The Talking Dog

I once did have a talking dog,
Although he was not so well-read.
Nary a chat he did not hog,
Saying what came into his head.

He would converse on anything,
No matter what subject you chose.
Opinions as facts he would fling --
Who could know from whence they arose?

My friends often argued with him,
Until they turned blue in the face.
I indulged his every whim,
For I learned I could not keep pace.

One day we saw two men debate
In a political contest.
Love, more than for his dinner plate,
Seized my old dog deep in his chest.

So, soon, he started to campaign
For any office he could find.
His dog catcher run was inane,
But the voters seemed not to mind.

From catcher to mayor, he climbed;
Each opponent he did defeat.
His speeches and jokes were so well-timed,
Their own windbags they would deplete.

I last saw him leaving our town
For challenges awaiting out there.
I knew not to where he was bound,
But home was much quieter, I swear.

The Woolly Caterpillar

I was a woolly caterpillar once
Although it was very long ago.
But I was considered the class dunce --
I never knew how long it would snow.

I did try to learn to prognosticate
With the other larvae of my kind.
But that brown fur I loved to replicate --
I just could not get it off my mind.

They say the black absorbs the summer heat
To warm a body through winter cold.
But I preferred the sable brown complete
And cared not a bit what it foretold.

When came the time at last to hibernate,
I found myself alas unprepared.
It was not a style to refrigerate
And my cold discomfort was not spared.

If you are ever a woolly bear worm,
I would give you this bit of advice:
Resist temptation and to rules hold firm
And do not end up a chunk of ice.

Grandfather's Adventures

When I was just a lad, I went to sea
On the full-blown sails of my fantasy.
I travelled to far isles of mystery
And saw sights that few other ever see.

My ship was powered by a serpent's puff
And my hold was full of all I could stuff.
I adventured in calm weather or rough,
Endlessly searching -- I couldn't get emough.

My stories you might find a bit too strange
And you may think the facts I rearrange.
But despite your protests, I will not change
My memories of that wonder-filled range.

Now, if you'll stay still for a tale of mine
And close your eyes as abed you recline,
I'll take you with me o'er that ancient brine
To a place where truths and dreams intertwine.

When Titans Clash

This poem was recently found on a repaired vase, perhaps of ancient origin. Or maybe written yesterday.
Beware when Titans clash
If you live on land below.
They stomp about most rash
And seldom watch where they go.

They seek more distant goals
With their heads above the clouds.
Their passions drive their souls;
Self-purpose their vision shrouds.

All focused on campaign,
They answer the challenge's call.
They will rule their domain,
Or, with all foes, they will fall.

Who they were ere the fight
Is lost in fog of battle.
The thought to do what's right
Gone in combative prattle.

Urge to win overwhelms,
Knocking over reasons why.
Power lust for the realms
Blinds the more foresighted eye.

What victory is won
In this heedless ruins' wake?
All that was is undone --
No prize left intact to take.

Oh, Titans, be at peace
Within that you now possess,
And leave our bits of Greece
Unflattened by your excess.

If Mitty Can Do It ...

"You are wrong. You are emphatically and thoroughly wrong," Mitty insisted. "It will be a waste of money to pursue this course any further. And a waste of breath to explain why."

"But we have two million dollars sunk into this software! Oh, why didn't we ask for your help sooner?" The chairman sat at the head of the conference table lined on one side with executives and department heads looking as despondent as he. The team of outside contractors sat cowed and silent in their seats on the other side. "Is there anything we can do to save this mess?"

"Oh, yes, I should say so," Mitty demurred. "The project was worth doing and it still is. I cannot promise to spend another two million dollars though," he smiled slyly. "It will take a week for my team. Let's say $10,000 and all the pizza they can eat."

"Dad, we're here!" shouted Walt Jr. The boys in the backseat rambunctiously wrestled to be the first to exit the car and run to the pizzeria entrance. Their Cub Scout uniforms, so neat when they arrived at his home for the den meeting, were all rumpled and untucked after the brief ride to their field trip destination. Mrs. Mitty, the Den Mother, had already arrived with her carload of scouts as neat as pins.

