly Standard, 3 December 2011
A distinction should be made
Between an idiot and a fool.
Between an ass upright on two legs
Or a corrupt yet useful tool.
A distinction should be made
Between hatred then and now,
For that's the view expressed
By folks willing to deeply bow.
A distinction should be made
Because it serves some greater cause
Like serving one side more and more
And loving their applause.
A distinction should be made
Between hatred and hatred bare,
Because such distinctions might not be
Considered as so stupidly unfair.
The game is simple yet complex
As such distinctions weigh
Hatred against a hatred,
And then throw the half away.
Judenrein says Hamas,
Yet ambassadors won't hear,
Perhaps because it rightly proves
They are also condemned kafir.
A distinction should be made
Between an idiot and a fool.
Between an ass upright on two legs
Who's a corrupt and useful tool.
"It's not greed, it's politics. I'm talking about the redistribution of wealth." "Well, burglars do that!" in "Labour of Love," from the BBC series, "You Rang, M'Lord?" November 1990.
The favorite game of some favorite folks
Is to spread the wealth; like all good jokes,
This one steals to break in, in its day,
As somewhere some wealth is burgled away.
Tribute once paid acknowledged submission,
Which showed the cudgel created contrition,
As tribute was paid from each vassal to lord,
And often it was in fear of the sword.
Distribution undid payment perforce,
As distributing toppled each lord from his horse.
Distributing morphed into another dimension
Wherein making and selling lessened the tension.
Comes along redistribution, ah yet once more,
As those who'd be lords behave as before.
Tribute -- re dis -- comes from those who have
To those who have it not but desire such salve.
Re dis, as suffixes, clutter the word,
Such that its history might seem quite absurd,
But this is its structure, its grammar, its thought
Which want-to-be lords again will have wrought.
Pay tribute again, that is, redistribute say men,
Flowing from each lord and each lordly pen.
Burglars take tribute, which most think a crime.
Redistribution demands it all of the time.
Yes, burglars do that, quips a comical line,
But oh it tells truth, as mere words will define.
From those to those by some politics' creed
Ends finally up with folks stealing in greed.
Lincoln and Lenin, Paul's epistle too,
Say men who won't work should not eat off of you.
This hardened truth gleams from out the past,
While the burglars and thieves play always aghast.
Tribute must be paid, so it's coerced away,
Redistribution is tribute, swathed in "naïveté."
"Vegetarianism is harmless enough though it is apt to fill a man with wind and self-righteousness." Robert Hutchison, address to the British Medical Association, 1930.
It's a gas,
So they say,
On a windy sort of day.
It's a gas
So to pass,
If the sound does not betray.
It's a gas
When no impasse
Should block the passageway.
It's a gas
Out of the ass,
And the scent? Communiqué.....
"The world's central banks have pumped £3 trillion into the global financial system since the crisis, the equivalent of 8pc of the world economy, according to new analysis by Fathom Consulting." In "Central banks pump £3 trillion into world economy," The Telegraph, UK, 26 April 2011
Lift the lever and pump away,
So clever is government, as they'll say.
Pump rhymes with sump,
That's the lowest point
Where drains sucks away
The savings of the average chump,
The earnings from the average shop,
As inflation get underway.
Lift the lever and pump away,
All becomes debt someone then cannot repay.
Pump rhymes also with dump,
That's where refuse and decay
Are gathered deep and far away,
As earnings of the average chump,
And sales lost to the average shop,
Taste inflation this very day.
Lift the lever and pump away,
As much becomes lost in the blight of day.Central banks mint realms' many coin,
To press upon the greedy world;
With virtue's vice they then will say,
"Chumps' earnings we will purloin;
Shopkeepers' income, the farmers' crop,
Will fall to us as we pump away."
Lift the lever and pump away?
Learn liberty 's lost by this giveaway.
The new, wonderful good society
"Do not blame Caesar, blame the people of Rome who have so enthusiastically acclaimed and adored him and rejoiced in their loss of freedom and danced in his path and gave him triumphal processions and laughed delightedly at his licentiousness and thought it very superior of him to acquire vast amounts of gold illicitly. Blame the people who hail him when he speaks in the Forum of the 'new, wonderful good society' which shall now be Rome's, interpreted to mean 'more money, more ease, more security, more living fatly at the expense of the industrious.' Julius was always an ambitious villain, but he is only one man." - Marcus Tullius Cicero, (106 BC-43 BC)
Slogans come and slogans go,
They come back, and then -- oh no --
The same old, same old says again,
We've something new and wonderful for men.
