Comments Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas

Displaying 31 To 60 Of 63 Comments

The word: Starlit

Oops! Should be called “Starship Apocalypse”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 14, 2018 @ 12:42 pm

Starship Apocoplypse

We who wish upon this starship
Just want to find a home.
Until we find a class M planet,
Among the stars we roam.
I was born on this craft.
My parents speak of Earth
They left that planet for good cause–
Rampant famine, death, and dearth.
Too many cooks spoiled the pot,
Too many mouths to feed.
Poor Gaia found her overpopped
Her children now must bleed.
She tried last ditch bitter medicines-
Pestilence, Famine, War.
Cull the crowds as remedy
In ways which we abhor.
As stewards of the planet,
My forbearers failed.
Upon their selfish need to procreate
Their coffin lid was nailed.
Maybe it was not their fault.
They seemed to be hell bent.
As one plan for survival,
Our starship’s heaven sent.
I like it here on Ob deck–
It’s always starlit night.
I wish and dream upon the stars
For an ending to our plight.
My mother taught me an old song,
An ancient childhood ditty.
If there’s any God of the universe,
Hear my plea and take pity:
“Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.
Please, take us to a paradise.
Can’t we have another chance
To get it right for humankind
Underneath your starlit dance?”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 14, 2018 @ 12:36 pm

The word: Heartless | Ice Cream

Kevin,
Lately it’s just you and me, bud. I enjoy your contributions. This one especially.
Martin

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 12, 2018 @ 6:00 pm

Heartless Ice Cream, It’s To Die For

Heartless Ice Cream…
No, it’s not my brand.
It lacks the smoothness and the sweetness
That I define as grand.
But I will say that it stays frozen
As a confection very cold
With a taste that’s bitter
And undernotes of mold.
It melts not in the mouth,
Its texture is of grit,
High notes are of chemicals and
May make you want to spit.
They have fun with name flavors
Like the one called Chocolate Ship
Or the one called Excremint.
Fruity-Pooty is a trip.
Don’t ask about “Fudge Cripple”
(Poor images of fudge)
A scoop will cancel your bm’s
Nothing soon will budge.
Enough of the scatological.
Some smack of a disease.
A cone of “Bubonilla”
Will bring you to your knees.
They’ve one flavored habanero,
Naively called “Scotch Bonnet.”
It will scorch and scathe your buds.
You’ll shed some tears upon it.
My least favorite is called “Yuck!”
It is flavored like pond scum
And is just as it sounds—
It’s the opposite of “Yum!”
The good folks at Heartless Ice Cream,
Though some might call them evil,
Are working in the bugs
Starting with the weevil.
There used to be a saying—
“You can’t make ice cream out of shit.”
But they have a “can do” attitude.
They’re the ones to do it.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 12, 2018 @ 12:14 pm

Best Served Cold

You did your best to take me down.
It was unanticipated.
Your crass attack, stab in the back
Left me one humiliated.
I may be wounded. I’m not dead.
In time I will recover.
I will abide to turn the tide.
In time, you will discover.
Revenge is much like ice cream.
It’s best when it’s served cold.
Only when you’ve got your just deserts
Will I ever be recovered and consoled.
Just when you think that you struck
At me and had gotten clean away
Will you come to realize
There is hell to pay.
Life’s a bitch and then you die
And payback is that bitch.
You will suffer and know why
Your life’s now in a ditch.
I am waiting for my moment
With the patience of a cat,
Lying here with baited/bated breath
For the moment that…
When you are feeling most secure,
It’s then that I will strike.
He who laughs last, laughs the best
Your head upon a pike.
Enjoy your triumph while you can
As I am planning, scheming
Retribution will be mine–
Your nightmare is my dreaming.
You may think I’m a fool.
It may appear I’m artless.
You’ll not survive my lightning strike
Where you’re concerned, I’m heartless.
I am sorry that the ones you love
The innocent, your buffer,
If they are in the line of fire,
They must be made to suffer.
Yes, reprisal is like ice cream.
It’s cold, it’s smooth, it’s sweet.
I think I’ll celebrate with two scoops
When you’re lying at my feet.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 8, 2018 @ 10:10 pm

The word: Cognizant

BeMused Literati

We, the Literati
With adjective BeMused,
Feel we’re more inspired
Than bamboozled and confused.
Cognoscenti in the wheel,
We’re known to turn a phrase,
Our knows in the erudite,
We hope, deserving of your praise.

