Kleen Eks

The Earth a snot-rag for our crowd

to wipe our noses on and chuck

so long’s we always pray out loud

and never seem to give a fuck

about consequence to thems’ats later

they’re late, that’s their fault

should’a got here sooner

Praise the Lord, Oh! Praise the Lord!

Who made this fair and pristine world

for us to wipe our dripping snouts

and Lord help anyone who doubts

we’re right. We are creation’s crown

count profits up then split, go South.

Those bitter sickos, dirty mouths

don’t know a decent way of life

Th’earth’s a rag f’rus to blot

our spincters’ emanations, hot

and brown from poisons spewed

by money workin, jobs secured

(so it is good) though we’re all screwed,

think healthy breath and drink’s ensured.

Have no connection to those blues

about the way we come around

to what we’ve trashed, can’t just move on

a-westward. Cyclic, not linear, round.

Got it? (Who, US?)

Earth’s smart-assed moron.


The Axis

Legal fictions have wrested control of the way

that nature’s resources are managed today.

Corporations are able to just close their books,

cut their losses and, like a trout, spit out the hook.

When our own ecosystem is out of whack, skewed,

it affects everyone and its us that get screwed.

We’d do well to remember technology knows

who can pay for protection from poisonous blows

t’this earth that we’re stuck on, have all got to share.

But things won’t likely change, why should anyone care?

We’re told “Give it all up”

and “Give business your vote”,

“The earth’s already lost, we’ve no basis for hope”.

Urged to share in the guilt (since I’m human no less

than the folks who set policy, feather their nests

with the quarterly spoils of the officers’ acts,)

the spoilage, waste: legacy put to the axe.

They say if our ancestors then had the means,

that by now we’d have nothing, so why should I scream

if a person who’s worked and slaved all of their life

wants to use our great system to endow his wife,

nieces, nephews, kids, cat, or whomever he’d choose?

It’s his dough and it’s, therefore,

not right if he’d lose

a chance to advance, surf the capital wave.

He’s the one, after all, who worked hard so’s to save.

Western culture is founded on exploitive acts.

It occurs to the cops, then, we’re Commies. In fact

we are loyal Americans. Conditions change.

If the system’s results appear to be deranged,

insidious evil resulting therefrom,

anyone who perceives that’s got not to be dumb.

Emerson said consistency’s clung to by nerds.

Look around, are the prospect’s too scary for words?

Legal fictions have wrested control of the way

that nature’s resources are managed today.

Corporations are able to just close their books,

cut their losses and, like a trout, spit out the hook.

But when laws were made limiting losses to ventures

account was not taken of future debentures

t’resources seen, then, as unlimited, free.

Plus at that time there wasn’t the technology

to exploit the Earth’s wealth upon such a vast scale.

It’s now time to change laws, and send wasters to jail.

They say “Give it up, bud, and just join in the flow

’cause it’s gone too far, we can’t save anything now.”

And the dream is still haunting me with every breath.

Because help must arise from inside of myself.

There’s no way to decide where to turn for relief,

what the mind will construct as a mode of belief.

And the turning, rotating about one’s own throat

precedes in the mode of a gyroscope

axis leaning, when pushed perpendicularly;

resisting all force, inexorably.

(Copyright 1990:  J. Risdon)


(Snap fingers like Bobby Darin)

Gotta have our jobs

gotta have our SAABs

gotta pay the bills

(gotta scalp the hills)

gotta get more toys

for the girls and boys

gotta raise the fee

and the GNP….

…..gotta stamp out filth

gotta buy some milk…

got enough for all

gotta have a ball

an’ surely there’s no dearth

of good things in the earth.

It, sure, can’t happen here.

We have naught to fear.

We’ll never see the day

when everyone will pray

We’ll never see the day

when everyone will pray

We’ll never see the day

when everyone will pray


Don’t die mother earth, Don’t die mommy

Don’t die mother earth, Don’t die mommy

Don’t die mother earth, Don’t die mommy

Don’t die mother earth, Don’t die mommy

Don’t die mother earth, Don’t die mommy

Duh-Don’t die mother earth, Don’t die mommy

Don’t die-e-e-e mother earth, Don’t die-e-e mommy

Don’t die-e-e-e muh-uh-uh-other ear-r-rth,

Do-o-o-on’t die mah-h-h-h-my!

