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!

Carols for Halloween

Carols for
HALLOWEEN
A new tradition to have the trick-or-treaters
earn their rewards (or else) 

---

It’s Beginning to Feel Much Like Halloween
Lyrics to It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
Everywhere you go;
There are ghosts and goblins out there
And skeletons to spare
With the same old bargain we so well know.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
With its chilly breath.
The lawns are all now full of leaves
And the streets with candy thieves
To scare you to death.

A fist of sugary treats
And such unhealthy eats
Is the wish of Batman and Thor;
Gummies full of juice for tummies to abuse
Is the demand of Skeletor;
And Mom and Dad can hardly wait
To get home to their door.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
Once again this fall;
There’s a blowup giant Frankenstein
To greet in pantomime
Everyone going to the shopping mall.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
In your neighborhoods.
In the window there’s a broad grin
To taunt you dare to come in
If you want the goods.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
When you hear a knock.
But the evilest thought to think
Is the kids will crash and sink
In their sugar shock.
It’s Halloween, on the block!

---

Hallowed Song
Lyrics to The Wassail Song

Here we come trick-n-treating
Among the homes so dark,
Here we come a-braving
Through the haunted park.
Trick or treat we offer you
And hope you will take your cue
And choose treat, and if you do,
Have a Hallowed Eve,
And we’ll send you blessings as we leave.

We are not common beggars
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbors’ children
As you’ve never seen before.
Fright and fear come to you,
And perhaps a smile or two,
And we thank you, and hope you
Have a Hallowed Eve,
And we’ll send you blessing as we leave.

Good neighbor and kind stranger,
As you watch your TV,
Please think of us poor children
Who come to you to plea.
Small treats are all we ask,
Fear no tricks behind our mask,
And if you complete this task,
Have a Hallowed Eve,
And we’ll send you blessing as we leave.

---

Beware Stingy Jack
Lyrics to Away In A Manger

Away in the graveyard, just dirt for a bed,
That rogue Jack ‘o Lantern laid his pumpkin head.
The moon up above shone down on his grave,
And on this night, a brief new life to him gave.

The wind gusts were howling, as Jack awoke,
And his voice, so long still, cackled with a croak,
“I am free to wander and search through this night,
And see what tricks and mischief I can incite.”

Beware of Stingy Jack if he comes to play.
Close by you in darkness, on you he will prey.
Only on one night of each year he can roam,
But you must never let him into your home.

---

The Dead Are Out Walking Tonight

Lyrics to Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

You better watch out
Better stay inside
And try not to shout;
I suggest you hide –
The dead are out walking tonight.

They walk with a list –
It’s love they miss –
Gonna find a stray to hug and kiss.
The dead are out walking tonight.

They know you they are creeping,
They see your looks of fright,
They just want you to remember
They love you this eerie night.

You better watch out
Better stay inside
And try not to shout;
I suggest you hide –
The dead are out walking tonight.

With bony fingers, bony arms too,
Rotten rot rot and graveyard flu
The dead are out walking tonight.
And eyeless heads on top looking for you
Hoping you won’t mind the bits of goo.
The dead are out walking tonight.

When they find girls and boys out,
They are filled with glee.
They hug them and dance about
And say, “Now, you will come with me.”

So! You better watch out
Or try a disguise
And cause them to doubt;
Hide if you are wise –
The dead are out walking tonight.

They know you they were creeping,
They see your looks of fright,
They just want you to remember
They want you this eerie night.

You better watch out
Better stay inside
And try not to shout;
I suggest you hide –
The dead are out walking tonight.

New dinosaur discovery

ELKO, Nevada – Scientists at Nevada State University announced the discovery of a new dinosaur, the remains of which were uncovered in nearby mining operations. Operations were halted and the university’s geologists and biologists were called in when the underground construction of an air shaft unexpectedly broken into a large, open chamber.

Embedded in the floor of the chamber were the fossilized remains of an unknown species, estimated to have been approximately 1.8m tall while standing in its normal bipedal posture. With its raptor-like front limbs, it mostly closely resembles our common image of a tyrannosaur, but in miniature.

