Archive for the ‘jest’ Category

Upon Hearing yon Folk’n’Class Ensemble

February 15, 2019

Here be my silly February poem;

I don’t know where it cometh froem

except I saw it somewhere online

n thereby did watch it more than one more time.

If you as a yankee doodle

are going to not now be foodled—

if u going to make any sense of this,

you’ll have to click on du UTuub soundtrack, dis:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Un9sXWWuChU

GuitarAcordi

Europa Europa where are ya

Ensemble Ensemble how are ya

Kumbaya Kumbaya who are ya

Strumma strumma votre guittara

Oh I remember Carlos Montoya,

‘though I grew up wit Tom Sawya.

Who’d’ve thought it

Who’d’a thunk it

to see him plunk it

while accordion dun wunkit

and orchestra delunk it

like Jordan when he dunk it.

Europo Europo wherefore art thou Europo

Could a rose by any other namo

sound so sweet as dis singing guittaro

caressed by yon blowing bandoneono

pluck’n forth allegro non troppo

while Europa fluttereth ah tiempo

n thereby revivin’ Europo du resonato.

Oh, I feel  Europo oughta be sustenuto!

Smoke

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A Rebel Guvnah?

February 4, 2019

This clueless news-viewer (me) came across an ole photo that has recently been tossed online in the midst of the current political maelstrom that is sucking our country down into depraved politics and perilous perdition.

RebelGuvna

And when I saw the infamous image, I wondered . . . what’s the big fuss all about?

Appears to me the Guvnah is herein advocating Reconstructive Reconciliation between his honkified racist constituents and their radical activist black cousins who are living across the river or across the tracks or across the Great Political Divide that has inflicted exceptional divisiveness among our entertainment-starved net-trolling denizens of  what was formerly Democrat Dixie, but is now Republican Red Solid South.

Maybe all citizens in this here land of the free and home of the brave would do well to imbibe a beer or two with their color-counterparts in the interests of reconstructive reconciliation.

. . .specially down here in the land of cotton where ole times here are not forgotten, or at least we thought they were forgotten until some Republican hack with nothin’ better to do than make trouble by trolling what we thought were the long-dead confederate swamps around the beltway and thereby dragged up this old bombshell and thought he’d reactivate it for the sake of blowin’ to smithereens the apparently escalating Democrat digits that have taken the public spotlight since our last election.

My humble opinion is that our politicians would do better to focus on governance–things like roundin’ up citizens to fix the potholes or repairing the infamous infrastructure or maybe enabling edumacation for the folks who are falling behind the 21st-century job-skills curve, or  even make a move toward balancing the budget for maybe just ONE year instead of piling another big whoppin’ .gov debt on top of the already oversized 21-trillion$ deficit, etc.

Republicans and Democrats oughta work some of these problems out over a friendly libation instead of draggin’ up more mud  from the swamps around Washin’ton and slingin’ it every whichaways.

And if they can’t get together and toast to togetherness, I think it’s time for Washington to get a good, thorough washin’, so’s they can be worthy of the nomenclature.

Send in the scrubs instead of the clowns.

 

Glass half-Full

This is for the birds

January 25, 2019

I thought I’d take a gander

at our nation’s slow meander

into polarized politics’ clown’d identities,

as chronic deficits  drain our amenities.

Meanwhile back at the ranch

not much chance in extending an olive branch

in  the present  state of our union,

cuz our leaders share no communion.

They find it advantageous to split  into camps

which somehow blows out our Liberty lamps.

So obsessed with the clown scenario showdown,

congress anoints the annual guvmint shutdown,

until  the farcical politics runs its course

while our nation’s deficit’s on a runaway horse.

Someday no credibility will be left in the US dollar

as Fed and Treasury in red ink they waller.

Someday dollars will be valued as turds,

cuz their politicking’s all for the birds.

ArguBrds

Glass half-Full

Cornucopia Time!

November 22, 2018

Well I’m glad those Native Americans taught the Pilgrims how to plant corn, aren’t you?

Back in the day, it was. . . 1620 or so.

Those Pilgrims had found themselves in a tight spot over in Europe. The hyper-institutionalized Church—both the Roman version and the Brit version—had become too high and mighty for its own good. So those Puritans, looking for a purer manifestation of the Old Time Religion, pulled up stakes and lit out for the New World.

When they got here, it was a whole new ball game; they didn’t have all that advanced Euro culture and tech to make life manageable as it had been back in the Old World.

