Stevieslaw: House Republicans to let the good times roll

Stevieslaw: House Republicans to let the good times roll.

In a move termed surprising by News Agencies that should know better,
The House Republican Conference voted on Monday to strip power from an independent ethics office set up in 2008 to combat corruption in Congress. Said Representative, Robert Goodlatte of Virginia, “The Office had to go. It was just too effective.”

Goodlatte Spokesperson, Andin Tiller noted that, “House Republicans love all their fellow members, but sometimes it’s a bit like loving your idiot cousin. Many members have just two years to strike it rich and provide their families with a life of luxury. They must work hard at scooping up as much as they can, while they are still in a position of power.”

“Let’s face it,” Mr. Tiller continued, “Many of our House members have no skills other than shaking hands, kissing babies and talking, talking, talking. The things they say or do show that they have almost no grasp on reality. Frankly, many of them are not qualified to work at wiping windshields with a dirty rag on the Bowery. The last thing they need is an Ethics Committee looking over their shoulders.”

Mr. Tiller went on to argue that axing the Ethics Committee constituted a public service as “It’s the only way we can keep these morons from a life on the public dole.”

Trump. Trump. Trump (not part of the story, I need the keyword).

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Stevieslaw: Poetry Composition 101

Have a New Year’s laugh or two.

Poetry Composition 101

Start with a first line

as glorious as

something out of

Dickens. In fact,

perhaps it is. Who

would be the wiser?

Has anyone

the leisure to leaf

through “Hard Times,”

anymore?

The body of the poem should be arcane,

whatever that might mean.

I find that lots of foreign phrases,

some Canto this and Canto that

to tell them Ezra Pound is near,

and lots of similes and metaphors—

the clouds, the sun, the sea

are nice and have such

fine collective meaning.

Use rhyme a time

or two,

so scholars swear

your verses sing.

Sonnets, Quaterns

Rondels and the like

are best left to those

both highly skilled

and long-departed.

You’ll need a twist

by stanza three,

to keep your reader’s

head above the paper.

Perhaps a bit of plot,

or better yet

some sexual innuendo

or peccadillo, for that matter,

will get Joe Blow to plow

through your awful mess

even if you’ve

penned it in pig Latin.

Near the end,

think family.

A little dementia

is fine– I find the

early onset best.

Through your thesaurus

find fresh phrases for

twisted, tortuous

and the like,

even if your mom and dad,

like mine, could never do

enough for you—and seem

to be still helping from the grave.

Remember, “near tears but no tears,”

as poems that make you sob

are merely doggerel

and end up in

the Sunday supplement

surrounded by

limericks and

drawings of a daisy,

by Chris—age six.

The ending must tie

the first line to the body

through the title.

Or the body through

the title to the ending.

Got it?

How could you?

Be cleverish here,

so that your reader,

in overcoming

his bewilderment,

can feel quite clever too.

Remember to leave

the learned room

to grasp for meaning—

hint: put common “words”

in quotes to feed

the meaning’s frenzy.

Think happy thoughts

and write glumly.

And now,

let us begin.

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Stevieslaw: Ten things I’d Do Ahead of Watching the Trump Inauguration.

Stevieslaw: Some things I’d do rather than watch the Trump Inaugural

1. Supervise a dodge ball game for 13 year old boys on sugar highs
2. Volunteer at the Holland Tunnel for 5 PM Friday on a Holiday weekend.
3. Break into a junk-yard to get to know the dogs.
4. Eat lunch and dinner at Taco Bell every day for four years.
5. Be in the middle seat on a 16 hour non-stop Aeroflot flight to Timbuktu when the last bathroom backs up.
6. Have all my molars out at the local dental school on the first day of the new semester.
7. Ask for directions in Beirut while wearing my “Israel Rocks” t-shirt.
8. Be unable to leave a weekend Mantovani Marathon outdoors in Death Valley.
9. Listen to Oliver North tell war stories on Fox News
10. Go hunting with Dick Cheney

Actually, I won’t be watching for personal reasons. I go to pieces at funerals—and we will be burying the country I thought I knew on January 20th.