“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” – Edgar Allen Poe

We desire to be writers,
Wrighters who have wrought
Words, paragraphs and phrases
Into coherent art and thought.
We’ve paper, ink and pen,
Computer, mouse, and ‘board
We are creative and inspired.
Literature- our work and our reward.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared dream before.” – Edgar Allen Poe

From the sacred fountain of Pieria
We are known to drink
Deeply of the waters
Divining one to think.
Cogitating and creating
Are simply our first stage
To exclude what we abhor–
The blankness of a page.
Many times we stumble
But sometimes, as is by chance,
Something worthy is composed
Fruit from our Muses’ Dance.
We are daytime dreamers.
We may suffer our delusions.
Will you suffer us
As we proffer our illusions?

“All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.” – Edgar Allen Poe

BeMused Literati is our writers’ group in Austin, Texas

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 5, 2018 @ 11:05 am

The Wizards’ Ruse

At the Council of Grand Wizards
Came the key address
By the Most Esteemed Magical Magister,
Her High Supreme, the Sorceress.
“Gentle men and women,
Necromancers, Enchanters,
Witches, Wizards, Warlocks,
Magic Users and Enhancers,
It seems they’re getting on to us.
They are less bamboozled and confused.
The people are becoming cognizant.
They’re unraveling our ruse.
We have tried to convince them:
We’ve woven our conceit–
That the world acts on predictable principles–
Lies now, in shambles, at our feet.
Long have we endeavored
To encourage folk’s reliance
On something understandable–
This fiction we called “Science.”
When, we’ve been the ones to gift them
With light, water, heat, and cool air
At the turning of switch, faucet, or dial
When they’ve need, a whim, or care.
We’ve given them transportation
And seen they’re entertained,
But, it seems, their search for truth
Can no longer be restrained.
I know there are objections
Because ever it’s been thus.
We’ve operated in the shadows
But created quite a muss.
So, esteemed colleagues,
It is now proposed
That we come clean with the populace
Before we are exposed.
We must admit to them
That it’s only been a trick that’s tragic.
There is no causal thing as Science,
Just this power we call ‘Magic.’
Let us go boldly to the future
As we leave the ‘Age of Reason’
And celebrate new possibilities–
Ignorance is, now, in season.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On March 2, 2018 @ 12:19 pm

The word: Lymph

Social Lyphoma

Another school shooting.
Another open sore.
Bleeding, oozing buboes
At our social order’s core.
Rending of our clothes.
We wail and we keen.
Violence aimed at innocence.
Acts of the most obscene.
Once again we enter
In argument, debate.
Do we do away with tools?
Ones used by those who hate?
We know that this is evil
Caused by the lost insane
With nothing left to lose,
And nothing to be gained.
It can’t be understood
Because it makes no sense.
Planned and random bursts of violence–
Hatred at its most intense.
Makeshift memorials.
Vigils of candlelight.
With thoughts and prayers, we try dealing,
Coping with the spite.
Time will pass again.
In a year, we’ll ring the bells.
We’ll still be wringing helpless hands.
Echoes of death knells.
How can this be prevented?
Engage some lymphocytes
To deal with these infections
And avoid these plights?
I’m with you, I’m helpless.
I don’t know what to do.
Except we try to help these lost ones
Before they do what they must do.
Sure, we could lose our guns.
There are still hammers and the knives.
In the vastness of our numbers,
Some will take our lives.
In fighting this pathology,
Maybe, we could make some gain.
Engage in sympathy and empathy
For those in psychic pain.
Do what you can do
And, as a “we,” let’s act
So more can be kept from falling
Through our social cracks.
I’m pretty sure we do this,
But are there more that we could save?
I only know we must commit to trying
Before those lost become the damned depraved.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On February 21, 2018 @ 10:33 pm