So, thank God for Them Injuns, huh?!

Squanto, or Squatcho or Pocahontas, Sacajawea—or whoever Injun it was—demonstrated for the clueless Pilgrims how to grow corn, as you see in the pic here:

CornNtiv

Well by ’n by, as it turned out, those Pilgrims made it through, with a little help from their friends, new friends. They managed to hang on, get through a few winters and all that adversity we hear about at Turkey Day, if we’re not too busy watching football or gearing up for the black friday ritual dance.

Anyway, after those Pilgrims squeaked through, and word got back to the old country, there were other groups of emigrants who headed west for America. And for all kinds of reasons. . . religious, economic, etcetera etcetera, and just to feel free in an undeveloped continent that wasn’t so crowded and constricted with religious and political authoritarian blahblah.

In fact, the buzz about the New World got so widespread that after a century or two it went viral. Next thing you know there’s everybody and their brother piling on ships to go west young man and get the hell out of dodge and make it over here where a man could breathe free and a woman could too.

Long about 1886 or so, those crazy French sent the Statue of Liberty over here, because they were so caught up in the idea of freedom, and they knew we had done a better job of making liberty really happen, see’n as how we didn’t have all that ancient class system and religious institutional inertia to obstruct our westward quest for freedom and liberty.

Gosh, France!   Thanks for that statue, y’all.

StatLibty

Couldn’t a done it without you.

Anyway, long about the time that Lady Liberty showed up in New York harbor—that was pretty much the most intense period for folks get’n fed up with the Old World and strikin’ out for the New.

Crazy! Leavin’ it all behind and coming over here. Unbelievable. That took some balls, y’all! Or some gumption, or chutzpah, or hutzpah or  courage, or just down-right down-n-out desperation.

Anyway, they did.  They came. They forsook the Old in search of the New. So many of those Europeans and other, Africans, Asians, etcetera etcetera caught a whiff of the Liberty that was blowin’ in the wind across the wide world and so many of ‘em just chucked it all—all the the old stuff—and threw it in a rucksack or whatever and headed for the land of the free and home of the brave.

Like I said before, it went viral. And about the time that Lady Liberty got her spot in New York Harbor—that was the most intense time for folks coming this way.

And they just kept coming, and coming, and coming. . .

Brutha Neil wrote a song about it, y’all:

     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRTHdC7k4uY

And they’re still coming! God bless  ‘em! Coming to America!

Nowadays, some Americans who got their britches on too tight are trying to put a stop to all the folks who wanna get in on the greatness of America (Again).

They need to stop and wonder: what if your great great great great grampa and granma had’t gotten in back in the day?

Where would you be now?

Probably bobbin’ along on a rubber dingy somewhere between Lesvos and Athens, or between Belfast and Boston, or between Havana and Miami, or between San Salvador and San Isidro, or between Bangladesh and Bangor, or somewhere between a rock and a hard place.

And if your politics doesn’t allow for the extension of American liberty unto them newbies and immigrants, maybe you should adjust your politics, so you don’t feel so high and mighty about what all you got, but rather—renew the vision for what this America is all about—the land of the free and home of the brave.

Free enough to let that Freedom be extended, and brave enough to not be all paranoid about the new immigrants.

This may seem kinda naive and corny to you. But let’s not forget this is the last Thursday in November, Thanksgiving.

Cornucopia Time! There’s plenty enough for everybody!  Spread it around.  As Brutha Paul sang it:            Let ‘em in!

King of Soul

Elemental shenanigans

August 20, 2018

At the Start, Hydrogen heaved ho.

Helium laughed. Lithium lay low while Beryllium became bemused.

But Boron bore the burden of all the work yet to be done.

Periodic Table

Then Carbon was conceived, and came forth in a manger wrapped in swaddling clothes, surrounded by angelic hosts of other elements, celebrated as the great center-point of history. He would go on to  bring myriads of other elements together in peace and productivity, but in latter days was criticized for attaching himself to everybody’s business.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, good ole Nitrogen nourished all the stuff that came later.

Oxygen got involved and opened a whole new way of life.

Fluorine flew flags of fluorescence for all to see.

Neon knew nothing but nonsense, but was neutral enough to practice non-intervention.

Sodium solved a lot of problems, and he’s all over the map with that

Magnesium managed to make itself useful.

Aluminum lightened everybody’s load.