"Did you get lost again, dear?" She soon had his half of the boys filed in line behind the others, with their clothes straightened sufficiently to be presentable. "Now remember, boys, this is a place of business and Mr. Larose has been kind enough to invite us into his kitchen to see how it runs. We are guests, we are polite, we are orderly. Now let's go inside."

"General Mitty, the factory is ready for your inspection, sir." The lieutenant saluted.

"Very well, Rogers," Mitty said, returning the salute and accepting the clipboard from him. "Let's see what the folks in Engineering made of the plans. Good afternoon, Enrico. You have been busy, I see."

"Quite so, General. All was so smooth going until now. The blueprints are a creation worthy of Da Vinci, both genius and artist in one. We hope you are pleased with what we have done to bring your ideas to life."

"But? Do I hear you hesitate at a problem puzzling you, Enrico?" Mitty reassuredly urged the chief engineer to continue.

"Every part, it works perfectly," Enrico explained. "But, as we bring them together, the power consumption, it grows far more than the addition of the parts' individual requirements. We must solve this to continue, for the power source as specified cannot sustain the whole process."

"Ah, the trilateral synchronization effect is what you have missed." General Mitty laid the clipboard on the table nearby and took out his pen. "Components have their own personalities, so to speak, and without the proper alignment, timing, and separations in their assembly as a whole, they compete at least as much as cooperate. Here," pointing with his pen, "and here, for example, you should note orders for the assembly of the mechanism. Pull together as stated, the power will suffice."

"No, Johnny, we never put peanut butter and anchovies on the same pizza," Mr. Larose answered. Why did he let his wife talk him into this? Johnny, his son, was probably the worse of the bunch when it came to asking ridiculous questions. Time to wrap this up. "Okay, boys. Who wants to make a pizza?" Everyone's hand shot up. "Let's move over to the table there where we have a lump of dough for each of you."

"Walter, where have you been?" Mrs. Mitty demanded. "Can't you pay attention and help keep the boys on task? Watch those four and I will supervise these."

"OK, this dough has been mixed and knead by the machine we saw earlier. It is ready to be flattened into a crust to receive the toppings." Mr. Larose thought that should be simple enough and keep them busy for a while. Well, it is what he thought! "Uh, no, we don't need to throw the dough balls up in the air! Just lay it on the table and spread it out with your hands. Well, I guess you could make a bunny shape like your mother's pancakes. No, there is only enough dough to make a six inch circle -- you cannot make a extra-extra-large pizza from that much dough."

"Mr. Mitty, we are approaching the edge of our sun's gravity well. We are about to leave the solar system." The captain looked to him deferentially. He held no rank amongst the crew operating this space vessel, but they all knew they would not be here except for his vision and efforts. "We have gone further than any man or woman in human history. Would you care to address the crew and passengers?"

"Thank you, Captain Czebec. Friends, we have exceeded all limits placed upon us. We allowed our imaginations to guide us and our energies to carry us forth. We have escaped our petty problems by tackling those we were told were too big to be handled. May your dreams take you everywhere you want to go." Walter Mitty accepted the applause he heard in his head. It has been a great life. Who could want for better?

Three Men Tub

Those three set out to see the world
And to have a great adventure.
So many ports through Ike's mind whirled
Where they might find fun and pleasure.
Ed plots up more practical plans
To fit all he can on budget.
But Samuel thinks of the clans
And how the others will judge it.

They have but that single vessel
That together they all must share.
At the helm, they argue and wrestle
To chose how and where they will fare.
"Let's follow the sparkle," says Ike,
"And go wherever it may lead."
"Ahead," says Ed, "are rocks we'll strike
If no caution we chose to heed."

Samuel scans around for land
And signs of civilzation.
"We could help more to lend a hand
And gain others' admiration.
We will enjoy ourselves onshore
With people to join our pursuit.
Let sparkles and rocks wait some more
And let's enhance our fine repute."

"What fun is that?" Ike does protest,
"We came out here to romp and play!"
"The fun," says Ed, "is in the zest
To do any task our own way.
We can frolic to our content
When we perceive the pleasure track.
Enjoy what is in your present
And the fun will always come back."