The word: Starmony

Not All in One Place

“Son, what you do is up to you,”
Is what the Captain said to me.
He had some advice to give
On spending Starmoney.
“Take some of what you have
And then set some aside.
Keep some, if you will,
For the longer ride.
If you heed what I am saying,
You’ll be ahead of more than just a few.
There are allot of knuckleheads
To count amongst the crew.
These are good people
But they like to ‘blow off steam,’
The accumulated tensions,
You know what I mean.
It really doesn’t matter
If you’ve a taste for Cyran brandy
Or if you want to rent a wench
‘Cause you’re feeling kind of randy.
But you must remember
That you represent our race.
They will long remember
What you do in outer space.
Listen to my words.
There is sense to what I deem
With many hidden benefits
More than, at first, it seems.
One who is reserved,
Acts in circumspect,
And marshalls meager assets
May be next up on the deck.
To sum up, in conclusion,
I give this shortened homily
‘Don’t spend all your Starbucks
In a single galaxy.”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On February 18, 2018 @ 9:30 pm

The Change of the Lights Brigade

The Constellations in the Heavens
Sing in perfect starmony
As they move in unisong
And a choired choreography.
That is until they swhorl
To the center of the bowl
Where the Eater of what matters
Is demanding of its toll.
There is no escraping
The Great Attractor’s core.
Forward the Lights Brigade
Into what we must abhor.
Half our League onward
To Death, there’s no avail
Six hundred, then six hundred thousand million billion…
Our death knell is quite a wail.
Canons to what’s left of them
It is absolutely canon law–
There can be no elusions of
The depredations of the Maw.
For now, we live securely.
We’ve, more or less, eternity
We’ve woven other worldly worries
That threaten with infernity.
For us the stars still charmonize.
We’re on the outer edge
Of our galactic wing.
Time and distance are our hedge.
They say the end is near.
These are the ends of time.
The abyss is beckoning us
To our fate as the sublimed.
But, as long as we can witness
The sign of the Southern Cross,
And we keep Dipping at the Greatness,
We’ll not be soon at our loss.
It is in the meantime,
And our times they can be mean,
We face defeat by our own poignorance
And all the lives which we demean.
The Constellations in the Heavens
Are where our ultimatum’s scribed.
We are all Star Cross Lovers.
It’s time to act as one great tribe.
It is time that we get on to it.
Why must we let our glory fade?
Let us be charged with our wild changes.
Honors to the Lights Brigade.

Thanks to Alfred, Lord Tennyson

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On February 15, 2018 @ 12:49 pm

The word: Inspiration

Meet Me at Mount Helicos

It seemed my mouth was dry
As were the fluids of my pen.
Ideas and words refused to flow.
Complications of my zen?
What am I to do
Short of yielding to my wroth?
What did the ancients do
When afflicted by the drouth?
What did Homer do?
Archilochus, Isyllus, or Hesiod?
And Other’s names I can’t pronounce?
What was the path that they once trod?
Did they make the journey
To the foot of Helicon Mount
Where solace can be sought and found
At Aganippe’s Sacred Fount?
It’s said the Naiad hosts soirées
Where versifiers, poets, and skalds
Can meet the Aganippides
But only if they’re called.
To receive an invitation,
Sit in quiescent contemplation.
You may, then, notice a sensation–
A divine gift of inspiration.
Be quick to write it down.
Afflatus does not last.
And, as brilliant flashes,
Muse’s gifts must fade fast.
Your verses are your thanks–
A tribute for their gifting
To Man and Womankind–
A legacy uplifting.
Inspired by epiphany,
The gifts from gods to bards.
One can sit in waiting
Or work just really hard.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On February 8, 2018 @ 3:18 pm

The word: Knitting

The Fabric of Space-Time

In the fabric of space-time
We have the drives of warp and weft.
The Captain says “engage”
In an instant we have left.
Klingons’ brows are knitting.
Where is it we have gone?
We are many parsecs distant
Before the knowledge dawns.
With embroidered speech,
The crew is spinning yarns
A stitch in time saves nine.
We surely avoided harm.
The warp drive shifted space
As the weft drive transposed time
It happened in a jiffy
Like turning on a dime.
Hail to space/time weavers
Who invented lightyear travel.
Those who picked at threads
Caused the Cosmos to unravel.
Bobbing and weaving.
We hold to the prime directive.
Live to fight another day.
Use maneuvers most deceptive.
The frustrated Klingons
Have got runs in their stalkings.
Can’t find our filament in the firmament.
Our balking did the talking.
Action and response
And so we knit and purl.
Our Captain is laughing.
We sure took them for a whirl.
“Set a course for home,
It is time for us to go.
To use another metaphor,
Helmsman, make it sew.”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On February 2, 2018 @ 10:17 am

The word: Contracts

Oh no, Martin, not another one!