Silicon solidified his/her position, early on in the sands of time, and then later went on to establish a ubiquitous presence in the science of small smart circuits.

Meanwhile Phosphorus flamed along, brightening the path for others.

Sulfur suffered through a lot.

Chlorine clung to just about everything, cleaning house along the way, but has been known to kill when too excited.

Argon atoms are gone until somebody proves their actual existence.

Potassium produces plenteously.

Calcium is known as a great  collector of a lot of stuff.

Scandium is scant. Titans use Titanium to tighten up their tridents.Vanadium is very strong, while Chromium captures all the attention. Manganese manages to make good use of itself.

Iron Age innovations initiated innumerable inventions.

Cobalt combines with others to combat corrosion.

Nickel has made itself a necessity.

Copper’s a good cop,  conducts a lot of traffic.

Amazing Zinc sets up rustless zones wherever it goes. Thank God.

And then there’s Gallium; it has the gall to call itself a metal, as if it were a major player along with iron and nickel and all those other big-time movers and shakers.

Germanium is a dope in silicon valley. Arsenic is also a real dope, but reputed to be a pathological killer when let out of his cell. He hides behind old lace.

Selenium periodically illuminates this end of the Table, while Bromine combines medicinally and then resigns.

Krypton is a rare super-phenom found only in old comics of the 1950’s.

Now here’s the line-up for the second Period:

Rubidium rules while Strontium drools— radioactivity, that is— 90 times a second, I think, and then renders all those other metalistic johnny-come-lately wannabees as metalla non grata.

 If we keep this mining expedition going long enough, we could  find  lucky ole  Silver hiding under the Table.

Along the way we’re bound to kick up that perennial  also-ran can—Tin— he comes to town and makes the rounds, but always  ends up  wasting away in a landfill, a real slacker if there ever was one.

And I mean, sure, there are some bright spots on the Periodic Table. There’s the star of the show, gold, hiding down there in the middle of the pack, and glinting in at a clandestine #79. Highly-prized all the time, but he’s oh-so-hard to find, unless you’ve got a really big credit line.

Every now and then you may catch sight of that tempereal Mercury, but its hard to pin him down.  He never stays in one place long enough to amount to anything. He’s got a really hot temper, but, I’m told, a cold personality.

Down there in the middle of the defensive line there’s the Lead heavyweight– not very fast, but good on the line– a good blocker for those fast Uranium backs.

 Uranium backs are the stars of the show, you know, forever racking up the big stats. But most of them are real hot shots, and if their temper gets worked up, you can’t get rid of ’em. The refs kick ’em out of the game, but they hang around for a long time like they own the place and make trouble for anybody who crosses their path. Don’t cross ’em. If they get really fired up they’ll go plutonium on ya and that’s all she wr

Glass Chimera

A day in the Life

August 11, 2018

There we were, all in one place,

a generation lost in space.

Now here we are a half-century after

a life with all our pain and and laughter—

almost exactly fifty years to the day

since Sargent Pipper taught the band to play,

and though they been goin’ in and outa style

we are  gathered here to crack a smile.

So may I introduce to you?

–the one and only googled shears,

by which the great gargantuan engine hath snipped

every profound idle idol idyll mobile-friendly byte ever quipped:

HusPrague

I heard the news today, oh boy:

four trillion holes in tiny shiny mobile screens;

and though the holes were rather small

they had to rank them all.

Now they know how many holes it takes to fill

the mobile-friendly Mall

I’d love to turn your phone on . . . .

   King of Soul

To Do or Not to Do

May 19, 2018

 That is the question, and so here spurts forth the contemporary quandary, purloine’d from the great classic tragic drama,  Hambiskit, by Mr. William Shakyerbootilere:

Herein we heareth the soliloquy of yonder young prince Hambiskit, being uttered in the midst of his worst internetual crisis:

To do or not to do: Is that the question?

Whether ’tis nober in this world to suffer

the slings and arrows of superfluous wwweb buffoonery,

or to sling comments against a viral flood of manipulators

and by opposing outsmart them.

To o’ercome, or to consume more and more?

and by consuming then regurgitate

the spewings of those faceless data-freaks

that the Web is heir to: ’tis a comment

boldly to be keyed.

Just sayin’.

To excel, or to consume?

to consume—perchance to daydream: aye, there’s the flub!

For in that slumber of couch-potato’d mess, what dreams may come?

when we have sluffed off the ancient laborious toil

that flesh was heir to!

Just sayin’.