"So life's a game we daily play?"
Ike ponders so very lightly.
"We are a team, and so are they,"
He concludes with smile grown brightly.
"Yes, OK," Samuel agrees,
"If that will put us into gear.
Let's get out there now, if you please,
And give them a reason to cheer."

With all their hands on the wheel,
They resume the journey again.
For the moment, they have a deal
On how to guide their common brain.
Each with reasons, 'though not the same;
Ike, for fun in competing fight,
Ed, for strategy in the game,
Samuel, to do what is Right.

The Tattered Flag

Across the street, an old, worn flag,
Her business she still daily serves.
Day and night, her tattered ends yet wag
With less respect than she deserves.

I wonder what is her story
From her start to such condition.
At what posts she flew with glory,
Showing honor in her mission.

Where should a loyal servant go
After serving with her full measure?
What dignity should we bestow
To retire a well-worn treasure?

To Pay The Piper

That old taxman came by today
And asked, was I prepared to pay?
I was inclined to ask him why
I should feel compelled to comply.

I’ve more government than I need
And those at home with mouths to feed.
So, why should I need pay your fee –
What, I ask, is in it for me?

With a sigh, the taxman produced
A tube of which the end he loosed.
I thought it held a flute or pipe,
Or a paper roll of some type.

We’ve a contract, he softly said,
With debts owed, not easily shed.
He tapped the tube on his left palm
And held my eyes with silent calm.

Do you deny the deeds been done
To serve the needs of everyone?
To build your towns and keep them clean,
From near to far and in between?

You have tasked us with many chores –
To help at home and fight your wars.
Build your streets and patrol them too,
And things you alone cannot do.

And now it’s time to pay the bill,
Citizen’s duty to fulfill.
Use your vote to select our task,
But pay those who do what is asked.

Stanford the Chipmunk

Once upon a time, there was a chipmunk who felt that nobody respected him. Perhaps it was true, maybe even justified. But Stanford was sorely miffed by the slights and ridicule he believed his neighbors cast at him.

There are creatures smaller than a chipmunk just as easily ignored, or more easily, in the bustling world of nature. Stanford was as likely to overlook and discount their contribution to life as his neighbors. He understood that many things in life are too unimportant to occupy one's mind; but he simply knew he was not one of those things.

Stanford stood upon his stump
And called for all to heed.
Dancing about, he did jump -
Their attention he did need.

"It has been said," he began,
"By so many gathered here,
'That life requires no plan
To pass from year to year.

'What will come is unasked,
So accept what you receive.
The future's always masked -
Its intent none can perceive.' "

The few who listened shrugged;
Most ignored the small chipmunk.
From their paths, they weren't tugged
By his unwanted show of spunk.

"But it isn't true," he cried,
"Your planned goals can be reached.
It's worthy to be tried -
So think ahead," he beseeched.

None replied to what he said,
Even if they had heard.
If his thoughts crossed their head,
To self, credit they transferred.

What good to know what’s right,
He grumbled to himself.
I live beneath their sight
On life’s neglected shelf.

Did I chose to be so low
Upon my social tree?
Could into a lion I grow
With opportunity?

Then they would notice me
And hang on every word.
My roar would say what’s to be --
To me, all choices deferred.

He saw himself as lion posed
To rule with deft command.
He swept aside all opposed
To do as he had planned.

The world he saw was transformed
To fit neatly in his mold.
To their tasks others swarmed,
Doing as he had told.

Stanford walked with eyes closed
To hold within his dream.
So content, now he dozed
To realize his fine scheme.

The world changed not a bit --
All continued as it was --
Dreamer alone with his wit,
Hearing his own applause.

Get Over It!

How often heard is that advice
To clear the past from the future?
Such small aid when held in a vise
To find closure with one suture.

You look at that wall behind you,
Because you are walking backwards.
You approach what's next with no clue,
Distracted from what you go towards.

It'll give you a bump soon enough,
Catching you in unneeded surprise.
Your inattention it'll rebuff
If you let it capture your eyes.