Slogans slum and slogans low,
They're glum when one looks back to show
The same old finds its same old pen,
And the whole damned thing starts o'er again.
Slogans come and slogans go,
They come back and then -- oh no --
The same old, same old says again
We've something new and wonderful for men.
"Cook County property tax bills will go out next month, and homeowners will be asked to pay more for having less. Even though most property values have dropped over the past three years, most property tax bills will be going up again. Falling property values and rising property taxes have turned the American dream for many into a nightmare in virtually every county in the state. Nowhere in Cook County have home prices fallen more dramatically than in the northern and northwestern suburbs -- anywhere... " WLS-TV, Chicago, 25 September 2011
More for less is what you pay
as government's debt demands its day.
More for less is what you get
for government has grown so soviet.
More for less is what there's not,
cooking fraud up with tommyrot.
More for less inflates itself
and shows as prices on each shelf.
More for less is taxing folks
who weary of political jokes.
More for less is obvious
when government inflates, felonious.
Ninety-nine fattened, hungry ticks
Voted to leech off one dog.
The dog's one vote carried not
In the election nor its epilogue.
The sucking sounds grew like thunder
Until the time was full nigh
For the host to yield all to the parasites
And through them simply to die.
It was then hungering ticks first saw
That they all had come to their end,
As they flailed and raged and searched
For another host to apprehend.
The carcass, alas, lay rotting,
And stench warned all others, "Away!"
The fattened, yet voracious ticks
Sought their circumstances to downplay.
But fattening no longer could continue,
For all parasites need lively hosts.
Rather, ninety-nine ticks that once fed
Starved into hungry, gossamer ghosts.
The story is old as the ancient of days,
And lingers to this moment, because
We see not ourselves as ticks who would feed,
For denying ourselves and our flaws.
But ticks like to feed off of others' fair shares,
While nestling deep in their host's sheltering hairs.
"If God is dead, somebody is going to have to take his place. It will be megalomania or erotomania, the drive for power or the drive for pleasure, the clenched fist or the phallus, Hitler or Hugh Hefner." Malcolm Muggeridge (1903-1990)
I prefer a vital God
Whose place gives not way
To all the ego of all the men
Whose ruling force must sway
Those who would not believe
In foolish, pride-filled man,
But rather in a vital God
And in a godly plan.
I prefer both vital force
And vital pleasure too,
But neither of them above
The vital God and true.
Vital force and pleasure too
Are part of worldly life,
But when they act the part of God,
They tear this world with strife.
I prefer a vital God
Whose place lies far above
All such ego of all small men
Whose ruling force will shove
Those who would not believe
In puffed-up, haughty man,
But rather in a vital God
And in a godly plan.
Words are slippery,
Words are slick.
Words change meanings
Double quick.
Words are cunning,
Words are sharp.
Words hook meanings
As they carp.
Words speak easily:
Think, sharing sacrifice,
Meanings catch on
Like cats catch mice.
Words can share,
Wherever they lie.
Words can sacrifice
Some other guy.
Folks with lots
Urge sacrifice
As they calculate
Someone's else price.
Folks with little
Seek sacrifice
As they pillage
And declare it nice.
Words stay slippery,
Words slip slick.
Words queer thinking
Thin and thick.
"The Boko Haram Islamist sect has claimed responsibility for multiple gun and bomb attacks in the city of Damaturu Friday in its deadliest attack yet, which left bodies littering the streets and reduced police stations, churches and mosques to smouldering rubble." In "Nigerian forces hunt killers, locals demand security," Reuters Kano, 6 November 2011
Save me from those who would save me,
To correct me of their every sin.
It is such as these who would be able
To flail me, raking muscle from its skin.
Save me from those who would help me
To correct me according to them.
It is such as these who would be able
To fault my life, then it condemn.
Save me from each who would free me
From my errors in each breath.
It is such as these who would surely
Repair me through liberating death.
Mister, I've seen your pony show,
And now that I have, I don't want to go.
Lady, I've seen your poodle acts,
And now that I have, I'll take mundane facts.