Yeah, such pathoggery will surely add us pounds; there’s the rub:

there’s the lethergy

that makes such heavy weight of this long life.

For who, tell me who? will now bear the quips and scorns of time—

the hackers’ throng, the elites’ manipul’ry,

the publicized pangs of transgended sex, the laws’ demise,

the insolence of leftists and the the lumps of alt-right grumps.

 Our attention to such useless compost daily piles up

while we ourselves with regularity do our deposits drop

from every bare bottom?

Pshaw!

Who, I ask you, who would such far-fetched feces bear?

—to groan and complain in this our cushy couchist pod

until the dread of whatever the hell’s after death—

that unsolicited’d app from whose click no traveller returns—

it wipes our will

and makes us  bear those charmin’ ills we have,

rather than fly to other charms we know not of.

Thus, consciousness makes cowards of us all, y’all,

and so the human hue of resolution

is slicked o’er with the clown’ed cast of infotainment.

Hambiskit

Then enterprises of great pith and content,

by mere wasting of time, our  essential issues get sucked away,

and so we so thoughtlessly delete

the path of action.

To do or not to do, I tell ya, Ophelia Bodelia,

That is the question!

Just sayin’.

King of Soul

The Saga of the Stick

April 28, 2018

Herein is told the ongoing tale of them that do, doing unto them that get done unto.

Going back in time we find . . . Stuck in a perilous situation, homo sapiens grabbed a big stick and started swinging it.

His strategy worked sufficiently for subjugating wild animals and other scary intruders.

Scary

With frequent use, wielding of the stick became an habitual strategy for homo sapiens’ survival. Before long, he was expanding his use of the stick as a staff to herd sheep.

By herding sheep and scattering seed, sapiens man was able to survive on a higher level, and so he ascended to a certain  sovereignty over his surroundings.

By ’n by, by finding fire, he discovered he could roast and toast and scald food and in so doing consume stuff more satisfactorily. This utilization of incendiary power also supplied heat sufficient to smelt metals from ores and to cast tools from stones and then to strike utensils for use in shaping a new way of life and ultimately a society.

“Hunters and gatherers we will be,” said the shepherds in their new society.

“Shepherds and smelters we shall be,” said the scions in their new ascendency.

Such satisfactory progress afforded sapiens some time to ponder the universe he was espousing. Moving right along, sapiens man began scribbling squigglies on  stones, scratching symbols on papyrus, and certainly scrawling scripts on scrolls.

“Scholars and stargazers we shall be”, said the Scions in their ascending hierarchy.

“With swords and sceptres will we assert our sovereignty; with scythes and scripts we shall extend our authority.

Take ye these instruments,” said the sovereign to the scion.

“Distribute these scythes and sickles; supply these utensils to yon peasants to scatter and to sow  seeds in our fields.

Take these here symbols and scripts; scribe them upon the hearts of our people and in so doing implant our sovereignty over them. Establish our legendary sacrifices that such may become a sacrament unto them. Sow the seeds of our royalty, and thus harvest surplus with which we shall surely abolish the scourge of scarcity.

Clothe their servitude with civility. Sever their discontent with circuitous servility. With sword and scepter and script shall ye establish our ziggurats of slavery by which we shall  dissemble them in the latest greatest viral-spinning splendors of sensuous satisfaction.

Urge them to spin in circles of superfluity.

Like them and tweet them and retweet them and thus sheepify them, deleting  from them their former certainty and by ’n by  their very liberty.

Cast ye the rising symbols of our datified sovereignty over them.

From search engines squeeze forth pseudos of science, as the tube yieldeth toothpaste until it is rolled and trolled and empty as a zero hero. Quantify and datify and pacify these scruffy malcontents. Render them thereby castrati and technocrati and couchpotatoati.

Swing ye the sword of censorship upon their scribblous postings while they yet cannot detect our tampering with their turbulent protestations.

Tell them to Get thee to a neutereing nunnery— lest their spurting emissions prolong the cursed progeny of our climate changing catastrophe!

Eliminate their emissions!

Publicize their scandalous commissions!

Narcotify and opiafy and entertainify them until they’ve been sufficiently socialized to binge upon the fodder of fakenews foolishness until the cows come home while the social medias drone on and on.

Stick it to ‘em,” said the hierophant to the sycophant.

Herein was told the the ongoing tale of them that do, doing unto them that get done unto.

So . . . of which group are you?

Glass Chimera