Last Call for Alcohol

I had to read it twice
‘Cause it wasn’t what I thunk.
Advert in the paper says
“Small City Needs Town Drunk”
“Must have a tolerance for ridicule,
Be colorful and a buffoon.
If you think you qualify,
Apply at the saloon.”
Now, this may be up my alley
‘Cause I’m tired of AA
And all those pithy phrases
That they make me say.
So, the next day, I went down there.
I said I want the job.
The bartender sized me up.
Said, “You could be our slob.
Take a look at these contracts
Before you have a drink.
See if it is really something.
Have a real good think.
Be sure to read the small print.
You don’t want be surprised.
It spells out in some details
That do not pay to be surmised.”
So then I took a gander.
I scanned and I perused.
I was gettin’ kinda thirsty
And was thinkin’ on the booze.
It said there were no benefits
Beyond what one might think.
Only bar food offered
And as much as one might drink.
Some behaviors won’t be tolerated.
Do not puke on people’s shoes.
One must be amusing
To get one’s share of booze.
Do not be belligerent.
Do not be morose.
Do not threaten patrons
By being bellicose.
And free passouts will be limited
To once or twice a week.
Slurred speech will be tolerated
As long as you can speak.
We would also like it
If sometimes you could sing
Some delightful ditty
As an entertaining thing.
And, yes, we have a bouncer.
He might throw you out
For the enjoyment of our patrons.
Then you may shout and pout.
We know it can be expected
For a drunk to fail.
At those times you can expect
To spend the night in jail.
Also, you must know this,
That each night as you get fried,
The City, as said party,
Is, absolutely, indemnified.
“Well, I think I’ll pass.”
Is what I heard me say,
“I might have more fun
At a meeting of AA.”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On January 28, 2018 @ 2:38 pm

Let’s Just Have Deserts

What is this? This thing
You want for me to sign?
Non-disclosure contracts
On the day I’m to resign?
Look at all the whys and wherefores.
They should be “dems” and “dees”
Delivered, not by lawyers but, by
Guys who’ll break my knees.
It seems that you’re ashamed
Of all your past behavior
And you’re looking for a fat check
To become your salve and savior.
It was so disgusting when
You brought me to the floor
Made your threats with some enticements,
Said, “submit or there’s the door.”
I admit that I was broken
In abject humiliation.
It was your harassment that
Convinced me of my station.
Yes, you had your way.
Now, I may be slut shamed
But, maybe, you have noticed
There’s a climate, here, that’s changed.
You want to slap me with your upper hand,
Sign my name in blood,
And live my life in silent pain
As you rise above your mud.
But now, it’s time for you to squirm.
Do I reclaim my pride?
Care to add more zeros to my check?
Now, it’s you, I ride.
You say that you will ruin me
But, if I may be so rude,
Victims, now, are finding voice.
It’s you who are now screwed.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On January 27, 2018 @ 10:25 am

Contracts with America

They contracted with America.
We contracted a disease.
We are always at the brink
Of coming to our knees.
It may be our only hope
That while we’re there we’ll pray
That these self-serving politicians
Are not here to stay.
I say they should be “devoted.”
By that I do mean fired,
Turned out of their offices,
And not to be rehired.
Nowhere in our Constitution
Are Parties even mentioned.
Our system does not operate
As it was, at first, intentioned.
It seems that we are stuck with
“Assets” that serve themselves
As the welfare of our citizens
Is left up on the shelf.
“The Party Uber Alles”
Is what it seems to be.
No hands up for the helpless.
“Give it all to me!”
It seems that they are best at
Kicking cans on down the road
Where they become “cannots”
Intended to corrode.
Declare a major victory.
We’ve a budget for two weeks.
While the rich steal all the treasure
Provided by the meek.
Why is it we can’t tell them?
It must be that our gestalt
Is that the Contract with America
Has ended in default.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On January 25, 2018 @ 8:35 am