So get over it! Let it pass,
Unless at its feet you would drop.
Your life will continue its flow --
Your next new challenges will not stop.

Dilemma of Assistance

To clean up a mess or just walk around
Is often the spot in which I am found.
Nobody can blame me for the snafu,
But I wonder if something I could do.

Too late to prevent what has happened here;
No sense to protest the path is not clear.
If I would go as I had intended,
Then the problem, it seems, must be mended.

But I could choose to divert another way
And use the muss to excuse my delay.
I was not invited to the disaster
And the detour around might be faster.

Why feel such guilt where no part I partook,
Or where perhaps my advice they forsook?
To cast a rope to those caught in chagrin
Is to risk the same fate and get pulled in.

Am I so noble to bear others’ danger
And to swap my comfort with a stranger?
Or so in need of praise to my glory
To rush to play hero in the story?

Must one accept responsibility
To respond because of ability?
Do I mistake Pride for proper Duty,
Or turn cheek for a kick in the booty?

Do you ask for my help free of all blame
When ‘til now you left me out of the game?
Or on the sidelines may I yet remain
And from all your problems simply abstain?

Many Me

All that's goodies is not good for me
Perhaps very little is.
Mind and body so do disagree
When you have diabetes.

What I may have versus what I want
Define this constant conflict.
Metabolism my desires taunt
As my life it does restrict.

But this is not the only battle
That rages within my insides --
Competing thoughts their sabers rattle
To choose which my actions guides.

Some parts wish I were a better man
And some prefer to be worse.
Some say to help whenever I can;
Some dismiss them with a curse.

I am not one thing in full accord,
But a balance of so much --
Parts to show and parts to be ignored
In the self the world to touch.

"Giving up a well beloved habit is like trying to talk a turtle out of its shell." -- Uncle Romulus

A Naked Turtle

In the fortress of his old shell,
The Turtle could perform quite well.
He had everything at hand,
And could hide when there's a demand.

Your comfort gives you too much ease,
Said the squirrels up in the trees.
You should scurry about all day,
If you would truly earn your pay.

I get to wherever I go
With my plans made careful and slow.
I prepare to have what I need,
So from wasteful haste I am freed.

You forget where you put your nuts
And search again, chasing your butts.
While I took long to build my home
To reduce how much I must roam.

Without your shell, what you could be!
Although you could never be me.
You're a dinosaur in a rock
Who cannot keep up with the flock.

Progress requires much more speed;
It's the mammals who will succeed.
The nimble will capture the prize
And the slow be lost in surprise.

I am not tempted to come out
By the future promises you shout.
What I do works each day for me,
As it has throughout history.

You're not lucky enough, it seems,
To be Turtle in nature's schemes.
You know not what happens in here,
So at the unknown you do jeer.

Squirrel or turtle stew tonight;
To both yet can come the same plight.
You go jump to your next hideout,
And I'll be inside my redoubt.

Demon of Doubt

Here is an odd bit of research. There is no name I found for a patron "demon of doubt". There are tricksters and deceivers who specialize in making others believe what is not true. Doubt would be a defense against them. Replacing one's beliefs with a new set might be seen as doubting the previous set, but every demon worthy of a name seems to ensure that its victim is not left bereft of all belief.

Rene sat by his fireplace. Or so it seemed. He was not ready to believe where, when, or who he was. He was going to doubt everything lacking proof of its reality. He called upon Doubt to cleanse his being in order to build afresh.

Did Rene believe in Doubt? Could Doubt truly blank out his mind? No, It could not. He continue to think - to desire, to conjecture, to compose, to analyze, to dream. Doubt cannot eliminate me, he thought defiantly ... I am real!

But, beyond me, what else is real? Testing Doubt's ability to annihilate my existence and discovering Its failure does not prove that Doubt cannot exist. Merely, I now know that Doubt is not omnipotent. Doubt can fail, and that which can fail is incomplete and imperfect.

But I can conceive Doubt and wield It as a defense against the trickery of my senses and the blind obedience to others' unproven speculations. As can they, if they so chose, against their senses and my thoughts. Doubt is a child and servant of all people, now and forever reborn. Doubt exists because I can make it so.

