I Wrote a Book

Every book in the New York Public Library is handpicked by a seasoned corps of 16 selectors and helpers who are the gatekeepers to the library’s circulating collection of nearly 5 million books, 1.7 million e-books and 177,000 audiobooks.

These selectors have, at minimum, a master’s degree in library science and a love of reading. They scour thousands of titles so borrowers don’t have to. From inside a squat, brick building in Long Island City, Queens, they are “fighting for good books,” said Michael Santangelo, the deputy director of collection management.

NYT

I wrote a book, a lovely book, a book for all mankind.

It should be read by ev'ryone -- cuz it will blow their mind.

I placed it here, I placed it there -- a hundred copies, so;

America must understand my genius is not slow.

But then an awful thing occurred -- a library demurred;

they did not want my lovely book, no not a single word!

They said my book was rotten and not worth an onion peel.

They said it was redundant; a brobdingnagian spiel.

I bribed them with hard liquor; I offered cold hard cash.

I sent them sweets and flowers -- it didn't make a splash.

They had their chance at glory, they might as well admit

they'll be eating humble pie when my book is a hit.

I've sent it to the Mayor -- de Blasio will see

that my book is a marvel and is making history.

Who needs a dumb library? Why should I care at all?

In fact I now am ready an epic new to scrawl!

File, and the world files with you

These are difficult times for tax preparers. Changes in Treasury Department rules have made it an especially tricky tax season, with lower refunds taking many Americans by surprise. That’s led preparers to stock up on chocolate and painkillers—both for unhappy clients and for themselves.

WSJ

File, and the world files with you.

Pay, and you pay alone;

for accountants dumb confuse the sum,

and your refund is mere bone.

*

Appeal, and the lawyers love you.

Lose, and the IRS

will give you grief without relief

as they laugh at your distress.

*

Save, and the banks still cheat you.

Spend, and your bills will mount

until the fees begin to squeeze

with nary a kind discount.

*

Loaf, as I do with poesy.

Everyone leaves me alone.

Because I'm broke, I'm just a joke --

but I'm still on my shabby throne.

And now, if there are faults . . .

f

And now, if there are faults they are the mistakes of men; wherefore, condemn not the things of God, that ye may be found spotless at the judgment-seat of Christ.
from the title page of the Book of Mormon, translated by Joseph Smith

The faults of men, with best intent,

are hard to ever circumvent.

A jaundiced eye can find defect

in anything, then be suspect.

*

The arts of mercy, charity

we should employ consistently

when reading scripture, so our time

on Earth will echo the sublime.

*

The failings we attribute to

a prophet will obscure our view

and take us far from homeward bliss,

until the Omnibus we miss.

Cybersquatting

BEIJING— Facebook and its photo-sharing app Instagram sued four companies and three people based in China for creating and selling fake online accounts, likes and followers, according to a posting on the social media giant’s website.

In the suit filed in U.S. federal court, Facebook seeks to bar the companies from infringing on its trademarks and using domain names related to Facebook, a practice known as cybersquatting.

WSJ

Money gets you anything from Chinese companies;

followers on Facebook or a dozen chimpanzees.

With money any nitwit can amass impressive crowds

that don't exist in any place except the cyber clouds.

*

Cybersquatting is the way to build impressive stats.

Then you'll have influence you can peddle in large vats.

Phony online websites are the currency of fame.

And if it is a swindle, that is just a dirty shame.

*

Empires may rise and fall, based on the humble 'like,'

and kibitzers on Facebook may continue to hitchhike.

But I know who my friends are, and no followers I want;

I need them like I need to get a suntan in Vermont.

Snow

the snow is reckless

in its fall to earth

and doesn't care what

it changes and motivates

or why it changes anything at all

it snows, therefore it snows

and doesn't know its own beauty

Old Friends

The world and all its clamor

hits my head just like a hammer;

but the sight of tender friends

are as cherished gold book ends.

*

Though I'm cynical and lazy

and most often slightly crazy,

my beginnings and my ends

are tied up in my old friends.

*

So I hope that you'll excuse me,

since so many now confuse me,

if I drink to comrades dear,

with a flagon of root beer.

*

And the world can keep on fooling

with my passions, which are cooling,

if a friend or two will brush

my dull heart in quiet rush.

*******************************
bonus

a cook who makes a better broth/will always have my hungry troth/who cares their color, creed, or kin/if they're astute with rolling pin? 

My Bucket List Has a Hole in It

While many still turn to the funeral rites that have comforted generations, others, led by baby boomers, are taking a different approach than their parents and grandparents. They are instead choosing individualized and symbolic memorials: a party with a punk-rock band for a tattoo artist, or a gathering at an airport hangar for the devoted mechanic.

