Yet More Advice

Yet More Advice
     
 (There are references, in parts, to the most recent horrific events in Egypt.  Remembering all the sacrifice and hope of the "Arab Spring", let us hope that courage, reason, humanity, sober idealism and sanity prevail over fear, irrationality, brutality, cynicism and insanity. )
                                                     
If you find a vassal country takes a path that you dislike,
It's your duty to divert it, with a bold preemptive strike.

But when bleeding troops and money, you had better think of ways,
By which to wield your influence.  A little thinking pays.

You can call for free elections and for freedom of the press.
If you don't like who's elected, push for freedom to repress.

And some advice to vassals too – don't take your boss for granted.
They'll let you hang tomorrow – if circumstance demands it.

So if you are the rulers there, depend not on what's distant.
Depend instead on power raw, and seize the precious instant.

If you've ruled a nation long enough (being really who's in charge),
You know that to retain it, there are duties to discharge.

Elections can be dangerous, the people then have say.
The military then must move – express a forceful “Nay!”

You can engineer conditions that will have them up in arms –
The populace – and those who are dependent on your alms...

You can tolerate the ones who're hip, and even spoon them honey,
But you've got to draw the line with those, who're sniffing for the money.

If you buy your suits in London and your wine is shipped from France,
You can't brook interruptions in your dinner or your dance.

Your children are at Stanford, and you've got to pay the fees.
So there's little choice, except to promptly deal with the disease.

The masses, you've contempt for – for they're backward and they're vile.
Can you let them enter in your rooms – and settings then defile?

They are talking of an Allah, and who knows where that may lead?
There are demons there in plenty, who on such as you may feed.

And if they taste of power, then it's curtains for your crowd.
It's then Paris, Rome or London.  But you mustn't say this loud...

For your fiefdom, it is there, where the Nile is flowing broad,
Where the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies had ruled, with spear and sword...

It's best to do it short and sharp, to cow them with your terror,
For laxity in this regard would be a serious error.

And if the slaughter continues – no matter, be resolved.
Such things will be forgotten, once you've got the problems solved.

It doesn't matter who you are – your politics, I mean.
It's power – that's what matters, and the rest becomes a sheen.

You can be a bearded mullah, wear a yarmulke or not,
But if you once buy into power, then you'll leave the rest to rot.

There are those who look to oracles, or pray to the divine,
But in politics, no miracles can build for you a spine.

So you've got to bite that bullet – with its taste and smell of grease.
You've got to swallow then your spit and pull that trigger –  please!

Astrologers may tempt you, you can have your palms be read,
But when it comes to enemies, you'd better have them dead.

There are graves enough for ditherers, or those who were uncertain,
It's better to be murderers, than ousted, that is certain.

The masses may be restive, but let's understand this truth:
They'll bear your rule in silence, if you show you're lacking ruth.

But know the ones to squeeze and also know the ones to culture.
The spoils of war and peace are used, to loyal vassals nurture.

Pay tributes to the ones above, from those below, get same.
In finance, as in bedrooms, there's no place or point in shame.

You've got to have that instinct for subservience to power.
Today it is the U.S.A., tomorrow's another's hour.

That boss you had for many years is aging now, you see.
It's time to cultivate the one, who's itching, boss to be.

With power, as with money.  And the two may go together,
Or for a while may wander, till they reach their ends of tether.

You can shelter in a Dilli, in a Tokyo or Beijing,
But when you feel them quiver, then to old New York take wing.

And if Washington is shaking, then you'd better look around.
Whatever be your politics, let your finances be sound.

There are those who see the world as did the Buddha or the Jinas,
But the others see a chance to lose – or grasp and be the winners.

So there's no place for scruples or a doleful frame of mind.
Why seek for liberation, when your fortune, you can find?

The Century of Labor's past – another one is here.
It's time for entrepreneurship and casting off of fear.

Divisions sow, of every type.  It's best when they're divided.
The working class consists of sheep – by wolves of cunning herded.