But, according to Dr. Edwina Halsey who led the research team, the most intriguing discoveries in the chamber were the numerous marking on the walls. While they are judged to be consistent with scratching that could have been made by this creature’s front claws, as the scientists recorded and catalogued them, they began to suspect they saw patterns and repetitions in the strokes. Consulting linguist Dr. Robert Kurweiler concluded that the inventory of markings represent a lexicon of at least 2,800 distinct words or terms.

The scientific conclusion offered is that the creature is the world’s earliest Thesaurus.

Counting Down to Contentment

Counting Down to Contentment

Although this moment may not be the best
And has more trouble to cast in your path,
There beckons ahead a break and a rest
Where you will flee soon from this daily wrath.

There's only three brushfires confronting you,
Stirred up by others, but now it's your job,
And a dozen to-dos you must still do
Before you can free yourself from the mob.

Or, maybe, what's worse, your list is all done,
And on idle duty, you just watch the clock.
Empty hours sit between you and your fun,
Passing slowly at the pace of a rock.

Awaiting the future is your pastime
As you slog through the present that is now.
That hope to arrive in a better clime
Adds wind pushing forward behind your prow.

To Blog or Not To Blog

To Blog or Not To Blog

To blog or not to blog: that is the question.
Whether 'tis better in silence to stifle
The piques and fancies of fatuous humor,
Or to pound keys to assault the straw men,
And by exposing mock them? To rant: to prate;
Endless; and by some joke to claim to beat
The inane and the thousands impinging pricks
That mind is prone to, 'tis a provocation
Daily to confront. To blog, to write;
To write: perchance to strike: ay, there's the rub:
For in that blog of fun what thoughts may come
Which we have launched into this faceless air,
May make us blush : There's the regret
That makes mockery of someone's beliefs;
For who would surf the net and tons of pages,
The endless popups, the unbacked opinions,
The downloads of unsought junk, the service crashes,
The redirection of links and the wastes
That patience drains from all who venture,
When he himself might his own ideas create
With sharpened wit? Who would insults bear
To dismiss that which offends his life,
But that the joy of revenge so presented,
The discovered fool from whose words
No retreat is sought, invokes the fire
And makes him rather seek those taunts we gave
Than hide from others who challenge him?
Thus courtesy does make cowards of us all;
And thus the false veil of anonymity
Is cloaked o'er the pale cast of my thoughts,
And enterprises of small worth and reward,
With this warning, their acts are done on sly,
And lost the name of author. Hush me now!
The naive audience! Surfer, from thy web searches
Be all my trace-backs concealed.

The Insanity of Literacy

“Reading made Don Quixote a gentleman, but believing what he read made him mad”
-- George Barnard Shaw

The uninformed person is often derided in our public debate. His statements are dismissed as fundamentally flawed because of some lack of mention of a tidbit seen by his detractor. His failure to keep afloat in the maelstrom of news, facts, and rumors seemingly proves his ineligibility to hold worthy opinions.

Nearly everybody falls into this category of incomplete knowledge. The more one reads, the more likely the next item read will cancel out something previously learned. We quickly fall into the habit of selective reading (and listening) of those things that support rather than clash with our worldview. It is comfortable, even when our particular outlook is gloom and doom.

Should we pity the Renaissance Man who would quest to be all-knowing rather than attempt to emulate him? Would not such a man be overcome in his inability to comprehend amidst the myriad of equally emphatically stated observations which diametrically oppose each other? Or perhaps even more so by those which share common ground before veering off in different directions.

Let’s, instead, see the genius of the simple-minded. Admiration is due for the streamlining of the decision process that seeks to borrow and repeat the opinions heard elsewhere as a ready substitute for the ponderous assembly and evaluation of raw (and often incomplete) facts. Not only does it conserve energies for our more entertaining and/or profitable activities, but it also lowers our sense of personal responsibility for the opinions we espouse in public as we redirect criticism towards those remote borrowed sources.