The word: Fret

More (or Less) Morose

The erosions of our worries
Are what cause us all to fret.
Will we have redemptions
From the sins we did beget?
That, and nagging fears, wreak
Corrosion of our souls
And we find we rust in pieces
At the elusions of our goals.
Why is it we must suffer
From contunding and contusing
In Dorian Gray areas,
All contentious and confusing?
It is this inner turmoil,
Like an infection of low grade,
That undermines our confidence
In that of which we’re made.
Dis-ease often goes unnoticed.
Does not evoke response.
Subtleness and deviance,
A contagion in nuance.
It is, nonetheless,
Constant and relenting
And almost impervious
To efforts by repenting.
It is the death of a thousand cuts,
A torture drip by drop,
Tolerated by our sufferance
Until, worn out, we stop.
Is there any antidote
To poison’s bitter pill?
Can’t we end this lamenting reverie?
Get off this dread treadmill?
I can only think of
One prophylactic measure–
Be indulgent in your joys
And the moments that you treasure.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On January 22, 2018 @ 12:45 pm

The word: Voyage

Destination Reckoning

Life is a voyage or,
For some, it is a journey.
Either way that you perceive it,
It ends up on a gurney.
Metaphor or Simile
It is, like, y’know–
Is there an end to travels and travails
When it’s your time to go?
For most, our faiths tell us
What happens when we die.
Myths tell of the wheres and whenfores
If not the reasons why.
For some, they find some comfort,
For others, abject fear.
Most likely, some of both
As our endtime’s drawing near.
One moment we are here
Then we slip on past the veil
But few, if any, return
Once gone beyond the pale.
The Celts got around
They took turns upon time’s wheel
Life’s end was a beginning
A new birth and a reveal.
In like manner for the Hindi,
When you end your term,
If you’re bad, you might reincarnate
As a lowly, squirming worm.
Heroic Vikings had Vallalla,
Others went to Hel.
She, half radiant/half grotesque,
Goddess of Beauty and the Fell.
The Elysian Fields were Heaven
For Greeks of gone times tolling
But punishments of Sisyphus
Were what got the boulder rolling.
Is a judgement awaiting?
Is Saint Peter at the gate?
Was your life spent loving?
Or was it one of hate?
Punishment/Reward.
What’s at the end of your montage?
All I wish for your sending off
Is to have a “bon voyage.”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On January 13, 2018 @ 3:21 pm

The word: Generosity

Dear Father Winter,

When it was hot last summer,
We often thought of snow,
Pristine blankets and some icicles,
It seemed the way to go.
But now that you have come here,
I don’t like it though I’ve tried.
My car’s radiator is frosted.
It’s battery just died.
I’m stuck here at my house.
Don’t know why I have been chosen.
Can’t get a drop of water
‘Cause my pipes are frozen.
I can’t even flush the toilet.
The situation’s sad.
Forgive me, I’m not grateful.
It really is that bad.
Thanks for your generosity
But too much is quite enough.
It’s become atrocity
Please stop it with your stuff.

Respectfully, Me

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On January 5, 2018 @ 8:48 am

The word: What if

Resolved

“What ifs” are what give us
Reasons for a change.
Without new possibilities
Wouldn’t life be strange?
“What ifs” breed invention
And new discoveries
So that our lives don’t end up
In stasis and at seize.
Entertaining “what ifs”
At this time of year
Is part of our tradition
With a slate that’s clear.
Resisting those temptations
Or vowing to improve,
To ourselves we promise
That we’ll get in the groove.
So, as the year is passing
From the reaper to the babe
You may hear me nuncupate
On how I may behave.
I am going to “what if”
And it shall be resolved
That, with the coming New Year,
My “me” problems shall be solved.
And, if I fail myself,
I’ll probably say, “So what.
It’s been pretty comfy
Living in my rut.”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 29, 2017 @ 1:12 pm