Doubt, my child, is imperfect. I, too, am imperfect for I know that my senses can deceive me. But Doubt blocks both the false and the true, I would suppose, for I have no reason to believe that Truth does not exist. Although Doubt cannot defeat my existence, Doubt can hide Truth.

Thus, Truth if it exists, is also not omnipotent for it cannot overcome the fallible Doubt. Truth is imperfect and incomplete. As I conceived Doubt, I also created Truth as a flawed entity.

How can Perfection exists if it is not True?

And if there is no Perfection, then is there Harmony? Purpose?

Is anything Real if it lacks Purpose? Nothing is Reality, thus Reality is Nothing.

I am Real? I am Nothing.

Perhaps, I should believe everything ... until it is proven false ...

If there is anything to believe ...

What's So Funny?

I could use a good laugh. Even a simple chuckle might be a start. But at the moment, the world around my workstation is humorless.

It's easy enough to say I am depressed. Or stressed. Or both. Things seem bad with a bunch of worse waiting around the corner.

My imaginary friends have noticed my mood and elected to keep their distance. No romps into fantasy lands with them in the near future seem likely. I am stuck in reality.

There are parts of reality that aren't so bad, but I am not visiting them either right now. No, I am sitting at work, looking at my past pass down the drain and a future view that only annoys me.

And everyone is so cheerful and confident about that future they selected. Or had selected for them. Everyone except me. Why should I be different? Why should I see the road ahead full of potholes while everyone else just sees a road to places they have never explored before? All roads are bumpy, they say.

I could use a good laugh. Or a good cry perhaps.

---

Save the Last Laugh for Me

tune: Save the Last Dance Fro Me

You can work
Every task with the app
That fell in your lap –
That’s where it slid.

You can run
Any reports on its menu
That it promised you
In its contract bid.

But, don’t forget who got you here
And in whose shadow you’re gonna be.
O DOC,
Save the last laugh for me, mmm.

Oh I know
PAS is old
And seemed so cold
You had to let it go.

Spec and shop
But beware off-the-shelf
Written to serve itself –
They’ll tell you “No”.

Oh, you’ll forget who got you here
And in whose shadow you’re gonna be.
O DOC,
Save the last laugh for me, mmm.

You must dance
Every dance they tell you
And do it as they do
In their own design.

When you ask
To do what has been,
It will make them grin –
To wishlist consign.

Maybe you’ll recall who got you here
And in whose shadow you’re gonna be.
O DOC,
Save the last laugh for me, mmm.

Legacy

When you tell the tale of my passing through,
Will only kind words be what is spoken?
Will you forget the times I frustrated you
With nit-picking obstinacy unbroken?

Will my help in building what you tore down
Be swept away with its demolition?
Will lasting memory be of my frown
And not of my skills as Data Magician?

I am tired now and would wish to rest
With the products of my past glories.
Though I sought to have always done my best,
You have gone elsewhere to hear new stories.

I cannot guide you on your chosen path,
But am I willing to tag on behind?
My years of service now but simple math
As to retirement I slowly grind.

Day of the Groundhog

"Honey, are you awake?" Cayley nudged Phil.

"No," Phil replied. "For crying out loud, it's the middle of winter"

"That is just the point, Phil," insisted Cayley. "We are halfway through our winter stores. Are we going to make it to Spring?"

"You worry about this every year. We've always made it -- come back here and snuggle with me."

"We need to plan and ration for the duration. We need to know how much more winter there is going to be this year."

"Do you know how much snow I dig through every year to give you a prediction? Do you know how cold it is out there in February? No, of course not. Every year it's 'Phil, go take a look' while you stay snugly buried in the warm burrow."

"Oh, c'mon, Phil, go take a look. I'll warm you up when you get back."

Resignedly, Phil arose. "For you, dear, 'cause I love you," he said aloud, albeit half-heartedly. "And 'cause you aren't going to stop until I do," he muttered to himself.

