"fiat" poems
Fiat lux and
Then I stand and see how it looks out on
Gnothi seauton psychologies of a naughty automaton he is
Out speeding on the autobahn while she is
Now sleeping on futons in peace it's
Not pieces that need to be re-ordered yet
Since he's reckless but wrecks less when he's courting it's
A sport, you see a ticket's his master trophy in-
Deed endorsing his Porsche-speed matrimony down master row and she's
Driven to this racer who makes her en-
Force things, they later make her take her lead like lead's erasing then vanishing
Banished from whatever it is they're drinking and it's cleaned
Running from the pitcher as if it's her fantasy
Love who's the catcher who has her and
Now you see
It's not lack-lusting but luck-lasting because lastly
Down the street
Is where I swear we're running faster from crashing, finally
Into this dreamcatcher's hazard
Our dreamcatcher's hazard
Oh have you heard
It's absurd that the whip cracked
Yeah the Porsche was hacked baby transformed back in two and back into a nat-
Ural rural state where the horse power level was more morally sta-
Ble biblically faith-
Ful foolishly a-
Ble but yeah we take over whatever we face-off and baby we're faster so we'll have to chase after our
Dreamcatcher's hazard and
That dreamcatcher's hazard's a
A madness that is learned
And it's absurd
So say the mattress is glowing it's holy
Matrimony, so don't look lonely it's only
Master Roshi, to say to chase your dreams
It's you and me be-
Cause for you my blood is flowing
For you my blood is glowing
For you this blood is flowing
And too the flood is blowing
It's true our love is growing
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
I have been going to the track for so
long that
all the employees know
me,
and now with winter here
it's dark before the last
race.
as I walk to the parking lot
the valet recognizes my
slouching gait
and before I reach him
my car is waiting for me,
lights on, engine warm.
the other patrons
(still waiting)
ask,
"who the hell is that
guy?"
I slip the valet a
tip, the size depending upon the
luck of the
day (and my luck has been amazingly
good lately)
and I then am in the machine and out on
the street
as the horses break
from the gate.
I drive east down Century Blvd.
turning on the radio to get the result of that
last race.
at first the announcer is concerned only with
bad weather and poor freeway
conditions.
we are old friends: I have listened to his
voice for decades but,
of course, the time will finally come
when neither one of us will need to
clip our toenails or
heed the complaints of our
women any longer.
meanwhile, there is a certain rhythm
to the essentials that now need
attending to.
I light my cigarette
check the dashboard
adjust the seat and
weave between a Volks and a Fiat.
as flecks of rain spatter the
windshield
I decide not to die just
yet:
this good life just smells too
sweet.
9k
In childhood, your father’s name is DAD
Now grown, maybe with children of your own
But his name is still DAD
DAD, the teacher, the consoler, the advisor
Admonishes: “Drive safe” and “Save your Money”
Today he’s the bard
“This is like prison,” DAD laments while rolling his eyes
Tubes like thin plastic chains tether his deflated body
to blinking panels; paintings (factory printed ones)
pretend the hospital room is more than just a sterile space
Today, DAD’s eyes cast a faraway gaze, projecting
And I see the characters in his story
I see the 10 year old boy he describes, who snuck to stash a set
Of English Composition Texts in the boy’s bathroom
To escape Mrs. McElroy’s Fourth Grade course in Morose Poetry
I see the thin, sandy blond, 6 foot 2 high school rabblerouser
Who broke into the Vice Principal’s old Fiat
And buried Stilton cheese in the dashboard
All done on a sweltering May school day
The anecdote is punctuated with a smirk and a: “Who would do a thing like that?”
Stories of when he spotted a shy brunette at the dance and knew
Knew he was to marry her;
Stories of when his own DAD grasped his infant grandson’s dimpled hand
Before giving in to complications of a heart attack
The bard stops and exhales a sigh
He cringes in his crinkled skin
Sunken eyes squeeze close “I’m sorry”
the nausea interrupts his tale “These drugs are…”
“It’s okay. Take your time” I console, trying to comfort the pain in the room
Now I’m the consoler, taking on the job to ameliorate
Now this man, vulnerable in his suffering, is no longer DAD
Now mortal, a child, a brother, a lover, a patient
A man chained by the body’s sickness
He is distilled by chemo
reduced to a soul, who, through affliction,
Forgets
As his children remember
He is as helpless in this life as we are.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
You need a smart Jag,
Not my Fiat.