(Copyright  J. Risdon)

Drone Attack

So overwhelmed and stressed,
fogetting that I’m blessed.
The to do list is lengthening by pen…
It’s 44 degrees
and I’m freezing my knees
while the Sun’s warmth hardly makes a dent.
Sat, bent over the clipboard,
underneath the porch’s roof,
I hear a hummingbird but keep on writing.
It seems to be quite near
behind me, now, somewhere.
Looking left, right , around and up I cannot find it.
The humming, now, is louder
s’if the little bird is closer.
Craning, I can’t see him anywhere now either.
Then it flew before my eyes
bobbed once and then took flight.
I’m reminded to enjoy the here and now.
©J. Risdon 20140311:1136

Hummingbird Hi-Jinks

I’m smiling; (thankful to God for the life I’m privileged to be [evidently] living.) I’m enjoying a stereotypical Oregon afternoon, steady light rain and 53 degrees, with no wind. Reading on the (covered) deck, enjoying myself, talking to friends on the phone, I eventually felt the need 2P.


As I arced a stream out (from under the sheltered spot upon which I stand, under the eaves,) a hummingbird (Black-chinned Hummingbird: Archilochus alexandri) flew between my legs and the stream, then darted up to hover three feet from my face before continuing along it’s way. I said “Hey, buddy!” instinctively. Other beings deserve, I feel, the benefit of the doubt; who knows? If I talk to them and they don’t understand, then there’s nothing lost (except my cheap breath.) If they do, then there’s fodder for long periods of meditation!

© J. Risdon  20140308:1618

No Good Deed Went Unpunished

When I was born (a baby girl) to salt upon the Earth,
it was a disappointment and I felt it every day.
As years passed and I grew into a soul of lesser worth
reminded, daily, that a son is what they wanted anyway.

No danger that indulgence would create, in me, a princess,
my upbringing solidified my urge to have it, later.
So, independent, I struck out to find some worth, or niceness
in other ones I’d meet (while knowing I was greater.)

I elevate myself and know that I’m my best promoter,
that I can get material and hoard it on my farm;
accretion leading to a pile that I’ve dominion over.
When I want help I’m nice as hell, am outward with my charm.

But if my helper helps too much by hinting at what, further,
might make my life a richer one (as new eyes, of’t, can do,)
reminded of things that I know but don’t face (just a bother)
I turn upon now used up help, discharging it: “Go screw!”

Though I need help, it contradicts the fiction I’ve created
that I’m a woman, by myself amassed this trove of treasure.
It comforts me to always see the things I craved. I hated
every man who denigrated women at their pleasure.

Even though a man may act as if he’s liberated
I am not fooled, their maleness rules their being, ever, well!
No humane act can change the fact that men are over-rated.
I’ll never admit that “I can’t do it.” I won’t go back to Hell.

© J. Risdon 20140306:1219

Shrove Tuesday

Obeisance I’m trained to
when it’s coming to Ash Wednesday.
To awaken fresh is nigh to sin!
On Mardi Gras one must do’n self IN!
Indulging in Venality to beat the band!
So’s to create a truly hellish morn,
hung-over with a mouth of ash!
So, though one’s usual routine is tame,
to sand-bag on Shrove Tuesday
is LAME!

C(with a circle around it) J. Risdon 20140304:1830

Patrolling the Poop Deck

That I read and watch fiction
as a pleasant pastime
bothers me. It’s escapism.
I COULD write all the time,
everything in life can be interesting.
Me thinking about
“Finish one thing B4U start another”
and how it’s natural 4 there 2B
numerous projects, concurrently
@ various stages of development.
The solitude here’s an opportunity
to use the lack of distraction
as an asset 2B Xploited…
Then I remembered my mug OT
and, turning, notice
a strand of spider-web
crossing the mug’s mouth.
A metaphor 4 my theme.
I laugh and brush the web away
with my nose as I sip.
This veranda D deck of a ship
to contain my habitual pacing
as I see signs of design
on every wave.

© J. Risdon