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Stevieslaw: Bert the Turtle

Stevieslaw: Bert the Turtle

Those of us of a certain age remember “Duck and Cover.” In my case, I learned it at PS 165, in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn, NY—less than ten miles from a projected ground zero. We regularly practiced the art of diving under our desks and covering our heads, so we would be prepared when the air raid sirens announced an imminent nuclear attack from Russia. My childhood included subway stations that doubled as fall-out shelters, clearly labeled by black and yellow radiation symbols that dated back to WWII. The shelters, we were told, were packed with bottled water and government surplus cheddar cheese. My friends and I all expected nuclear war to happen (as it almost did, once or twice) and we grew up with a certain fear, that I believe we carried with us our entire lives. We were the “duck and cover” era in the same way that our parents were the “depression era.”.

You will be pleased to know then that the original “Duck and Cover,” civil defense film, first aired in 1951 and featuring an adorable Bert the Turtle is still available on line. With Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump already talking trash about increasing the strength and number of nuclear weapons, it may be a suitable film to share with our loved ones over the Holiday Season. And, perhaps The Donald, himself a child of New York in the 50’s, should spend some time watching the 9 minute film and reliving his childhood “duck and covers.” He might even Tweet about it.

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Stevieslaw: Cabin Fever

Cabin Fever

Smokey, that old gray cat
with the disposition
of my grandma Vlad,
is buried in the backyard
in an old shoe box
meant for high tops.
She lived to seventeen—
a grand old age for cats,
and by the time she passed,
had bitten every man, woman and child
in a four block radius
and driven to extinction
the rodents and the songbirds.

Some of us are not built for life indoors.
For those trekkers on the Appalachian Trail
or up in the mountains of Kathmandu
a day inside is like an itch
they cannot scratch.
Smokey was an outdoor cat
kept in—she leapt once
from a second story window,
rather than face a carpeted hour
by the fire.
She had no fear of winter,
and loved to watch it snow.

Today, as I surveyed
the year’s first snow,
I remembered her ritual.
She’d sit in the front window
and stare as flakes
coated the grass and walk,
and then, as if driven
by a cattish brilliance,
she’d go and check the back.

Here, in the center
of Central Pennsylvania,
our world like hers
constricts in winter.
The front and the back
of our old house inch together—
surreptitiously,
in the gray gloom of our
foreshortened days,
until our fevered eyes
would have us scream—
“Let me out, let me out,”
to run free in the falling snow.

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Stevieslaw: why aren’t you digging?

Stevieslaw: why aren’t you digging?

Of course your remember Rick Perry. Once upon the time, he ran for President and when the American people decided pretty unanimously that the guy was “dumb as a rock,” Ricky responded by finding a pair of glasses that made him look smart and presidential, at a “second pair is free event” at Wise Eyes in Dallas.

Of course you remember Rick. He’s the guy who couldn’t remember the name of the agency (energy) he wanted to eliminate. Oh, and he’s the guy who said the shooting of nine black parishioners at a Church in S. Carolina was “an accident.” His campaign claimed he couldn’t be held responsible for either of those statements, as they were made before he got his “smart glasses.”

We, at Stevieslaw, are taking a break from digging out the foundation for our fall out shelter, just for the time it takes to remind everyone that Rick will, when he takes over at the Department of Energy, be responsible for the maintenance and modernization of our nuclear weapons—roughly 7100 warheads—more than more than enough to end human life as we know it, and to ask as kindly as we know how, “Why Aren’t You Digging?”

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Stevieslaw: The Way We Are Now

The Way We Are Now

My neighbor, Mike,
will build a fence this spring.
I watch as landscapers
pace the boundary
between our quarter acres,
penciling distances
and slopes, in hope
of a winning bid.