Take the best of East and West and North and South – amalgamate!
Then you needn't fear a debacle, as in the Watergate.

You could kowtow to a Pinochet, a Reagan or a Mao,
But in dealing with the obstacles, can you follow still the Tao?

Pay obeisance then to Mammon – and to Lakshmi and Ganesha,
So you can say, "...diversified, by every kind of measure...".

****** 
  
You should wipe out now the Islamists (the moderates as well),
And label all as terrorists.  And some may see and tell.

How many will be listening?  There are interests at stake!
The sleepers, they will sleep through it. A scattered few may wake.

But make the price of waking steep.  And show them that you can,
With prison, maiming, murder and, of course, the legal ban.

The courts bow down to power, as the Pharaoh wields the sun.
And power comes, as Mao had said, from the barrel of a gun.

So show them all what terror is.  Riyadh will then applaud.
And from the Gulf will come support, to fire your flaming sword.

The Islamists have had their use.  Now use them as a ruse
To gain control – and then proceed, to ticking bombs defuse.

For after you have dealt with them, or even well before,
With the Communists and Socialists, you should settle full you score.

For vermin such, the time has come, to end their numbered days!
And all who matter will be glad, when you, their kind, erase.

So courage, then, oh generals!  The world relies on you!
Your Egypt will be prosperous.  And so, of course, will you!

And those who dither, from their doubts, will surely see the dawn.
They've interests – and so will come, with F16's, to fawn.

2013 August 16th Fri. & 17th, Sat.
(last 10 couplets added Aug. 19th, Mon.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn

More Advice

Advice
 

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More Advice   
  
Yes, I know of your credentials, as you've come to me commended
By an able old disciple, who has highly recommended
Your performance, for its slickness and its evidence of art –
And he tells me that you're on the way to getting rid of heart...

But he notes that you're uncertain on some matters – that you worry,
And at times, for needed actions, you have ended feeling sorry.
And he says that you are looking for a mentor, for a guide,
Who will aid you in your journey, one in whom you can confide...

So you've come to me requesting that I give you some advice.
But you'd better be prepared, as what I'll tell you isn't nice.
If you're looking to go higher, it behooves you to be shrewd.
Be polite to those who matter.  To the rest, you can be rude.

If you labored in a factory, then you'd do as you were told.
If you worked within an office, you'd be foolish to be bold.
You would follow all your orders and be loyal to your bosses,
Or your exit would be certain. You'd be counting up your losses.
  
Were you serving in an army – or teaching in a school,
You would surely have accepted that you're nothing but a tool.
If you'd started on a business, you'd be forced to toe the rules,
For the morgues for failing businesses are filled by errant fools.

******

If you're thinking you can change the world, you'd better think again.
For the cynics have been betting – and they're winning yet again.
If you venture into politics or you work in institutions,
You should leave behind your right-and-wrong and softer intuitions.

If you listen to your conscience and you do as it dictates,
You may find that you're the object of a multitude of hates.
If you're questioning a “verity” or asking for a reason,
You will surely be suspected then of lunacy or treason.

So be wary of the rebels who are questioning the flow.
To where rising ones are headed, you'd be smart to turn and go.
Leave resistance to the failures, who you'll see are losing ground.
Let reflection be for losers, as you win another round!

To your bosses, be compliant.  With your underlings, be stern.
You should undermine complainers – who will never, ever learn.
The ambition that is needed, if you're looking to succeed,
Should be fortified by ruthlessness – and a fair amount of greed.

****** 
 
For you're clearly not for labor in a factory or school.
As for slaving in an office –  you are surely not a fool.
You're not meant to die for duty in a distant, dirty war.
You were born to be a boss-man, who'll be chauffeured in a car.

So you'll learn to do the herding – and the hunting too, my friend.
And you'll learn from those who're herders – and who hunt until the end.
And you'll ally with the in-crowd, with the ones who're seeking power,
And you'll learn to lie and break the laws and watch the timid cower.

