The Pandemic Blues

By Ian C. Dawkins Moore

Remember, dear reader, that time, Oh, not so long ago now...
a mere 60 days... when the NEWS meant
“What’s New and Exciting!”
When the stock market rallied every day and was such F.U.N!
Even though it did not affect the High Street economics, because corporations’ control 2/3 of the stock market
-The Elite’s private/public gambling casino, you might say.

Remember those salad days, Oh, chaste one, when we celebrated a“Rapist for President,” and it was so cute?
So, audacious. So, awesome. So, grating. So... American!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian C. Dawkins Moore
• Release date: Dec 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005327606

Ian C. Dawkins Moore

Ian C. Dawkins Moore was born under the sign of Aries in the year of the Tiger. He survived a British boarding school, the jock world of football hooliganism, hitch-hiking across the Sahara desert, and the two-tone culture of American racism. He is the published author of over 20 books, and he can still see the funny side of life- Be Well & Enjoy!

Book preview

I turned a corner - a door opened.

I had no money - a friend filled my pockets.

I read the paper - there was THE job I wanted.

I stopped trying and everything happened for me!

Who can we explain the mystery?

of letting go, of giving up, of following the heart?

Who can explain the faith of helplessness?

of chronic cynicism, of learning to pray again?

Through my chasing years, harvesting knowledge,

nobody told me I would feel stronger when I

dumped the load.

Nobody told me that all my hungry desperations

would fuse into a magical intent.

Nobody told me that falling in love with love,

would be the key to mystery’s garden.

It’s ALL a mystery.

And this is Love

And this is love

folding the Kleenex and

fussing at the edges of memories.

from childhood to parenthood, we feel

the tactile taste of giving that

smothers all reason.

We long for kisses of fleeting moments -

calling out for another drink of insanity.

For love opens us up

to a world of giving without receiving.

a world of passion that sucks

us dry with caresses.

For to love is to give – but also to receive

– but not only to the ones we give too!

Love is to be buried in the

hopelessness of caring, and

pray we stay in such an intoxicated state.

FOR MARY

In the gentle rains of dawn

your cool words fluttered across

my song-filled heart of gathering rainbows.

Your fragrant prose blossoms observe

from the river banks of sorrows the

ripping circles dissolving into lost summers.

The stirring heat saturates the hours of promises

left behind when youth outgrew its

fierce presence of giving devolved of taking.

Lifting itself up now with sad backward glances

as a soul eventually blossomed into the

maturity of faith through the hunger pains of hope.

PURPOSE

What is it? Is it inner or outer?

Can it be eaten, worn, or chewed?

Will, it protects us from the doubter,

will it hide us from the flue?

For purpose lives in our future

not here today, but gone tomorrow,

maybe it's the dance cachucha

or maybe it’s time we just borrow.

Most want their purpose to be shown

‘cause ego is locked in their heads,

which leaves the soul lost and unknown.

And their true purpose is empty and dead.

Love, all say, makes the world go around

but humans continue to be blind,

to wars and crimes that continue unbound

what good then comes from the unkind?

The Hindus tell us it's just fate.

The Christians tell us to just wait.

The Muslims tell us to just pray.

While Buddha tells us to just stay.

I take comfort in poetics

to inform delight with pleasure.

I avoid stupid politics,

for happiness is my main treasure.

FREE WILL

From breath to heart to sense

feelings of aliveness

flood our body’s presence

feeding ego’s largess.

But from whence comes this largess?

a star-spangled space force

a terrestrial divine beingness?

or breath’s simple recourse?

All believe that will is free

that God gave the rainbow sign

to make life a happy spree,

but what of those broken spines?

For a killer isn’t free,

nor a housewife, priest or child,

all are trapped by fate’s quay

and destiny’s stepchild.

Our life force comes from inside,

through sinews and blood bequeathed,

from the earthly base that coincides

with our simple spirit of breath.

ROMANTICS

I live in a state of vibrant aloneness,

I’ve no need to chase dark threads of fickle

shadows for desperate passionate hopelessness.

I’m in love with life, and it’s so magical.

I was parted from my true love in my youth,

Her parents despised my pigmentation.

I only fit the Anglo’s mode of the uncouth

Though I had the noble pedigree of patience.

I’ve seen lovers searching from door to door

I’ve seen their passions oozing across the floor

Romantic love is such a flimsy bore

‘cause true love come only from the core.

I don’t fight with haters, I let their sins impeach?

The world will move on despite their antics

I reject such games of Love, they’re for leaches

I protect my heart for only true romantics.

THE WILL TO LIFE

The will to love and life

divides itself in three

it helps to avoid strife

if you learn the golden key.

The wise have always said

over many ancient years

failure to use your head

creates a lifetime of