(That was always the snag -
Now I see it.)
When we dine at The Ritz
I chew jerky.
You're all glamour and glitz -
While I'm quirky.
It ain't gonna work,
There's no maybe.
'Cause we'll both go beserk.
- Shall we, Baby?
© Marcus Lane 2010
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 11:21 AM UTC
I've always been in place,
in situ
Maybe (just maybe) ...
I'm sui generis?
When my lifeline intersected with spacetime on this continuum
I found myself moving toward a collision course with duality and non-duality
Moving towards a zero-point
What are we talking about?
Nothing (Rafelski & Muller, 1985)
As a geographer, the mimetic expression was dualistic
As one plane flowed through another;
as fiat lux flowed through Medicine Rock
I found wisdom
I further explored the duality @ this place
(also known as University of Lethbridge)
The U of L is an interesting duck
It walks like an Albertan university
It talks like an Albertan university
But one of these things is certainly not like the other
The U of L got its chops as a house of learning for the Liberal Arts
Follow those roots and you'll see conduits to another spacetime known as UCBerkley
U of L memetics share material memories from the birth of the Free Speech Movement (1964)
And as Arthur Erickson drafted up his plans for Canada's centennial gift to the Province of Alberta, I'm sure he would have been partaking in the pleasures of this particular spacetime
I'm sure at the very least that he was listening to Hendrix wax on about Castles
As Erickson designed this modernistic monolith called University Hall
There were influences such as Arthur C. Clarke and his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
He was certainly knowledgeable of the Blackfoot stories of the Old Man
And of course as an architect he would be versed in gravity and how built structures on a slope tend to creep toward base-level
Strange but true, Erickson's first degree was in foreign languages
So what I see is Canada's premier architect wrote a poem for us in 1968
In a foreign language
And that poem would be expressed over the next forty to fifty years
Some of those primary poetic elements were:
Berkley, California
Hippie Movement
Creep (or gravity)
Base level
Blackfoot creation stories of the Old Man
Jimi Hendrix poetry and his savage musical genius
"and so castle's made of sand melt into the sea, eventually."
So let's reinterpret that line to be more U of L centric
(through my glossy apertures)
"and so monolith's made by man melt back into god eventually."
........ ....... ...... ..... ..... .... ... .. . zero~point . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
There be some juice. Light, we cannot drink.
Dark our days that trudge on, laden caravan.
There be some song, to the tune of the winds.
Parched, the baked earth thirsting for a caress
wet from the silken lashes of the sky maiden.
Let's talk to her tonight,
the last lotus is in still-bloom
in the folds of her tresses
as she goes about plucking
stars for her worship-basket.
Soon the earth is covered
in the misty offerings to Deities
at the far end of spacetime.
Juice some there be. Drink, we cannot light.
Caravan laden on trudge that days our dark.
The winds of the tune to song some there be.
A caress for thirsting earth the baked, parched
maiden the sky of lashes the silken from wet.
Let there be light, let there be.
Darkness, we have enough.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Rattle the cassette
with the biro etched “Car Mix”
grab the keys from mum’s bag
“Fill up what you use!”
“…Ok, can I have a fiver then?”
scuff to the car in unsuitable boots
slump in, adjust mirror, checking stupid fringe
which then existed
snap in the tape so the first bars
of G-Funk, grunge or B*Witched pulse
then it’s off to pick up
shotgun
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 4:18 AM UTC
1.
If black humour is a sign of intelligence then who is the most intelligent of all?
The hurricane that swept the weatherman away while reporting on a supposedly tranquil day?
The ravages of nature which left Ozymandias all alone in the midst of the desert?
Cruel cruel uncertainty,
2.
