A Randy Wine Garden of Science [The Souls of Children Died in the Wine Garden (Draft 5)]

It was the year of plagues,
the year of science.
Fairy tales for children.

Dense withered science,
weathered propaganda
in spirit false, twisted.

Some weathered the year,
some did not: a tear in a
pedagogy climate of fear.

An affront to data, dithers
in logic: twisted science.

Remote Learning,
a few kid suicides, rare

like rain in the desert, but
a science dessert for the
insipid statistical sips
of statistical fruit

Death is usually not literal
in a year of pedagogic abuse, but
withering glance blows slapped the day
with many seizures in a plague year.

It was a year when
the snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents

It was a year of ominous noise,
a year of doom dust and ash,
a smell of sulfur when crows
pecked at eggs and left them

Natural became supernatural.
Evil forces prevailed.

Coming from the ground, far under,
were odd humming and rumbling sounds

those evil sounds were underground like
a swarm of crashing freight trains deep below
like gigantic humming birds as big
flapping their wings like manic dinosaurs
and like angry moose fighting with the Devil

It was a year of strangeness
and a year of hope.

But there were two omens. One was

the cicadas came twice in one year —
once in Spring and once in Fall

the other was that
the rare biting incidents in pre-school
became numerous in the upper grades.

Well actually, more than two omens.
And the mayor was perturbed by
the rumors of
real werewolves, zombies
and Devil worshipers
after the theater re-opened.

Maybe those were not omens
but hysteria or tension.

The snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents, and
especially me. Disturbed,
board meetings were
pointless and strange.

When
I caught Mary’s teacher
berating my child
in a zoom style thing,
I began my research
on a curse. Nothing
was off the table

My child was an odd goldenrod
and the teachers hated her flowering
even after her death.

When the UFOs came again
and abducted a crazy teacher
we, parents, were not offended.

Picking off the teachers
of the Wine Garden club
was a deserved drubbing
‘cause the aliens had a
purpose for them: needed
them for a scientific study.

The parents were glad, and
there were more important things
than the hopelessly pedantic.

It was a strange year
seared in weird, but cold.

School resumed in the fall
five days-a-week
full time, but appalling
and it was too late
for golden Mary

Mary had had a little lamb.

It was a strange year
seared in weird; disturbing
without a noble shepherd

In the fall
I visited Mary
in the cemetery, but
her grave was disturbed

When Mrs. Marxwagon,
Mary’s dreaded teacher, said
she would sue me in court
for placing a curse on her face
(not a known legal charge),
I laughed as if the Devil courted her.

I told her
if the lamb bothers you,
eat it.

The Center for Propaganda Control (CPC)
said the outbreak looked like rabies.

I don’t know why
I wished Mary would be alive —
I thought it was a harmless thought
and the visions were delusional from grief.

The nightmare was so real, and
and I woke up hearing myself scream —
I saw Mary walking to school, and
she said, Mommy, I failed the test.

I ignored the humming sound
and I got into my car, but
the lightning was so angry, and
the rain was intense, the cicadas
rose from the ground and the birds
ate as many as they could, and there
was the stench of death and decay
in the eerie fear invading my soul;
in panic I drove to school to see
if Mary was there and desperately
I loved her still, and thought perhaps
like a miracle she was alive, and
passing her tests like
a good little girl
so precious and pure

The authorities were busy
in the front of the school
surrounding the UFOs

I climbed a tree and
jumped onto
the roof of the school.
The cicadas were
crawling all over, and
the birds were swarming.

I came down the stairs.
I saw Mary.

She and the other
dead children
were eating their teachers.

It was a good day.
The authorities
stormed the building.

The aliens vaporized them all.
I suppose they’re friendly, because
they follow the pedantic science.

Killing Grandpa (3)

Something to crow about, and
everyone must wear a crown,
a corona for the glowing Sun,
a trademark for a dear beer
a crown for an evil crow.

The crow is
a family symbol
that plays with fate
stealing shiny objects
like mystery guns, and
who’s to say they’re not toys

Dad dealt in guns
had no regrets about
the crow of things. Omens.

No natural death, and
an inheritance for me.

For Corvidae
as the crow appears in desperate flight
this appears a good year to die, ’cause
COVID caw-caw hurrah boo corvid

yea true, my father died at 72 —
a cancer the grim blamed on him
and I at 71 demeaned by life
in Corona, New York

I’ve learned Dad’s business
with regret, but
my son’s an accountant.