The word: Antiquarian

The Luck of the Find

Archaeologists and Antiquarians
Visit potter’s fields
To see those who are in shard’s there
For historic insights they may yield.
It is rare, but on occasion,
They may find a vase or pot
Intact and in situ
Within a sinner’s plot.
Who can know the joy they feel
On finding artifacts unbroken?
And the luck of unsullied contents
Must be taken as a token.
The romance of such endeavors
Ain’t no Indiana Jones.
But still it is exciting–
The finding of old bones.
These ancient folk had lived their lives
So that we might be here.
It’s a kind of eternal life
That we can hold as dear.
I like to feel the reverence
I find in a museum.
I’m sure that they’re there in spirit
When the living come to see ‘em.
I think I could be happy
With trowel and brush tools for my toil
Uncovering those ancient lives
Living still in soil.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 21, 2017 @ 5:11 pm

The word: Chapter

You’re all Wet! End of Story.

Life is like a river, she said
No, it’s like a book, said he
(Her) I insist that it’s in constant flow.
(Him) But it has stops and starts, you see.
She seemed to be quite adamant
That the boy accept her view.
He, in turn, was recalcitrant.
Manifests of much ado.
The river flows from highlands
Until it reaches sea.
There may be placid pools, falls, and rapids.
That’s her reality.
He still thinks that life’s a story,
From nascence until doom,
One thing follows another in
Chapters, verse, and volumes.
At the time it seemed important
For each one to have their way.
You may know how lovers struggle
To be heard and have their say.
They did not know how to do it.
This is a thing that is not taught.
To seek a balancing together
Not a dominance that is fraught.
Many years have passed.
That river soon ran dry.
The plot thickened, never finished.
Neither one knows why.
Water over the dam
Or underneath the bridge
Never reaches denouement
The narrative is abridged.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 19, 2017 @ 9:05 am

The Divine Right of the 1%

The wealthy aren’t afraid.
They even promote their own denials.
They say our climate isn’t changing.
They will survive our trials.
Preserving status quo
Means satisfying greed
For revenue enhancements
Beyond what one might need.
They think that wealth and money
Has accrued to them by right.
Why should they care, anyway?
They will escape our plight.
After all, if you’ve got the money
You know you’ll be okay.
As circumstances change,
You know you’re here to stay.
So what if the planet’s heating?
It’s an opportunity to sell
More air conditioners
While others dwell in hell.
As coastal areas flood,
They can sell more boats
And, if some areas get cold,
They can sell more coats.
Is there any downside
To promoting ignorance?
Not if you pay the piper
To play your favorite dance.
The Titanic may be sinking,
Will soon be out of view,
But if you’ve got the lift raft franchise
You’ll get what is your due.
But they should beware of retribution
Because a drowning man
May be one to climb on top of you
As you extend a helping hand.
Is this the final chapter
Of the Trilogy of Man?
I seriously doubt it.
Man does what he must and can.
We’re here and we’re survivors.
That’s something in our genes.
We’ve always been revivers
And seekers of our dreams.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 17, 2017 @ 7:12 pm

The word: Crestfallen

Bad Rooster! Let’s Put Him in a Pot.

He was the cock of the walk.
He had all the ladies.
He had wealth and power.
Drove in a Mercedes.
With an inflated sense of self,
He could not be refused.
He was an Alpha! Man
In case you were confused.

“I take what I want.
Pat them on the tushy.
I can’t be resisted.
I grab them by the p…y.
I am irresistible.
I’m a force of nature.
There are too few superlatives
In my nomenclature.
They have it when I want it
Do you say, ‘Oh, really?’
When you are a star,
You can more than cop a feely.
There can be no objections.
Protests are all pretended.
All of my girly chickens
End up as the upended.
I think it is a good thing,
That the hen gals in my flock,
Never get together—
They’re too ashamed to talk.
It will never happen.
My comb remains erect.
The public, by and large,
Well, I guess that they suspect.
They know that I am gettin’ it.
‘Cause I’m an Alpha! Dude.
The limits aren’t for me.
I am rude and crude.”