Cupid sneezed, and let his finger go,
A fiat lust led my way,
A golden love gone,
So,
Why, o, why
Do you plague me so?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
We The People
Sailed the same course
Some willingly
Some by force
We The People
A document to inform
A more perfect Union
To weather any storm
No more kings
No more oppression
No taxation
Without representation
Checks and balances
And the rule of law
Mitigating injustices
Safe harbor for all
The secular trinty
President, Congress, Court
Not one above the other
Veto, fiat, tort
Our common interest
Of defense
With liberty
And justice
Our common tranquility
And general welfare
A union
With resources to share
American rights
And protection
From a despotic government
Or an insurrection
Free to worship my God
Or your God
Freedom to find God
Or deny any God
Open discourse
Speaking my mind
And yours
However unkind
Collective grievances
Peaceably petitioned
We walk together
But never threatened
To bear arms
For our security
Never being forced
To quarter unwillfully
To remain secure
In our sanctuary
Unless presented
With writ of entry
Neither held
Absent habeas corpus
Or loss of property
Unless agreed by us
Or forced to testify
To contradict our own denials
Or brought forward
In duplicitous trials
To face our accuser
In much haste
Represented by counsel
Our peers decide our fate
Not one but twelve
Examining the facts
Brought forward
But only this court acts
Reasonable recompense
For fine or bail
Cruel or unusual retribution
Shall not avail
An enumeration
Merely provides illumination
But within the penumbra
Reveals more freedom
That is self-evident
No list or count
Exists to encumber
Or restriction to surmount
A union has formed
But sacred remains the individual
The tyranny of the majority
Is not permissible
A living breathing document?
Or static words unbending?
Even as we amend
Change never ending
Open to interpretation
If you see a right
But others may disagree
There may be a fight
The spirit of intent
Is there to see
Freedom to choose
Secured by liberty
We The People
A sacred quest
We The People
No more no less
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
"Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood"
T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
~~~
perhaps.
can I communicate
what I cannot fully comprehend?
my voice poetic keener, age-softened,
grows less popular
for it
no longer reaches for
christmas ornament words and creamy cake-in-the-rain imagery
leave that to the better ones.
cherish simplest:
coming home to fresh sheets,
plumped pillows,
music,
tousled hair on pillowed histories,
river walks,
the lightest hand touch that rouses
the fireplace of contentment to glow briefly,
from logs that are more embered ash moments
than substance
capable of more flaming
the rumpled strivings of the young poets,
creativity of the masters of
voice and dancings bodies,
shopping lists of life~items that
reshape, restore my old~ness,
the revelations of the historians,
inducements to believe
in yet, more.
these exteriors are comprehendable.
don't forget the orange juice,
the first chilled swig from the plastic,
confirms I am breath-yet-capable,
one more poem-mission ready,
the mission objectives still not published.
Sun east welcomes me,
woman puttering kitchen coffee noises
it is neither spring yet or winter gone,
in-between like me,
in-between naissance and history remnant
question thy fiat,
Mr. Eliot,
cannot frame myself,
my who-I-am
six decades of myself.
can it then ere be said,
his poetry communicated
or ere contained ever a single
genuine word?
can I communicate
what I cannot fully comprehend?
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
When crypto fans approach us
And say “We’re on the same team”
Invite them to grasp our vision
And see if they share our dream
Say, “Great, now you’re joining us to…
Adopt seizure resistant money?
Boost personal power and accountability?
Separate money from state control and abuse?
Restore proper capital allocation through hard money?
Forsake the fiat fraud and cancel the Cantillon privilege?
Allow people to simply save and store value through time?
Cultivate new freedom for billions of people under tyranny?
Abolish the theft of our time and wealth through debasement?
Increase long-term work and vision in all areas due to stable money?
Abandon foolish agendas and wars made possible only by printing money for free?”
Then they can humbly join us
Bitcoin’s purpose in their mind
Or see they are “not on our team”
And sadly - get left behind
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 11:29 AM UTC
It’s starting to cool down here in Connecticut. Leaves are falling, like giant, burnt snowflakes (science says that trees send chemical signals to their branches to clip leaves away).
Peter borrowed a friend's toy-like, pea green, Fiat-500 convertible and we drove into the country to see the turning leaves. We hiked a bit too and stopped, in Mystic, for seafood.