Folks, I've seen your song and dance,
And now that I have, you stand no chance.
Lately, your shows are hollering loud,
Come watch and be part of our hollering crowd,
But now that I've seen you, foolish and proud,
I just don't need to again be wowed.
Mister, I've seen the circus and bread,
And now that I have, I'll go elsewhere instead.
“There is another class of coloured people who make a business of keeping the troubles, the wrongs and the hardships of the Negro race before the public. Having learned that they are able to make a living out of their troubles, they have grown into the settled habit of advertising their wrongs – partly because they want sympathy and partly because it pays. Some of these people do not want the Negro to lose his grievances, because they do not want to lose their jobs.” My Larger Education," Booker T. Washington (1865–1915) (p. 118)
Grieve your grievance.
Grieve it loud.
Grieve it long, in dark grieved shroud.
Grieve it after
Grief is past.
Grieve it hard, to make it last.
Grieving although
Grief decays,
Grieve it just to pass your days.
Grieve your grievance,
Palm outstretched.
Grieve it even if farfetched.
Grieve because it
Might well pay.
Crossing palms' the game today.
"International Brotherhood of Teamsters President Jimmy Hoffa Jr. was paid a base salary of $294,285 in 2010, according to the labor union’s financial disclosure forms." In "Teamsters’ Hoffa Made $300,000 in 2010," by Matt Cover, CNSNews, 7 September 2011
A fat cat's fat
Is a measure of that
Which kneads then rakes
In the cat's fat dough.
A fat cat's chat
Falls plop-populist flat
When aristocrat truths
In fattened numbers show.
"Bees works tirelessly, without ever taking orders or varying their routines, only to be unceremoniously shoved out of the hive when they become useless to the collective." In "The Wage Slave's Glossary," Joshua Glenn and Mark Kingwell. Emeryville, Ontario. Biblioasis, 2011. 136 pages of commentary about "how the language we sue continues to keep us in chains," and a book among Biblioasis' many sold that are sold for profit while complaining about the profit motive of capitalism.
Busy as a little bee,
A worker or a drone,
Even waddling Queenie bee
Stuck in a fecund throne,
Each will play a part and thrive
Because a part each must
All serve within some living hive
In which all place some trust.
Busy as a little bee,
And yet some doth complain;
Such is life's dark augury
Who would a hive disdain.
The sin of social hives so deep
As seen by those who rage
Is that collectives seem asleep,
A dead and deadly cage.
Busy as a little bee,
Some bees just bellyache
For they would play some other bee,
Some other's part to take.
For these who would be other
Than they find they are
Must shove aside another
And force some door ajar.
Busy fomenting little bees,
To not be worker or drone,
Must all aspire to be the queens
And all demand their thrones.
When thrones abound and fill a hive
No workers pollen fly,
And by this all the busy bees
Will see the hive soon die.
Wages make not slavery,
But phrases ring aloud
With such as this unsavory
Lesson for the crowd.
Shall all be queens anointed
Upon their honeyed thrones?
Attempts always disappointed
As stories' ends bemoan.
Busy as a little bee,
Be it worker, drone or queen,
When all the parts make harmony
The hive will seem routine.
Those who hate their lot, their hive,
Have all too often learned
That hunger for some other jive
Is hunger fast returned.
"Prepare to be dazzled. We spent less than we took in." Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels, in response to a question about how the state managed to balance its budget.
The waves of the future
are washing our sands,
The simplest of notions
are shaking the lands.
The old commonsense
floods banks in bands
Of dazzling brilliance
o'er washed-weary strands.
The waves of the future
once were wisdom's hands.
Losing one's way
for modernity's stands
Was awaiting and suffering
numbered reprimands.
The failing new ways were
the real fairylands.
"Harrisburg, the capital of Pennsylvania, is drowning in debt. City officials have known for more than four years that they'd have to deal with the fiscal mess, but they punted." in "How Harrisburg Borrowed Itself Into Bankruptcy," by Steven Malanga, 28 October 2011
I want to spend
more than I've got.
This is my sad and
unhappy lot,
but credit me this,
then credit me that.
I've spent what I want
on credit fed fat.
I don't want to pay
more than I've got.
This is my sad and
unfortunate lot,
but credit rides in
on a charger each day
to make my payment
so I can still play.