Well, You know what finally happened.
The ladies found their voice.
Alpha roosters are crestfallen.
It seems they have no choice.
It’s time for retribution
As hens come home to roost.
Strutters do the perp walk.
The victorious abused.
Let this be a lesson.
Women find their power
When they organize and take it,
It will be their hour.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 8, 2017 @ 2:19 pm

The word: Peace

Requiescat In Pace

Peace on Earth
Is the message of the season
Goodwill to man and womankind
In the easing of our pleasing.
Be at Peace.
Turn off the TV and the news.
Walk your dog on a forest trail.
That path is less confused.
Be at Peace.
Watch some children hard at play,
No concerns for the tomorrows,
Just the pleasures of today.
Be at Peace.
Perform a selfless deed.
Be a boy or girl scout
Helping those in need.
Be at Peace.
Sit down and read a book.
Indulge your imaginings
In the comfort of your nook.
Be at Peace.
Take time to smell the roses.
Aromas inhaled orchestrally are
A symphony for our noses.
Be at Peace.
Slow down and take some time.
What’s the hubbub and the hurry?
Add some reason to your rhyme.
Be at Peace.
Take time to make some art.
Craft something that’s beautiful
And sets yourself apart.
Be at Peace.
Sit quite still and take some breaths.
Follow flowing ripples
Expanding consciousness.
Be at Peace.
Cross your problems off the list.
Tell yourself, “I’ve got no worries,”
Your pisstations are dismissed.
Be at Peace.
Acquiesce to make a pax.
Accept serenity and tranquility.
Do so and relax.
Requiescat In Pace.
Everyone gets ripped.
We take the tumble through our lives.
Our fall will end the trip.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 5, 2017 @ 8:12 am

R.I.P.

Requiescat In Pace.
Everyone must get ripped.
We stumble/bumble through our lives
Until our fall ends the trip.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On December 4, 2017 @ 11:03 pm

The word: Happiness

Oscular Oscilations

If it’s welcomed, it’s seduction.
If not, then it’s assault.
When the lady asked if I would kiss her,
I had to go to my default.
Would that make you somewhat happy?
And would you agree to testify?
I don’t want or need any trouble.
Please use this form to tell me why.
Fill it out in triplicate.
I’ve a team of attorneys who review.
They parse requests for my lips’ pursing.
I pay them for the process due.
We’ll note exclusions and exceptions and
When we’ve whys and wherefores satisfied,
Then we might engage in osculation
I must be thoroughly indemnified.
If they agree, it might be prudent
For us to seek a doc’s advice.
Disease is easily transmitted.
It has happened more than twice.
I am sorry it has come to this.
Are you the type to kiss and tell?
I’ve seen so many stories in the media
As lives devolve in living hell.
Oh. You have something else you want to ask me?
A question you think that might be bland?
I think I could entertain an offer
That we be seen while holding hands.
Just fill out this form in triplicate…

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On November 18, 2017 @ 6:35 am

Happy Hunting

We Declared our Independence
By what we may pursue–
Life, Liberty, and Happiness.
We say that they’re our due.
It does not mean that you will get them
Be ever vigilant
Our poor lives may be defined
By not getting what we can’t.
Life, Liberty, and Happiness
Are our Holy Trinity,
Ideals which are as elusive
As bluebirds in a tree.
I’d settle for satisfaction
Or I’d like to be contented
I might leave the sappiness of happiness
For those who are demented.
It seems these states are fleeting.
Have you seen the news?
It’s enough to make one seek
His happiness in booze.
But you must not give up
Please, do not despair.
As you go to the Happy Hunting Grounds,
Show them that you care.
Maybe that’s the secret
In the pursuit, happiness is found
Save your melancholy for
When you’re lying in the ground.
Honest Abe, he said it.
This is his reality–
Folks are usually about as happy
As they make their minds to be.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On November 16, 2017 @ 11:25 am

The word: Proactive

Cutting Edge Language

Aren’t we fond of our new Buzzwords?
We’ve no longer use for the old saws.
Catching up with new Catch Phrases
Sometimes has me giving pause.
When I use them, I feel modern.
Still, at times, they make me fret
I’m no longer young and hip.
It’s too late to Hit Reset.
But, do they have Sustainability?
A Sea Change at the End Of Day?
Do they have the Bandwidth needed?
Are they merely Viral or here to stay?
They want to be New Normal,
To Empower and Enable,
Seemingly, Out Of The Box
Bringing value To The Table.
Going Forward, a Paradigm Shift.
A new a kind of Synergy.
It’s a Win-win, this Shibboleth,
But what’s my Exit Strategy?
Let us Throw Them Against The Wall.
Do the Optics Stick or Stay?
We can then Break Through The Clutter.
The Metrics tell if we will pay.
Remember when a #HashTag
Was on a can with some corned beef?
Now I see it everywhere 24/7.
I shake my head in disbelief.
I remember when “to Hack”
Meant to do some shoddy work.
Last week, it changed to Innovate
Or gain advantage, a kind of Perk.
That, in itself, was once meant for coffee
Or what happens to dogs’ ears.
I am finding that my Wellness understanding
Is an Algorithm in arrears.
These days, I’m to be “Proactive”
Do you think I should “proactivate?”
‘Cause being both “pro” and “active”
Is, like, a move from good to great?