For the next half-hour, Phil dug slowly upwards, dozing off briefly a couple of times until he heard Cayley calling out below. He broke through to the surface, stood up, and looked around. Then he retreated to the burrow, collapsing the temporary tunnel behind him.

"Well?" asked Cayley.

"They had on heavy coats, but it was sunny enough that at least half were unbuttoned. Six more weeks until Spring. Now can we go back to bed?"

For Future Schemes

(Tune: Auld Lang Syne)

Should old databases be forgot
And nevermore be seen?
Should old databases be forgot
For future schemes?

Chorus:
For future schemes, we dream,
For future schemes.
We’ll take those bold steps forward
For future schemes.

And surely you’ll have your app,
All is promised, it seems,
And we’ll complete our daily biz
With future schemes.

     Chorus

We long have run that old beast down
‘Til it busted at the seams.
But we’ve grown now only to fit
With future schemes.

     Chorus

They’ll carry over what they can
If it fits in their themes.
But not all history complies
With future schemes.

     Chorus

So, grab my hand and hold your nose
As we jump in the stream
That’ll take us to that hopeful land
Of future schemes.

Nothing to Lose

What greater vote of confidence could the American public have given a President at the midterm election. Frustrated with his patience in waiting for and compromising with alllies and bickering hopelessly with recalcitrant opponents, the American electorate at last have taken advantage of the last election in the Obama administration to cut him loose.

With no more elections to lose (or win) and scant likelihood for congressional help, the President may now drop his search for tepid (at best) support and mine the authority he has on his own to achieve his goals. He has many changes to the stale politics in Washington pledged years ago which the American voters were eager to see made. But he has spent six years working within the very system he (and they) hope to change. In seeking the political consensus, he traded away control for concessions from others.

But in their wisdom, the Americans have realized their error in providing the President with the potential to think Congress will act in accordance with his promises. Decades of their scattered compromising legislation to serve conflicting interests has resulted in the dysfunctional and directionless system we all find reasons to resent. Now reminded if you want something done, you should do it yourself, Obama is freed of the political distractions that have thwarted his dreams. You go, Prez.

The Municipal Office Party

The Policeman’s Carol

(Melody: It Came Upon A Midnight Clear)

If I could have one wish each year
To share with one and all.
It would be for a season clear
Of fights, from guns to brawl;
“Peace everyone, please walk away,
Leave, even in a huff.
But let us have calm on this day --
Non-violence is enough.”

Still I know laws will be broken,
I must yet go to work.
Angry, harsh words will be spoken --
There’ll always be some jerk.
But for one day, if not a week,
Hold your fury within;
We’ll not slap your proffered cheek
When on your heel you spin.

The world will ever have its strife
And chafe as heads collide.
We all want to live our safe life --
To each their faith abide.
You need not wish me Christmas cheer
Or Happy Hanukkah,
Or whatever you have at end of year,
Festivus or Kwanzaa.

Please find your way to allow peace
To visit everyone.
Let me patrol in silent ease
And never draw my gun.
And if my wish could come this once,
We all would feel some hope
That to believe doesn’t make a dunce --
In harmony, we can cope.

---

The Fireman’s Carol

(Melody: Up on the House Top)

Up on the rooftop, firemen climb,
To fight a fire caused by grime.
Down in the chimney are lots of flames --
There is no time for holiday games.

REFRAIN:
Creosote! Oh, no, no!
Creosote! Oh, no, no!
Check up the chimney, quick, quick, quick,
Each year before that lighter you click.

First goes the flue, inferno hot,
Oh, dear, here’s another spot;
It burns through the wall to your surprise
As you watch it spread before your eyes.

REFRAIN.

Next, the bedroom of Ma and Pa;
Burns all like it’s made of straw.
There go the drapes, clothes and the bed --
Hope you get out before you’re all dead.

REFRAIN

---

The Snowplow Driver’s Carol

(Melody: Let it Snow)

O, winter weather is at last coming
And soon my truck will be humming;
I’ll plow you a way to go --
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

I hope it’s not soon stopping
So I can pay for my wife’s shopping;
My checkbook is running low --
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

When we finally get a good dump
How I love to get out in my truck!
Your car is now a snowy lump,
But I will never get stuck.