I cannot pay
more than I've got.
This is my sad and
misfortunate lot.
Credit dissolved
in the harsh light today
and now I am stuck
and unable to pay.
I cannot play
for I cannot pay.
This is my sad
and disastrous lot.
All that I owe
someone should pay
for this is how
my wants all bray.
I want to spend
and spend even more.
Am I a sad
and unhappy boor?
I want to spend
but haven't a clue.
It somebody's fault.
Most likely it's you.
"Private owners of Greek bonds will accept a 50 percent writedown on their investment, enabling both a 100 billion euro cut in Greece's sovereign debts and allowing a new Greek programme of aid of 100 billion euros, German Chancellor Angela Merkel said on Thursday." In "Merkel: 50 pct haircut to cut Greek debt by 100 bln euros," Reuters Brussels, 26 October 2011
The strategies all left
end the cleverest game;
The moves which remain
all lead to the same.
Consider and ruminate
and all thought exhaust,
But understand this:
what is lost is just lost.
In the rules of a game
with moveable men
There comes a moment
in time, just when
The end of the game
is known well before
The game actually ends
and tallies the score.
Cliffhangers excite
and stories tells lies,
But moves from an end,
one should open one's eyes
To see that the checkmate
to come is assured,
As remaining options
are not longer obscured.
The strategies all left
end the cleverest game;
The moves which remain
all lead to the same.
Consider and ruminate
and all thought exhaust,
Then understand this:
what is lost is just lost.
"Among three scenarios it examined, the only one that would reduce Greece's debt pile to 110 percent of GDP -- a level still regarded as high -- was one in which private bond holders agreed to a 60 percent haircut." In "Greece may need 60 percent bond writedown; EU at odds," Reuters, by Annika Breidthardt and Daniel Flynn, 22 October 2011
A clip job is a haircut
That cuts down to the quick.
It rewards the profligate
Whose finances sunk, so sick.
A clip job is theft outright,
But said in prettier terms.
It rewards the theft by sleight
But theft, it reconfirms.
A clip job is a haircut
That hacks away at trust.
Government is always favored,
As is the clip job's thrust.
A clip job is a favored way
To rob men of their cash
By law, rather than by swordplay,
Downplaying a cut's deep gash.
A clip job is what was planned
Before the game commenced,
And sold in a fiscal fairyland
Where danger was not sensed.
A clip job is a haircut
That cuts and hacks away,
And politics is just its slut
Abetting in the getaway.
"These days, the left-wing scene has even become confident enough to openly discuss its clandestine actions. For example, at a "congress for autonomous policies" held in June in the western city of Cologne, participants admitted to "practicing and executing … liberating" violence. One of the items on the agenda for discussion at the meeting also read: 'Militancy -- We Stand By It.'" In "'A Dramatic Wake-Up Call', Berlin Rail Attacks Fuel Fears of Left-Wing Extremism" by Sven Röbel, Jörg Schmitt and Andreas Wassermann, Speigel Online, 17 October 2011
A jackass by any other name
Is a jackass, just the same.
Party names and rhetoric,
Movements' claims plethoric
Clutter, bunch, amass, bewail,
Argue, rage and still turn stale.
Jackass claims that ne'er turn out
Are the same old ones they spout.
Revolution revolves again,
Revolving doors crushing men.
Revolving speeches much ado
Demand attention from little you.
Jackass thinking parades around
And covers the same old ground.
Manifestos newly scrawled
Fire off fodder canon balled.
Though it's all be tried before,
There's always time for blood and gore.
Jackass hobnails clop and strike
As once in a Third dark Reich.