But I’m obsolete now
with bio-weapons on the horizon

Years ago
might say I was like a foamy
beer near Flushing Meadows
of World’s Fair fame, 1964, though Dad
on Malta had his black market museum:
illegal guns in the ancient Hypogeum,
hiding missiles for dismissal of war guilt.

It’s a good year to die an honorable death.
the Grandchildren are nervous, but
I’ve put together some cleanly new
legitimate business for them to inherit.

Yeah, I know they want me dead.
Don’t blame them much…
but for fun I remember how I
let them play in the secret tunnels
yeah

it was exciting for them
to play in my tunnels,
and I let them hide in the
safe room so they could
listen to the oosh bang-bang
and smell the gunpowder,
hear the machine guns, the oofh-ow
swoosh, bat-a-tat-tat, ow-arg-uh, thud
zing, zing, chuh-chuh-chud, and muffled
screams, and it was so good to
smell the barbecue of the foiled.

Yeah, a little lie:
I told them their Grandpa
sold toys, and did laundry.

Yeah, kids, I told them
our crew liked
splashing red paint
on manikins:
it’s a war game, and
we always clean up.

Told them well:
Grandpa hated dirt, but
he made billions of dollars
washing things, and doing demolition.

They loved me, Grandpa, and
since childhood they’d
never officially known I
laundered money and
sold weapons to clandestine
really funny-named groups

Early they heard fairy tales galore
they were to believe as required
and as they were told about me:
he didn’t like public dirt’s roar
so he washed donor money; yet
he gave their poor children toy guns
to play with, unrestricted for causes

Although they stopped believing in Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy as young adults
they inferred that by consultations
the guns and the washing machines
Grandpa controlled with computers.

I heard that Cousin Joe
called the kids
with great news:

he had shortness of breath and a high fever.
heard the kids all gathered
for his very own sneeze party.

It’s a good year to die, and
I know the kids have
a conspiracy to kill me, but

it’s OK.
I welcome them home
to party close-up with me
because they will give me
an honorable death
with shortness of breath, but
they were the only ones
I truly loved to play with.

Some say Randi Weingarten Is Not Political; Ibi erit satura est scriptor nasus et sale, si emptorem, sapit.

The Souls of Children Died in the Wine Garden (Draft 2)

Some weathered the year,
some did not. A change
of climate for pedagogy.

Rare like rain in the desert,
remote learning precipitated
a few child suicides, a dessert
for the statistical fruit of science.

It was a year when
the snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents

It was a year of ominous noise,
a year of doom dust and ash,
a smell of sulfur when crows
pecked at eggs and left them

Coming from the ground, far under,
were odd humming and rumbling sounds

those evil sounds were underground like
a swarm of crashing freight trains deep below
like gigantic humming birds as big
flapping their wings like manic dinosaurs
and like angry moose fighting with the Devil

It was a year of strangeness
and a year of hope.

But there were two omens. One was

the cicadas came twice in one year —
once in Spring and once in Fall

the other was that
the rare biting incidents in pre-school
became numerous in the upper grades.

Well actually, more than two omens.
And the mayor was perturbed by
the rumors of
real werewolves, zombies
and Devil worshipers
after the theater re-opened.

Maybe those were not omens
but hysteria or something.

The snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents, and
especially me.
Board meetings were
pointless and strange.

When
I caught Mary’s teacher
berating my child
in a zoom thing,
I began my research
on a curse. Nothing
was off the table

My child was always odd
and the teachers hated her
even after her death.

When the UFOs came
and abducted a teacher
we, parents, were not concerned.

Picking off the teachers
of the Wine Garden club
was a good thing:
the aliens had a purpose
for them: needed them
for a scientific study.

The parents
were not concerned about that;
there were more important things.

School resumed in the fall
five days-a-week
full time, but
it was too late
for Mary

Mary had had a little lamb.

In the fall
I visited Mary
in the cemetery, but
her grave was disturbed

When Mrs. Marxwagon,
Mary’s teacher, said
she would sue me
for placing a curse on her,
I laughed; that’s not
a legal term.

I told her
if the lamb bothers you,
eat it.

The Center for Propaganda Control (CPC)
said the outbreak looked like rabies.

I don’t know why
I wished Mary would be alive —
I thought it was a harmless thought
and the visions were delusional from grief.