I never realized just how theatrical trees could be, with their few, simple, chlorophyll tricks and how reflective still lakes could be. Wowzer, just - wowzer.
There are some things that should never be shared. Like a toothbrush, an iPad, lipstick, strawberry stroopwafels, a slice of pizza or a secret lover (that last one just sounded good). But life is good, I can share that. We’re young, dramatic sophomores with good hair products and we’re at it, working and playing hard.
Ahh.. ok, upon consultation, I have to add that some of us are in their mid-twenties with only a few good years left.
Did I mention that we climbed up a twisty lighthouse staircase too? Peter always thinks people should take the stairs, and not the elevators, “You want to have muscles and bones that work when you’re eighty,” He says. Since he’s closer to eighty than I am, when we’re not carrying furniture, I let him have his way. Of course, he’s never been to up Lisa’s 50th floor townhouse either.
My mom told me that they’re off to Poland again, over the holidays, for another tour with “Doctors without Borders” **** war). Lisa’s parents have (kindly) invited me to share their high-rise utopia again this year. Who knows, maybe Peter will have his chance to try those stairs.
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 3:30 PM UTC
Were you ever in love with someone not
Listed as an approved relationship
By roaming mobs of false analogies
In either-or assumptions basely masked?
Friendship and love are regulated now
Not by a written fiat of the state
But by the decibels of imbeciles
The bellowed mandate of the club and fist
The law of love is now the law of bans -
They’ve politicized even the touching of hands
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
God grant me the serenity
To stack all the Bitcoin I can,
The courage to create more memes
That expose the thieving fiat system,
And the wisdom to know
That Bitcoin fixes this;
Living one day at a time
Enjoying one moment at a time
Accepting criticism and adversity
As the pathway to orange pilling
All people, trusting that every
Last person will get Bitcoin
At the price they deserve;
Trusting the equations of Satoshi
That my value will increase
Due to truly scarce money
And aligned incentives;
With responsibility
And freedom for all
Amen
Dec 28, 2023
Dec 28, 2023 at 11:27 AM UTC
Angry looking man,
Stressing over his weak coffee,
Makes him feel vulnerable,
Caffeine helps him dictate,
As sharp as his suit,
Lessened by his gait,
Waitress not impressed,
His twitching brings her nausea,
The smell of coffee,
Affecting her hangover,
Public toilet looks appealing,
No time for tissue,
The new lovers, one wears a ring,
The other wants his wife's,
His money appeals,
He drives a fiat,
Full of bravado,
Is silenced at home,
Crying child,
False smile hides mothers stress,
Child irritated by coffee house walls,
Grandmother knows best,
New methods to raise,
As flat as the coffee house scones,
Elderly man sitting with his paper,
Keeping warm,
Same drink is now cold,
Watching the world go by,
David Attenborough in his head,
Two weeks to live,
And I’m happier than them all.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:48 AM UTC
The sign said no entry,it meant me,I know it,I rode on right through it and thought that I knew it
all.
The policeman in a court date said that I, just would not wait for the lights to go green and he'd seen me do eighty in a thirty mile zone.
I was sent to a home for the wayward and flighty,a light sentence upon me,could not believe I was not free.
See me, on a saturday and I'm back on the racetrack,known as the M thirty motorway and I'm clocked at a ton by the feds in the lay by,who with sirens mad blaring came a tearing along after me,nicked,apprehended me and again,I could not believe I was not free,
I got four months in Dartmoor which get a poor recommendation,it's no picnic park for the youth of this nation,released in September,though it should have been May and soon after that in a 93 Fiat with go faster stripes,I was striped up quite rightly by the boys in blue and tightly,
handcuffed and roughed up and locked up again.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
Hour by hour
Pour me La creme
Me De La game
French Onion soup
Shh shush
The rush hour Oh La La
Card flush
Competing against Mama
Mia
La Miss Lea
French roast
she begs to plea
This is not tea 4
the terrible two
French onion is dripping
taking sides
what orders hot kiss slides
French fries and sensual
French skirts
Creme de la creme somehow
love hurts
His piece of the pie
Say sweet nothings
The French kiss holds
The Eiffel tower sipping
her steaming soup
See's the Italian Stallion
She was crying onions
He turned to her with cafe
and sits on the side another man
British bitcoins one cup of her
French coffee lucky payday
Keeps the beans at play
Lips to envelope
What's to "Extinguish"
Hush
French coffee wish
Car Fiat bean pedal
Cool her down
French city town
Hot wet don't burn
her tongue
Love is in the coffee
Darker shades of coffee set
More what meets their lips?