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On November 9, 2017 @ 3:30 pm

The word: Home

Tabloid Interview or… For a Good Time, Call Harvey or… So, You Want to Be a Star

It seems your bad behavior
Has come home to roost.
You are getting retribution
For acts of past abuse.
Here come the repercussions,
The pounding of the drums,
The balance sheet will tally
Indebtedness and sums.
You’ve used your mighty power
For the making and the breaking
Of promising careers–
Ripe fruit for the taking.
Too bad you did not listen
To your mother’s lessons.
Instead your mal intent was
Couched in salacious sessions.
“Be a gentle man. Be considerate.”
That’s what Mom once said.
Instead your wealth and power
Led to engorgement of your head.
You became a boorish man
Of swollen appetites
And certainly enjoyed
Their humiliated plights.
What did you say to them?
This may be deduction.
What well-oiled line of bull
Did you use in your seduction?

“Let this be our secret.
I want you to collude
In your own abasement,
If I may be so rude.
It’s not really about the sex,
Though I admit that it is great,
It’s subjection to my will
That is bound up in your fate.
I’ve had so many victims
Fallen to my web.
I try to keep things quiet
I’ll pay for what’s not said.
And, as for your career,
I know you want it bad—
It’s pay-to-play, quid pro quo.
No need to get so mad.”

And now it’s…

“What is this that’s happening?
The cat’s out of the bag
And the cats have claws.
How the tongues will wag.
Call my PR man
For a non-apology–
If anyone was hurt…
It’s not my fault, you see.
I’m sure that it’s an illness.
I could not help myself.
I was seduced by my own power
And entitlements of wealth.
I’ll spend a month in rehab.
Then I’ll have the cure.
My life will be good, again.
Of that, I’m pretty sure.
I’ll make another movie,
And you can be the star,
About how the mighty fall
When they’ve gone a bit too far.”

X-rated Afterwards Addendum

“You’ve heard me say I’m sorry
If anyone was hurt.
I did not mean to harm
It was really just a flirt.
It was only locker talk and
A harmless pat upon your butt
Did you think I was implying
That you are a sl..?
Maybe, it’s a good thing
To be knocked down a tiny notch.
Won’t you come sit next to me?
Put your hands upon my cr….?
Why don’t we begin
With a massage à moi?
Then I’ll invite a friend
For a ménage à trois.
I have really loved being rich
And also being famous.
Now, don’t act like a b…
Put your lips upon my an…”

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On November 8, 2017 @ 2:23 pm

The word: Humanness

Human Nature, Divine or Depraved?

Our Humanness belies the doom in us.
Our humanity the profanity.
Be humane or be not sane.
Urbanity yields to the inanity.
Human beings are funny,
Accommodating comedy.
They exhume the humorous
And sorrow in their dramedy.
Is man inherently depraved
Or inherently divine?
As condemned, should he be saved
Or will we be just fine?
We have each of us a world view.
It’s a kind of lens.
For some of us, myopic.
For farsighted, it portends.
It’s a basic question
That colors what we see–
The divine/depraved divide
Eschews hues of reality…
On which side are you?
Are you a half-empty or half-full?
Are your glasses rosy?
Are you full of awe or awful?
Is that water in your glass?
Or maybe some clear spirit
Stinging nose and palate
Whenever you get near it?
Do we have free discretion
Or must we foot the bill?
The piper plays his threnody.
It’s the high notes that are shrill.

Verbose and morose.

» Posted By Martin Mayland, Austin, Texas On October 27, 2017 @ 11:47 am

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