The piles are steadily climbing
And I weary with overtiming
But as long as my truck will go --
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

---

The School Teacher’s Carol

(Melody: O Little Town of Bethlehem)

In our town school’s gymnasium,
We met to say goodbye.
To home you’re gone on vacation --
I let out a big sigh.
Yet in my nightly dreams lurk
Your ever-grinning face,
The smiling masses of all the classes
Follow me every place.

For peace and rest I yearn,
To rewind my mind’s clock,
While parents weep for you to keep
Running amok in house and block.
O when the holidays end
And rings the school bell clear
And bus by bus on me you’re thrust,
I’ll hold you again dear.

But silently, please silently,
Let my break be my own!
Please leave my brain with no refrain
From life in the school zone.
No ear can hear you drumming,
Inside my poor brain pan,
But I still know that’s where you go,
To haunt my holiday plan.

O little child of our fair town
Go home for now and play.
Forget lessons and my questions --
There’ll be no test today.
We’ll sing our cheerful carols
And play our reindeer games,
But you at home, and me alone,
As the school board proclaims.

---

The Mayor Carol

(Melody: Joy to the World)

Joy to you all! The Mayor’s here;
Get the party in gear;
Let all employees raise up their beer,
And shout a mighty cheer,
And shout a mighty cheer,
And shout, and shout a mighty cheer.

Joy to you all! The Mayor serves;
Let votes decide who wins;
Let’s use some of the town’s reserves
To hire some violins,
To hire some violins,
To hire, to hire some violins.

He will spread the taxes to all,
To each department found;
He’ll fund every budget call
As far as it’ll go ‘round,
As far as it’ll go ‘round,
As far, as far as it’ll go ‘round.

He rules the town with charm and grace,
And shakes anyone’s hand,
With the twinkling smile on his face,
And arm twists from his band,
And arm twists from his band,
Arm twists, and arm twists from his band.

---

The Tax Payer & Tax Collector Duet

(Melody: Baby, It’s Cold Outside)

We really can’t pay --- Lady, it’s your fair share
You don’t hear what I say --- It’s not that I don’t care
This meeting has been --- My calculations you’ve seen
A waste of time --- Maybe I can save you a dime.

My mother turned off the heat --- You’ve two thousand square feet,
Father closed the second floor --- A garage through the kitchen door;
So this bill we just can’t meet --- Such a pretty little street.
Collectors knocking at the door --- I wouldn’t guess you’re so poor.

The neighbors will talk --- Lady, we’ll fix this thing
When at bills we balk --- With some extra tax filing;
I wish I knew how --- We’ll report your income now
To win the lottery --- And adjust for your poverty.

You’ve been so very nice --- I easily would do it twice
Your kindness I hope to repay --- Just goodbye and be on your way.
We are saved by law --- From deep pockets we draw
Others will pay that fair share.

I really could stay --- I was just doing my job
And my gratitude pay --- You’re making my head throb
For service oh so grand --- Please let go of my hand
That gave me peace --- Leave now or I’ll call the police.

What joy I will feel tomorrow --- What trouble did I borrow
With one less bill that’s still due --- In finding the way to help you
Now I won’t pay --- That’s what the laws say,
Others will pay that fair share,
Oh, others pay the fair share,
Yes, others pay our fair share.

Documentation Woes

Is it perhaps worse to say too much
Than to say hardly anything at all?
To spew great verbosity and such
Versus a trail of bread crumbs too small?

What truths will I hide buried so deep
When I ramble far beyond the point?
Who will know what are the facts to keep
When I scatter words all over the joint?

But when I cut the clue to a phrase,
Those few selected hints of meaning,
Whose understanding will I so faze
That its message is beyond gleaning?

There is a reason why it comes last,
If ever the manual is written.
It is not what gives coders a blast
Once with a problem, they are smitten.

Such drudgery not for them intended,
So the programmers will tell you all.
Hire English majors with words splendid
To capture the thoughts and you enthrall.