How the onion drips overly
Brie cheesed
But she had other plans
Onion soup so pleased
But her French onion soup
with cheese
You could just meet her smile
you don't
have to ever say please
Merci"
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
Famed to have brought light into being, but
dark, dark you are my friend, passing
through me effortlessly, though I know
there is an interaction: week, very week.
Deep there buried somewhere in my soul
was a throb heard, when every miracle
that forms the chain of my life surfaces:
and I've been searching for you. I thought
you were beyond oceans, where sky meets,
until my ship turned around at the horizon;
I looked for you in the womb of terran vaults
and then in the planets and the stars,
and you have been collapsing fields and
manifesting timelines so I proposer, meanwhile.
You are not what I worshipped in image and
then smashed it and sought in formless word.
Every time I grasp you, you vanish, retreat,
bubble-being, who knows what exists beyond
this expanse we inhabit, these membranes
and curled up manifolds, where in the knots
I'm still searching; But before even this unfolds
in full, I discover, it is all dark, darkness
that holds these tiny galaxies of light in its
densest folds; Magicienne, wave your wand,
let us know beyond the dark and the illuminated,
let us in, into the secret chamber of kinship.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.
Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.
We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.
Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.
This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.
The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.
Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.
I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.
To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:
Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.
To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
He told his sister to feed the dogs,
His twin sister; Sophia Bogvoskya,
As he was to take out the herds
Of horses, sheep, donkeys and cows,
Out to the plains and hill land for grazing,
She never took a **** she locked herself,
Up in the ante chamber of the main house,
She took the mirror and began looking
At her beauty, Russian model beauty
She began picking her nails,
As the dogs were starving in the sheds
They whined but no succor came forth,
A fiat that coincided with arrival of ogres,
The great Western Ogres, the tongues wagging,
They had a plethora of eyes and mouths,
Noses and ears, limbs both hind and fore,
They ate all the young sheep,
They took away Putin’s young brothers
Crimea and Ukrainian, both were taken away,
By the ferocious NATO ogres they were taken
In a whelp and desperate kicking for freedom,
Dogs stood aloof as ogres thrashed Sophia
Into thin lacerations of red flesh,
They ate as they roared with laughter,
Then they went away with their loot,
Vladimir came back home, found nothing
No sister, no brothers no sheeplings,
Only two white sepulchers glared at him,
The graves of his mother and father;
The former cooks of Lenin Vladimir,
He mourned and mourned grievously,
Then he sang a dirge of his forefathers
From the herculean land of Bosnia,
And also Moscow, he dirged;
We were born in the wee of the night,
When the bear is whelping,
And we were suckled by the Tigre
When our mothers were taken slaves,
For no man or creature
Will ever make us victims
Nor subjects of fear,
He recovered from the moment
Trial some moment of loss and bereave,
Then he chose to go after the ogres
But with a strategum of no match,
He began arming himself first
Before he could set on,
His mobile armory full of deadly weapons;
A bunch of wasps, wild bees, black ants,
A thousand slings, spears and sickles,
Machetes, poisonous saps, and toxics,
Wild dogs, five hundred snakes and scorpions,
Bows and arrows as well as cudgels,
Clubs, stones and chains,
He also learned how to use the hands
In the most lethal manner,
Then he went for combat,
To rescue all that was taken,
Taken from him by the ogres….