"Here's your final exam question in Middle Eastern studies: A mass of Coptic Christians marches through Cairo to protest the military government's failure to protect them from Muslim radicals. They are attacked by stone-throwing, club-wielding rowdies. Armed forces security personnel intervene, and the Copts fight it out with the soldiers, with two dozen dead and scores injured on both sides. Who is to blame? The full credit answer is: Benjamin Netanyahu, for building apartments in Jerusalem. If that's not what you wrote, don't blame me if you can't get a job at the New York Times." In "Never have so few been blamed for so much by so many," by David P. Goldman, Asia Times, 12 October 2011
Coptic Christians slaughtered in Cairo's civic square?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
A dud of a bomb goes off in a Muslim's underwear?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
The Holocaust's a fairytale, denying idiots declare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Syrian protestors shot again on a Syrian thoroughfare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Honor killings, forced marriages intrude in the media's glare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Planes fly into buildings, as buildings drop from the air?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Bamiyan Buddhas blown to smithereens? How and why and where?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Arab spring gropes that reporter lass? A mob's cultural affair?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
A Saudi ambassador targeted in the states is maybe so unfair?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
China intervenes, propping up its banks' fragile chinaware?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Wall Street bail outs come and go for every billionaire?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Venezuela grabs homes and property? Cuba is crumbling, bare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Harrisburg's gone bankrupt, Detroit revolves the old nightmare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Corporate greed and rising costs are spreading everywhere?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Housing meltdowns trap, as inner city blues ensnare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Duds are wearing out too fast and threads are going bare?
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.Even funny men and comics laugh to spout the same old line:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
When socialism round the world lights its brilliant flare:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
Its consistency is consistently and ever doctrinaire:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
For every rage, for every rant, for all forms of despair:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
The same old story circulates, revolutionary then and there:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
This one answer fits most every form and questionaire:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
So many sing the old refrain and loud declare:
Itsthejoozemanitsthejooze.
See: Pogrom, a song setting to a text of Klabund (1890-1928)
A crystal wine glass sadly slipped
From off its pedestal, its base.
The marble floor beneath it quipped,
"I'll catch you, like that vase."
The shards of time are swept, then gone,
The shattered is discarded now.
What conclusion might be drawn?
Ah! Would it matter, anyhow?
"China is built on lies and its officials are hypocrites, the Dalai Lama said on Saturday, speaking via videophone after visa problems prevented him from joining Archbishop Desmond Tutu's birthday celebrations in South Africa. 'Some Chinese officials describe me as a demon,' the Tibetan spiritual leader said to loud applause as he put his index fingers either side of his head to mimic devil's horns. 'In reality, for the communist totalitarian system ... hypocrisy (and) telling lies has unfortunately become part of their lives.'" In "UPDATE 1-Dalai Lama: China is built on lies, run by hypocrites," Reuters, 8 October, 2011
Sands will shift as sands have done,
And men will lie for gain and fun.
That which is built up on the sand
Learns quickly, shifts were deeply planned.
That which is built up on lies
Lives for a time, and then it dies.
The modern age is as the old,
The same hard lessons being told.
Totalitarian dreams ever implode,
Excepting when they loud explode.
That which is born out of a lie
Is destined then to cruelly die.
This holds true both for man and state,
As true it was once, as it is of late.
Build upon a rock so firm
Builds something for the longer term.
That which was spawned by lying men
Is the old evil which ever comes again.
Totalitarians gag at freedoms' call
Because it means their castles fall.
But freedom is not the only game,
For castles fall by lies, the same.
That which is upheld by lies
The shifting sands in time excise.
What's a half a billion dollars
"Obama is defending his administration's decision to give a $528 million loan guarantee to a solar energy company that later collapsed." In "Obama defends loan to defunct solar panel company," Associated Press, 6 October 2011
What's a half a billion dollars
In the bigger scheme of life?
You lose a little bit of dough
And they give you grief and strife.
What's a half a billion dollars
When it's some else's dough?
Hey, it was a gamble, that's for sure.
Just easy come and easy go.
What's a half a billion dollars
For the people anyway?
Two bucks apiece from little folk
And that's not too much to pay.
You lose a little here and there
In the larger scheme of things;
The fat cats get to lick the cream
By siphoning off from underlings.
What's a half a billion here and there?
The piggies like to feed.
In other places, other times,
It would be called just greed.
But here it's noble intentions
That tilt the balance sheet,
And losing half a billion bucks
Isn't bad. Why, it's quite neat.
One Dizzy Dent did rise to speak
In the midst of a bloody politick;
Speakers and Whips foresaw critique,
Fingering each cane and every stick.
Our Dizzy Dent declared their fraud;
The bodies of the politick crowd
Were fattened, ass and broad,
As dizzying views were spun aloud.
Dizzy Dent spoke of hide-and-seek
In facts, in proof, in verbiage keen;
The corrupt politick, abruptly weak,
Heard then cutting clarity clear careen.