Triskaidekaphobia

Triskaidekaphobia

The power to procrastinate has always been mine;
It is an ability, someday, I may refine.
But my worst fault is preparation far in advance
For answers waiting for somebody to ask to dance.

I wish not to be caught by surprise, at least not twice,
So I rework solutions, though the first did suffice.
I am ready, quicker, when you ask the same again,
Until rapid responses cause you instead to complain.

“How,” you ask, “can I keep up busy, working all day
If you will anticipate the questions ere I say?
You grumble of your idleness, making you so bored,
When it’s your own bag of tricks full stuffed with answers stored.”

If I could just learn to wait, puzzles would take a week.
And you could bustle elsewhere while your answers I seek.
I could lower your expectations, filling my days
With inefficient bumbling instead of my old ways.

Macbeth on Mars

Macbeth on Mars
The infamous Macbeth has gathered renown
In cities and countries the world around.
His temptation, ambition, and destruction model
The lust and loss of a coveted citadel.

Despite his short struts upon the stages
Ending at the curtain throughout the ages,
Macbeth evokes from us an iconic remembrance
To climb to a level of global significance.

But who on Mars knows his name
And links their thoughts to his ill fame?
And outward, far amongst distant stars,
His meaning shrinks to nil just like ours.

By simple math, the proportion reduces
Of unchanged dividend as expanding divisor looses.
But is there truth in the numerator's steady state
As the opportunity of the denominator does dilate?

Does a man move to signify less
As his consideration does more address?
Is significance a relative ratio to the world
Or an absolute impact of an embodied role?

How does a man affect his world?
In solitary action outwardly hurled?
A thought, a ball, sent forth on sound,
Off the nearest obstacle to rebound.

And when that echoing ball comes back,
Does the man judge the extent of his impact?
And when from the cosmos, it never returns,
Does he despair of the void he discerns?

But people that volume with others to play,
To catch that ball, recast, and relay.
Though never again his bouncing ball to see,
His impact grows by the power of synergy.

The insignificant are those who clutch tight
What with others to share they might.
Nobody to propagate their selves in time nor space,
Alone in their walls to diminish without trace.

Doodling in the Dark

Doodling in the Dark

Sometimes our minds go adrift
With no pilot at the wheel.
Away they go, oh so swift,
Carried by our aimless zeal.

Gears still click 'tho time's not kept;
Those trusty tools know their trade.
Their output which none accept
Is nevertheless yet made.

They scoff at rest, defy sleep,
As they endlessly must churn.
O'er rolling mindscape they sweep
Seeking data and pattern.

With no challenge provided,
They build a task of their own.
Into dark holes, unguided,
They explore the land unknown.

So far away they can roam
While they're left so unattended.
But with a thought, they'll rush home
To do what we intended.

What's In A Name?

What's in a Name?

O Redskins, O Redskins! Wherefore art you Redskins?
Deny your fan base and refuse your name;
Or, if you wilt not, and keep your handle,
Who shall no longer be ticket holders?
'Tis but your name that is the enemy;
You are the team, though not the team logo.
What's a team logo? It is not play, nor field,
Nor coach, nor star, nor any player
Belonging to a team. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a team
By any other name would play as well;
So Redskins would, were you not Redskins called,
Retain that dear heritage you own
Without that label. Redskins, change your name,
And for that name which is no part of the game
Have box office sales.

---

Counterpoint

Is a Rose is a rose es una rosa?
Is a Cowboy is a cowboy es un vaquero?
Is a she is a flower es una flor?
Is a footballer is a ranchhand es un pastor de vacas?

A word is a word is a word,
But meaning is an use in a context.
The speaker chooses to use,
But listener hears his own setting.

Should we fault the speaker
For what is heard 'tho not meant?
May the ear request to come again
To confirm the intent spoken?

Is a Redskin is a redskin is a slur?
Is a team is a race is a hate?
When what is meant is not heard
Who can correct the error?