The nightmare was so real, and
and I woke up hearing myself scream —
I saw Mary walking to school, and
she said, Mommy, I failed the test.

I ignored the humming sound
and I got into my car, but
the lightning was so angry, and
the rain was intense, the cicadas
rose from the ground and the birds
ate as many as they could, and there
was the stench of death and decay
in the eerie fear invading my soul;
in panic I drove to school to see
if Mary was there and desperately
I loved her still, and thought perhaps
like a miracle she was alive, and
passing her tests like
a good little girl
so precious and pure

The authorities were busy
in the front of the school
surrounding the UFOs

I climbed a tree and
jumped onto
the roof of the school.
The cicadas were
crawling all over, and
the birds were swarming.

I came down the stairs.
I saw Mary.

She and the other
dead children
were eating their teachers.

It was a good day.
The authorities
stormed the building.

The aliens vaporized them all.
I suppose they’re friendly, because
they follow the pedantic science.

The Souls of Children Died in the Wine Garden(Draft 0)

The snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents, and
especially me

When
I caught Mary’s teacher
berating my child
in a zoom thing,
I began my research
on a curse.

My child was always odd
and the teachers hated her.

When the UFOs came
and abducted a teacher
we, parents, were not concerned.

Picking off the teachers
of the Wine Garden club
was a good thing:
the aliens had a purpose
for them: needed them
for a scientific study.

The parents
were not concerned about that;
there were more important things.

School resumed in the fall
five days-a-week
full time, but
it was too late
for Mary

Mary had had a little lamb.

In the fall
I visited Mary
in the cemetary, but
her grave was disturbed

When Mrs. Marxwagon,
Mary’s teacher, said
she would sue me
for placing a curse on her,
I laughed; that’s not
a legal term.

I told her
if the lamb bothers you,
eat it.

The Center for Propaganda Control (CPC)
said the outbreak looked like rabies.

I don’t know why
I wished Mary would be alive —
I thought it was a harmless thought
and the visions were delusional from grief.

The nightmare was so real, and
and I woke up hearing myself scream —
I saw Mary walking to school, and
she said, Mommy, I failed the test.

I got in my car, but
the lightning was so angry, and
the rain was intense, the circadas
rose from the ground and the birds
ate as many as they could, and there
was the stench of death and decay
in the eerie fear invading my soul;
in panic I drove to school to see
if Mary was there and desparately
I loved her still, and thought perhaps
like a miracle she was alive, and
passing her tests like
a good little girl
so precious and pure

The authorities were busy
in the front of the school
surrounding the UFOs

I climbed a tree and
jumped onto
the roof of the school.
The cicadas were
crawling all over, and
the birds were swarming.

I came down the stairs.
I saw Mary.

She and the other
dead children
were eating their teachers.

It was a good day.
The authorities
stormed the building.

The aliens vaporized them all.
I suppose they’re friendly.

Funding Manslaughter for Science (Draft 0)

Dealt a woo hand, the Institute
needed funding for naive research
we said for friendship and knowledge

Yes, we chortled and urged:
Give us your poor tired
huddled money for our
Gain-of-Function research.
We’ve got the bats and
you’ve got your Dr. Faust

Ah so beautiful the many stars
in the constellation of SARS

But the best of all in uniqueness
has a divine Spike protein, and
it shines brightly in the heavens
with a glorious furin-cleavage site

Spike the ball as they say
because the Americans
gave us a win; hegemonic
chaos, pandemic, and sin
for Betsy Ross Pandora

The Confuscians said
about chimeras that
the bat jester was
in charge of an
infectious laughter,

but it is as serious as
opening the gates of a zoo,
so the Director can take
money for hunters
to sample the bats
both ZC45 and ZXC21

And it is said by Faust,
Funding manslaughter
is always a risk worth taking.

What a novel thing that
our propaganda wins

And the stars of SARS
shine brightly beautiful
for the glory of the party.