Calliope (epic poetry, politics, justice), Clio (history), Euterpe (music, dialectic, flutes, lyric poetry), Thalia (comedy, pastoral poetry, mathematics, architecture, agriculture), Melpomene (tragedy, rhetoric), Terpsichore (dance, education), Erato (love poetry), Polyhymnia (sacred poetry, geometry, grammar), Urania (astronomy, navigation)
and

The Tenth Muse

What artists or scholars do not seek, knowingly and only practically, the guidance and approval of their Muse in their love of the knowledge and craft they pursue? These nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, taught by Apollo, guarded and bestowed to us the secrets of all arts and science as were within their individual domains. Collectively, they gave us language, technique, creativity, and appreciation of learning and achievement. Individually, they have selected and blessed many through the generations of Man to carry on and advance their cultivated areas.

But most of us are not so blessed with the special gifts from a guardian Muse. We merely dabble while experts create. We share in the benefits and wonders of their creations and discoveries (and sometimes suffer from their unruly consequences) but not in their famed glory.

And yet, when we look about us every day, we see the contributions of such lesser folks as us in these same pursuits to which the Muse-inspired are driven. We show our grasp of the arts and science, the communication and practice of these skills, albeit at more rudimentary or moderate levels. We too have a guardian and a benefactor. One whose tended flocks has added to all the cumulative endeavors of Man more (in quantity) than any of the specialized prodigies of the individual Muses. One who has overseen and aided us across all the spheres of knowledge. This one is the Tenth Muse, the neglected brother of the Muses, the generalist amongst these focused advocates of their specialties. Let us in the greater mass of people give our thanks to our Muse, Anony. Many today forget to credit their Muse in the works they produce, but our most humble of this family is the most often cited despite his modesty.

Thank you, Anony Muse.

The Winter Cold Does Come

To Melody of: It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.

It comes about Thanksgiving time
With a sniffling in my nose,
And starts to explore my body
With symptoms as it goes:
A scratchy throat, and aches abound,
And that stuffiness in my ears;
The winter cold has come again
As it has all these years.

And as those germs crawl in and out,
Wherever they do want,
They inflame my organs in response
And my antibodies taunt.
“You'll never find and catch us all;
We're simply everywhere.
You're just too slow to stop our fun,”
Those blasted bugs do jeer.

Yet it's not true, I tell myself,
I suffered this before;
With a few pills to help and sleep,
They'll be vanquished once more.
For man has fought the cold and won,
Evolution makes it clear.
So hush, you bothersome beasties,
I will again this year.

Shattered Dreams

Shattered Dreams

Who struck the blow to wreck your dream?
Did you hold his coat to lend aid?
Did you bend o'er to ease the ream?
Have you you to blame for mess made?

Did you work with too little sleep
In which your dreams could fully root?
Did you plan no promises to keep
As here and now burned through your loot?

Did you wait too long for the best
And watch as faint chance passed you by?
Did you curse that you were not blessed
And gave up then without a try?

Or did you fall from lofty peak
To land upon unyielding ground?
Of your dreams, a look you did sneak,
Coming so close, but never found?

The Pols Go Matching

THE POLS GO MARCHING

The pols go marching 1 by 1, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 1 by 1, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 1 by 1,
The poor voter stops to load his gun
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 2 by 2, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 2 by 2, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 2 by 2,
The poor voter stops to sigh a whew
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 3 by 3, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 3 by 3, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 3 by 3,
The poor voter hopes they will agree
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 4 by 4, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 4 by 4, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 4 by 4,
The poor voter stops to mop the gore
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 5 by 5, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 5 by 5, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 5 by 5,
The poor voter hopes they end their jive
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 6 by 6, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 6 by 6, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 6 by 6,
The poor voter says “Now no more tricks”
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 7 by 7, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 7 by 7, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 7 by 7,
The poor voter stops to pray to heaven
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 8 by 8, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 8 by 8, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 8 by 8,
The poor voter watches them fill their plate
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 9 by 9, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 9 by 9, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 9 by 9,
The poor voter sees his hopes unwind
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 10 by 10, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 10 by 10, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 10 by 10,
The poor voter says "IT’LL NEVER END"
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!