A. Gee Where words collide

Poems

Part II

The angst over the loss of Western Civ.
Why worry? Future Ciceros and Catos
can dance on TikTok to the week's motif,
performing with such passion and such pathos
and get so many warm and heartfelt likes?
No Cato was this cherished or adored,
nor Cicero beloved. Oh, you might "yikes"
at juvenile theatrics by the bored,
but really, have you carefully considered
that you've become irascible and old?
Bewildered, puzzled, stupefied, embittered
by being fully out, not in the fold?
Perhaps you're still enamored with your Gibbon.
No worries. Everyone will get a ribbon.

Limitations

"A man has got to know his limitations."
Rare wisdom, and in practice, rarer still.
We, all of us, aspire above our stations,
by hook or crook or dogged, stubborn will.

That "Dirty Harry" wisdom from Clint Eastwood.
The business edge, the muzzle of a gun,
effective, perhaps more than if a priest could
deliver it in sermon, one on one.

The gun -- it used to be our legislature,
and some would argue it is still in charge.
To be content defies our very nature,
we claw our way, obsessed with living large.

Exceed our limitations? Easy puzzle.
Just find a way to be behind the muzzle.

Тranslation: Visotsky: Affairs

To dos!
I'm overwhelmed by my to dos
every day, every day

No Use
Burned songs and poems to a crisp
only ash and decay

All year
I couldn't lose
and then she left, no excuse, no excuse
Oh dear,
the sorry state of my to dos

So there
if you would gift me with an evening, a dinner, a walk
I swear
I won't try anything, just talk

Undone,
Undone the list of my to dos,
my to dos, my to dos
As one,
Burned up to ashes, it's no use
it's no use

All year
I couldn't lose
and then she left, no excuse, no excuse
Oh dear,
the sorry state of my to dos

So there
if you would gift me with an evening, a dinner, a walk
I swear
I wouldn't even try to talk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6QEYvJR_Fs
***********************************  ***********************************  *************

Дела!
Меня замучили дела —
каждый день, каждый день, каждый день.
Дотла
Сгорели песни и стихи —
дребедень, дребедень, дребедень!

Весь год
жила-была и вдруг взяла
собрала и ушла.
И вот —
такие грустные дела у меня...

Теперь
Хоть целый вечер подари,
подари, подари —
Поверь:
Я буду только говорить!

Из рук,
из рук вон плохо шли дела,
у меня шли дела.
И вдруг
Сгорели пламенем дотла —
Не дела, а зола...

Весь год
она жила и вдруг взяла
собрала и ушла.
И вот —
опять весёлые дела у меня...

Теперь
Хоть целый вечер подари,
подари, подари —
Поверь:
Не буду даже говорить!

Author notes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6QEYvJR_Fs

Yom Rishon

Why start it on a Sunday of all days?
Supreme, he could have started on a Friday
and still be done on time with no delays,
the Universe completed, nice and tidy.
The Pentateuch would call it Yom Rishon,
and start the count, though off by a few billion,
list Satan among other hangers on,
and unaware we could have been reptilian,
put humans at the top of all Creation.
How special must we be, it took a week,
six working days to put us in our station,
omnipotence and all? Now that's unique!
Perfection thus achieved, He took a day,
and damn the consequences, come what may.

Hanukkah

If history is written by the winners,
our victories are few and far between,
but nonetheless substantial.  No beginners,
though quoted on the subject sight unseen,
we celebrate those few with food and candle
and marvel at the heroes of the past --
they make our losses easier to handle.
We toast each other: free, we're free at last,
but underneath it all, a common worry:
How long this time?  Is freedom here to stay?
As black and white turn grey and red lines blurry,
what options do we have?  Forgive and pray?
A festival of lights, each night a toy.
Joy to the world, indeed.  So, so much joy.

Beg Pardon

Forgiveness and Permission disagreed:
according to a pearl of common wisdom
it's surely better, having done the deed,
and rather than attempting to appease them,
the ones that would say no, and shut their ears,
to simply say "I'm sorry" -- if you're caught.
Produce regretful and abundant tears,
and get your way, not settling for naught,
which like as not would happen if you ask.

"This isn't really fair!" Permission wailed.
"Well, fair or not, accomplishes the task."
Forgiveness answered smugly. "You had failed
to grasp that above all, we value fun.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I am done."

Black Friday

An angry anthill, having just been kicked,
the workers rushing to repair the breach.
That's Walmart as the lucky shoppers, ticked,
contort themselves for items out of reach.

It squirms and wriggles, pulsing as it flows,
this mass of human, shall we call it flesh?
Unchecked the melee likely comes to blows
and consequently threatens to enmesh

the retail standard in a scandal. Worse,
the evening news will run the lurid clip.
Though amply stocked and furnished, the perverse
impression driving many more to ship.

Some think accounts revert from red to black.
But Walmart knows there is no turning back.