When all was said and all was done,
Dizzy Dent was dented all the more;
Each cane and stick had all their fun,
Beating Dizzy Dent full, fully sore.
Dizzy Dent would shoulder on,
When shouldering seemed so right;
Such perseverance, such pro against con,
Gave the bloody politick a fright.
Dizzy Dent grew Hydra heads.
When one was beaten down,
The next arose, born from the shreds
Of a Dizzy Dent in every town.
Dizzy Dents shall speak their mind,
And the body politick shall rage;
There's always proof Dizzy Dents will find,
Convicting politicks to cell and cage.
One Dizzy Dent rose more to speak
In the midst of another politick;
The story turns, not once unique,
As body politick grows densely thick.
A Dizzy Dent must rise each day
To hack at overgrown knots,
And speak such truth to power's play
As connects its lies like dots.
Dizzy Dent's said to be terror bent,
When bloody politick is involved.
They mean more often their lies are spent,
And a Gordian knot is finally solved.
Dizzy Dent is cheered by some,
But never cheered by all;
It's all a matter of who's under the thumb,
And who is assigned to take that fall.
One Dizzy Dent will rise again
In the midst of a bloody politick;
Speakers and Whips, when corrupt men,
Will heft like Cain an Abel's stick.
Skin
is
getting
thinner
everywhere
you
look,
In
every
corner,
on
every
street,
in
each
cranny
and
smallest
nook.
Thick
skin
seems
a
thing
of
the
past
now
passing
from
this
world,
As
knickers
twist
in
tighten
ing
knots,
and
"I'm
offend
ed"
is
daily
hurled.
Skin
is
getting
thinner
each
passing
day
and
week,
While
offense
is
so
easily
found
wherever
one
it
might
seek.
Thick
skin
seems
Neand
er
thal
while
thin
skin
now
is
chic,
And
being
offend
ed
all
the
while
makes
strength
for
those
so
weak.
Skin
is
getting
thinner
with
every
whine
and
moan.
Manning
up
has
lost
its
way
to
boyish
progest
erone.
Girly
men
now
hold
the
heights,
aghast
at
all
they
survey,
Thin
skin
is
shield
and
sharpened
sword
for
each
heroic
nursery
maid.
"The heart-warming story of a wayward emperor penguin that was rescued in New Zealand may not have a happy ending. Scientists who released the penguin back into the ocean say the signal from a tracking device has stopped and they fear the bird has been eaten. But they still are holding out hope that the device just fell off the penguin who has been dubbed 'Happy Feet.'" In "Famed rescue penguin 'Happy Feet' released back into wild may have been eaten, scientists fear," by Lukas I. Alpert, NY Daily News, 13 September 2011
A happy ending for those who dine
Is not so happy, I opine,
For that which lies upon the plate
As savory dish to cooperate.
Think, warm and caring people
Who so active in your zeal
Spend so much time and capital
Upon a penguin, fish or seal.
Back in the wild, those victims go
To shed their victim class,
Thereupon to be gobbled fast,
Then defecated out some ass.
Jones' little van was greenly green outside,
With redly red interior, though cheap Naugahyde.
It belched and smoked and fumed a lot,
And so the poorest mileage was what it got.
It was a noble failure, as no bull times went by,
Wheels flattening flatly, panels aimed on high.
No bull, as failure was foreseen for sure
When no bull dumped that old manure.
Jones fueled it with cash from agitprop
Even as it failed, drooping drop to drip, full stop.
Such noble failures run quickly out of gas;
Proving such a noble is most often just an ass.
"The fact that Europeans are unwilling to comply with Obama's strange logic gives reason for hope. It makes no sense to pile up more and more debt on already unstable piles of debt. The world doesn't have too little debt, but too much." In "Why Europe Is Right and Obama Is Wrong," a commentary by Michael Sauga, Der Spiegel Online, 3 October 2011 (Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan)
Too much debt.
There's too much debt.
But who seeks out the loans
That become this threat?
Such a threat.
A devastation's threat.
But which whirlwind devours
What markets can't forget.
So much debt.
Governments pile up debt.
Yet comes an end to the tale
Which the many will regret.
Pile up debt?
Where's logic in that bet?
Debt means payback's due
Or losses rage as they're reset.
Too much debt
Was sure to cause upset.
Upset comes to governments all
Who spun the wheel in this roulette.