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
“Fiat” in Latin means “let it be done”
Yes, a “binding edict” for everyone
So “fiat money” means “by decree”
THE approved money for you and me
“Fiat lux” means “Let there be light”
God said the words, God has the right
But fiat money by leaders decreed
Abuses that role - if inflating by greed
Dollars are printing by trillions, it’s true
And all decreed money is inflating too
If “by decree” - debased money we use
Much of its value we can and do lose
Now you can use a “money” that’s new
Not “by decree”, so it’s freeing for you
Bitcoin is money that plays by the rules
Safe and predictable - no one it fools
The money printing, controlled by a few
Takes from the rest - not much we can do
You can use Bitcoin, by choice - not decree
Let’s make the choice - so we can be free
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 9:29 AM UTC
Bitcoin’s growing every day
With fiat inflation on display
Own your money - come what may
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving
Officials saying “all is fine”
Printing money by design
Cutting down our bottom line
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving
You can learn it, take some time
Bitcoin’s young and in its prime
Yet every cycle it will climb
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving
Worth and value it retains
Unlike fiat money drains
The choice is very clear & plain
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving
Apr 21, 2023
Apr 21, 2023 at 10:18 AM UTC
Something Bad
Something bad is coming
Worse than any Grand Funk Railroad Reunion Concert
Worse than watching a full episode of Meet the Kardashians
With all commercials included.
I not only have read about it
I can feel it
So much more bothersome than
Hay fever in May.
It's the Universal Fender ******
Havoc beyond compare
It's Universal Affliction and Ruination
Heavy weight and high-profile kind of stuff.
This universe is dumb
So much stupider than the armadillos that get hit by my little Fiat
This universe is worse than any teen age driver
Not watching where it goes
Or what is coming down the road.
Ten to the ten to the ten to the ten and more universes out there
Outnumbering all the cable channels both regular and High Def
More numerous than all the cockroaches in all the cities on the East Coast
Going any which way they please
Not planning ahead
Or working with the AAA or the highway safety department
More universes than every single observation ever made by every single person
More than every single argument between all the married couples
In all countries
On all existing planets
In all existing galaxies.
Each time you think of a possible universe, it exists!
Unless we all stop thinking there will be more and more and more.
Each universe moving
Some fast
Some even faster
Some inches apart from each other
Concealed behind some hidden dimension
About to turn the corner at full speed.
There's a collision
A crash
Not too far up the road
Every universe distracted
As if they are texting away
Following their own set of laws
Without regard for any right of way.
There's a smash-up coming up very soon
One universe piles into another
with one of those universes being ours in particular
The one that I live in.
I am scared
I know that adding a shoulder harness to my office chair
is not going to be enough.
I am terrified
I cannot figure out
as I make my last will and testament
who I can leave the house and dog to.
Today, tomorrow or maybe later
It is sure to happen
All my plans for no purpose
All my purposes to no point
I panic
Abandoning all my activities
Crawling into the attic
Taking a pen
A flashlight
And a notebook
And wondering
If there is any new thought
I can have that might make this all better
Without creating
One more
**** reckless
Out-of-control
universe.
--Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 9:53 AM UTC
“We are the US government”
We can print out of thin air
Mister Sherman says aloud
Which should be quite a scare
But yet he says of Bitcoin
(Amazing that he can dare)
That bitcoin isn’t valuable
But created from thin air
Bitcoin has a cost to make
A cost that can’t compare
To fiat’s cheap and easy flow
Debasing the saver’s share
Thank you Mister Sherman
For making us all aware
Of your Cantillon privilege
Printing money from thin air
Study what a bitcoin costs
To make one - with work & care
And you’ll see Bitcoin’s value
Come join and get a share
Thank you Mister Sherman
For helping us to prepare
As our dollars get debased
Since they’re printed from thin air
May 17, 2023
May 17, 2023 at 11:54 AM UTC
So many things happened
So many years ago.
You hitch-hiked to have tea with Mammy;
But not me.
You scaled the Mount to succeed;
Without me.
We slid the Fiat into a Rambler,
Before your big night.
The front got bent out of shape,
But we still went,
Drinking whiskey from the bottle.
Nothing stopped us. We couldn't bother.
We stayed at Sean's,
Or various friends,
At Inns, or canvas tents;
All were means to our ends.
It was fifty years ago...
Half a century of years;
Decades of joyous laughter,
With many unanswered tears.
Oct 1, 2022
Oct 1, 2022 at 8:34 AM UTC