Frost wrote, “Good fences
make good neighbours,”
but neither Mike nor I
keep cows–
and I am pleased
when his old dog Mutt
comes to call,
expecting as his due
a belly rub and bacon.

Mike and I
have shared this line
for more than thirty years.
With our children—
close as cousins,
grown and gone,
he has taken to the iris
as I have taken to the rose.
By mid-spring the view
across our yards
“could make the centerfold
of Gardening News,”
he’d say with a chuckle,
when we two still spoke.

The fence will cost us hours of light
and with our curse of clay and climate,
we may well lose the iris and the rose.
I fear next spring I’ll mourn along the fence line,
and wonder how we came to be,
two gardeners who cannot even talk about the weather.

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Stevieslaw: DNC to open office in Moscow

Stevieslaw: Democratic National Committee to Open Office in Moscow

With the CIA, the NSA, both houses of Congress and anyone with an IQ over 8 agreeing that the Russians hacked the 2016 Presidential Election to assure Donald Trump’s victory, the Democratic National Committee is finally taking action. Said spokesperson, Iris Cyrillic, “we will be renting space just down the street from the Kremlin—on the same block that Trump has rented space for more than a year.” Iris showed us pictures of Trump headquarters. It featured a red, white and blue banner that said, “talk to us about Eastern Europe.” “The 2016 election may very well have been turned by Russian hacking and false news reporting. It is certainly not going to get any better in 2018 or 2020. We need to have a presence in Russia, so that they can come to like Democrats more than they like Trumpians. That means money and promises.”

“Of course, it doesn’t’ stop there,” continued Ms. Cyrillic. “Sure, we can have a presence in Russia and sure we can throw money and promises their way, but the problem is much, much larger than the Russians. What is really required of a foreign government or organization, for that matter, to significantly influence our elections? First, you need a laptop and a hacker. Second, you need someone proficient at writing false news stories. And third, and most significantly you need a badly educated American population that can’t tell the difference between real and imaginary. Hackers are a dime a dozen, unemployed comedy writers are even cheaper and the American public just elected Donald Trump as a populist candidate. Oh, let’s not forget a news establishment with their heads up their asses.”

“This will give a whole new meaning to the term globalization,” continued Ms. Cyrillic. Our elections are going to be strongly influenced by meddling from around the globe. We will not only need a presence—that is, money and promises– in Moscow, but in Kampala and a hundred other places as well. Telling the truth from the lies is likely to be impossible in 2020 and we will need to make sure the best liars are on our side. And the cost? The cost of the 2016 Presidential election was just under 7 billion dollars, the 2020 election may well cost 100 times as much.”

And, although the news was worse than dismal, I couldn’t help thinking for one brief instance—“holy crap, I may get paid for writing this stuff.”

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Stevieslaw: A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall

Performed by Patti Smith for Bob Dylan at the Nobel Prize Ceremony. More vital today, in the age of Trump and his thugs,than it was when he wrote it in 1963. The last stanza always tears me up (in both senses of the verb).

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall
Bob Dylan
Lyrics
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son
And where have you been, my darling young one
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son
And what did you see, my darling young one
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warnin’
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded with hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

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Stevieslaw: Rudy We Hardly Knew Ye

Stevieslaw: Rudy We Hardly Knew Ye.

Rudy Giuliani, the former mayor of NYC, is no longer being considered as a candidate for Secretary of State. According to an anonymous source in the Trump transition team, Mr. Giuliani has tested positive for rabies and will be put down. “Fortunately, only a few people were bitten or scratched,” said our source.

Trump reportedly knew of these medical results for more than a week, but was weighing the advantage of having a rabid “dog” on staff against the injuries and deaths it might lead to.

A glance at Wikipedia confirms that there has never been a rabid cabinet member, but such a dangerous lunatic might not have stood out against Trump’s other choices.

Mr. Giuliani will reside in a cage until after the inauguration and will be euthanized as President Trump’s first official act.

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