For the rules are there for workers and the lower rungs of bosses,
But they don't apply to owners.  We are ruled by profits, losses.
And a nation, such as ours, is in need of rule by those,
Who were meant to be the owners – and the roads to owning chose.

If you're looking for the power and the wealth, then you should know
That these things, from your own labor, you can never ever grow.
For the roads to wealth and power, they are built on workers' backs,
And the entrances are barred to him, who basic shrewdness lacks.

It's when your wealth is multiplied by all who work for you,
And your power too is magnified by all who're serving you,
It's then, by dint of rent and debt and wages that you pay,
That you'll get, with wits and ruthlessness, your money – and your way.

******

So I think that I shall leave you now to ponder if you're fitted
To clamber up the hierarchies and leave the rest outwitted.
It is heartening for elders, that a younger generation
Will be putting on the stirrups, so's to ride this glorious nation.

You have come to me from someone, who was really rather clever.
He had learned what I had taught him, while repeating hardly ever.
And he says that you are like him, and may even rise above.
If he's right (and I do trust him) then my labor is of love.

For I hope that you'll be smart enough to kill and have your dinner,
And you'll show, to those who're watching, what it means to be a winner.
So I'll gladly be your mentor, for it's rarely that I find,
In a person who is younger, such a cunning sort of mind.

But your quibbles, you should garbage, you should throw them in the trash,
Or you'll find that you are hobbled, or are even acting rash.
To be honest is for others – just be careful, don't be caught!
And you'll have your time for kindness – but there's battles to be fought.
   
2013 July 2nd, Fri.
Brooklyn
   

Her Secret Vice

  
Her Secret Vice
  
“What's your hobby?” asked her friend.
“You heard me. Speak, and don't pretend.
I told you mine was postage stamps,
A pastime I acquired from gramps.
But you have never told me. Speak.
I've asked you several times this week.”

She could not speak, for quite a while.
But then, she tried to force a smile.
“Your game is up.” She told herself.
“It can't be kept to just yourself,
This thing you do, your secret shame.
Perhaps she'll understand, not blame.”

And thinking of her secret pleasure,
She found her courage, in some measure.
She'd bowed her head – and looking low,
Had studied well, companion's toe.
But now she tried to meet her eye.
“It's mathematics, on the sly.”

She'd murmured, what she could not shout.
At last!  Her secret now was out.
But searching in the hearer's face,
She saw the worst – a maid's disgrace.
And flustered, she looked down again,
While feeling, in her heart, that pain...

She'd hoped her friend could take, what men
Could not divine – or ever ken.
And so, she'd spilled her secret vice.
But see, her friend had turned to ice.
She saw her look of shock and horror,
And so was filled with sudden terror.

She wondered if she might be blamed
For feeling frightened and ashamed.
She wondered how to fix, what she
Had done – or how and where to flee.
She even wondered, if her life
She now should end, with pill or knife...

“But no,” she thought, “that's foolishness!
Let others think their nastiness.
For if my hobby gives me joy,
Why should I not, this gift, enjoy?
Was I not made by the Creator
To be, like Her, a calculator?”

And saying this, to soothe her pain,
She thought of pleasures past again.
The calculus was exquisite
For those, with skills prerequisite.
But even novices find joys
In playing with their basic toys...

And for the ones, who're more advanced
And have, in rings, with tensors danced,
Or played with algebras of Lie,
They know, what glory this can be.
What joys compare, upon this Earth,
With proofs – or giving theorems birth?

And so, with bashful, downcast eye,
She took her pleasures on the sly,
Remembering her sessions past,
In fields, with groups, that seemed to last
Beyond what humans could endure
And yet emerge, in essence, pure...

But glancing at her shell-shocked friend,
She knew her respite had to end.
But how, alas, she could explain
What she had done, escaping pain,
She did not know. But should she try,
Or wait till other asked her, “Why?”

2013 July 8th, Sun.
Brooklyn