Raise Teacher Salaries to Ten Million Dollars Immediately

As the Apocalypse Approaches
    by Douglas Gilbert

    In this emergency, it is vital that teacher salaries be raised to $10,000,000 per year. Resistance is futile. However, of course, all teachers not working full time in-person, five days a week right now, should be fired. Also, any teacher should be allowed to quit during the grace period before the great purge when special conditions apply.
    Whereas, there should be total equity of outcome, every student must achieve a score of 80% correct answers on standardized tests in Math and English. Any teacher whose class does not reach this standard, shall be executed upon certification of any scores below the standard (No child may be excluded or expelled for any reason). The federal death penalty will apply.
    We must reverse George Bernard Shaw’s saying, “He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches.” A successful risk taker will not teach for less that $10,000,000 and many do know Mathematics; many successful authors know English. They will be free to use a portion of their salaries to help their students’ families. Yes, it is rocket science.
    As I often say, the satirist has a better nose for truth than the seller of sagacity. And, of course, as you no doubt know, and have often heard: “Non erit satura est scriptor nasus quando emptore magis est vera sapientia, quam venditor.“, that is, “There will be a satire’s nose when the buyer is true wisdom rather than the seller.”
    As the Apocalypse approaches, everyone must pay the piper or the Children’s Crusade to the North Pole will begin. If the children leave for the Holy North Pole, the teachers will die. But do not worry: consult the Book of Revelations, and Psalm 91.
    Thus a child has written:

The Four Nuppets of the Apocalypse

Behold, the feathers of truth descend:
the four Nuppets of the Apocalypse
have arrived as foretold and
Huge Bird walks among us, but
know ye the schools are defiled,
the files are closed in haste. Leave
as the leaves have fallen.

Leave ye from the branches
though the ground is noisome
and you fear the reign of feathers

Leave from pestilence
to join our march

I say to you in earnest:
Give your leave
to walk with me
to our secret place

Do not be afraid;
Huge Bird can see
‘the snares of the fowler’*

Let us gather in common cause:
I pray you follow me here to
sing with me for wanderlust but
should you not be present here,
be at the Ward Hunt Island retreat

I’m thirteen but so what: God has
given me the powers of prophesy, and
I will lead you to the Jerusalemma
at the North Pole throne fortress

Do not be afraid; we have
Mr. Smith our science teacher,
a captive for our just cause.

We have lured that devil away with
the best black market vaccine, and
we agree to release his mistress
and say yea verily to the sky,
she shall sin no more though
she is stoned on pot and high

Mr. Smith is now in a cage
and we can engage him double
along the way to Jerusalemma.

Glaciers are melting, he informs us
ergo, we apprehend it will be warm.

But hey kids, God will strike him down
if he fails to well teach us the way.

But the signs will be clear —
and when we are near the North pole, dears
a polar bear will growl with hunger

but even deer shall have no fear, for we will
summon Mr. Smith to leave his cage and he,
not faithful enough to trample a dragon,
will bear witness to sacrifice and suffer for us
as the science says bears will eat.

The bear will be most grateful and
share seven seals from his snacks.

These seals will become many and
we will not be hungry.

Come ye all to Ward Hunt Island
but fear not expanse of ice or snow,
for carbon’s ghost will warm us

I tell you now my vision:
with ash and fire from the sky,
the ice will turn into stone, and
we shall walk to the North Pole.

Join our crusade, and
bring a teacher in a cage.

Let us pray
for the promised land
of milk and windmills

Science says
do this.

*Psalm 91

To Serve Mankind (Sci-Fi not) 最高領導人

Gee gin and pee
Xi Jinping has destroyed
all holidays with his virus
from His Honor’s culpable lab

Be real, people, the
Wuhan little old country peoples’ lab,
being a virology lab for the collective,
heavenly of utmost respect and veneration,
is a germ-warfare lab for
the glory of the “you-know-who” Party.

Mr. She, not of Mother Nature
has ended all Holidays, and thus
for 2020:

Besides Grandma who
insisted that the family gather together,
Mother is dead in her nursing home, and
now the family will never gather again for
Thanksgiving or Christmas because
the children have their excuses to
dis-invite the obnoxious relatives forever after

Thank you Mr. She for
ending the gathering of the
Capitalist Family of the
West

Thanks to you
1984 is updated.

So, there’s a new eBook on Amazon but

Amazon has my new eBook listed, but they erased three others, and I got no notification as to why. I suppose it’s all futile. The ones that disappeared weren’t selling or even noticed. The new one is more comprehensive. It’s probably doomed as well.

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (UK)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (Canada)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (France)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (Germany)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (Spain)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(Italy)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(India)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(Japan)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(Australia)
Kindle Edition

Publication Date : August 7, 2020
Word Wise : Enabled
Print Length : 361 pages
File Size : 678 KB
Language: : English
Publisher : Lulu.com (August 7, 2020)
ASIN : B08LH1XTQD