WSJ

Bury me not on the lone savanna,

with just my spurs and red bandana.

I've lived a life of frittered fun

and want my journey well-begun.

*

My journey to that higher place

(or lower, maybe, in disgrace)

should start with root beer floats, since I

have loved 'em since my youth so spry.

*

Instead of dirges or shrill chants

I hope they'll have a big square dance;

where fam'ly discord is forgot

and no one acts the rude big shot.

*

Don't praise me or lament my passing

(I know such talk is just pure gassing.)

But read a poem or two I wrote

to get somebody's pompous goat.

*

Pretend that I am sitting nigh,

and telling stories, partly lie.

Let cotton candy fill the pews

(to keep the kiddies from a snooze.)

*

No tears for me, but give a burp

as root beer floats you happy slurp.

Let no one sit in folding chair;

those things provoked me oft to swear.

*

You are my guests, so celebrate!

I'm free at last from mortal freight

and honeycomb and fish I'll broil

before you cover me with soil.

Today's Trash is Tomorrow's Treasure

The scale of the problem is so vast that for the foreseeable future, no amount of robots, smart dumpsters or Ubers for trash can solve it. Even green-minded California is struggling. Despite its goal of recycling, composting or reducing 75% of its trash by 2020, Californians recycled less in 2017 than any time since measurement began in 2011.
WSJ

The Earth ain't filled with garbage; it is treasure, to be sure.

If you know how to sell it, it will give you profit pure.

So what if it is smelly or has toxic properties?

When marketed with wisdom is is bound all folk to please.

I just don't care if China doesn't want our junk no more.

I suggest that Amazon now start a special store:

A store of 'antiques' and all things we now call gently used.

An online shop where P.T. Barnum and going Green are fused.

Used batteries are now become new pieces for chess games;

plastic straws are perfect for creating picture frames.

A toilet bowl that's cracked and brown is derelict no more;

 it's a songbird feeder at an online heirloom store.

Soggy Pampers by the ton? No need for getting chuff;

with just a little tweaking they will make good chewing snuff.

Bottles, bottles, everywhere, of plastic or of glass;

Cover 'em with salt as munchies for those smoking grass.

Engine parts and sardine cans and cotton swabs all bent;

they will build skyscrapers when mixed in with fresh cement.

Or how about a currency that's based on useless trash?

Won't that set the bankers teeth on edge and make them gnash!

Remember Noddy Boffin, a crude character in Dickens,

who made of dust heaps treasure troves with very heavy pickins. 

If we have not the genius to sell garbage, or the gall --

As last resort we'll use it for to build old Trump's big Wall.

Fracking Fortunes in West Texas

One of America’s hottest labor markets is in West Texas, where the brisket is scarce, the ‘man-camps’ are full, and oil workers with no time to spare pay $75 to skip the line at the barber shop.

Headline in WSJ

Money can't buy happiness.

West Texas doesn't care.

Roustabouts spend fortunes

just to cut their tangled hair.

Caviar and champagne

do not tempt them in the least;

as long as they are fracking

they don't care how they are fleeced.

*********************************

Photo Essay: Cleaning Out My Freezer

Before

Before

A man living alone, as I do, takes his freezer for granted -- tossing in odds and ends without bothering to label them, in some vague hope that this will provide him some good meals down the road. Today I decided to put my freezer in order -- I had not cleaned it, or even checked it, since moving into this apartment nearly five years ago.

I found, among other things, a half dozen empty baggies, of all sizes. They looked and smelled clean, so I kept 'em. I also found a number of baggies filled with mysterious substances that I do not remember concocting, and will not attempt to decipher, thaw, and eat. To the dumpster with them!

This could be leftover split pea soup -- or a diabolical witch's broth of Paris Green.

I know it's labeled 'Sloppy Joe w/beans' but what KIND of beans? I don't recall making this, since whenever I eat sloppy joes I leave a bloody trail of greasy tomato sauce from my chin to my pants.

I don't know where these came from -- sometimes my neighbors leave strange items at my door in the middle of the night. I'm going to take a chance and keep these for a future casserole.

All cleaned out.

My freezer wilderness reclaimed!

Here is just a partial list of what I decided to keep:

1 can OJ concentrate; six packs of frozen veggies, such as corn and broccoli; a box of Stauffer's Salisbury Steaks; 1 pound of turkey sausage and one pound of ground round; a package of shrimp balls and a package of cuttlefish balls; 1 package of Chicken Jumbo Franks; and an ice cube tray.

I think I'll Bookmark this blog so I can refer to it whenever I am feeling peckish and don't want to go out, or am broke -- both of which happen quite frequently.