Unburdening

Mundane and quiet, Saturday has passed.
Some friends are re-arranging, others purge,
Well knowing that there's little that will last
And will survive that never-ending urge
To get new stuff, replace what has grown stale,
And keep up. Summer's fading, and the change
Will do us good. Just one more quick yard sale
And then we're fine, right? Doesn't it seem strange
This churning? But it's what we've always done.
We shed our burdens gladly, breathe in free
And fresh new air, but then, because it's fun
And sexy, start accumulating. Whee!
But one day all of this will have to stop;
Another must dispose of what we drop.
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SONNET RANT: In Which Capitalists Are Rebuked When They Complain About Capitalism

Free enterprise, what makes this country great,
Say many, but there always comes a time
When jingoists and their ilk must partake
Of their own words, when they cry "it's a crime
That this guy's charging me so much for work
He's done for me today!" and when said day
Is one of rest, when he was home. That "jerk"
Is just as free as you to spend, his way,
His precious summer hours. And this July,
This Fourth, well it's a holiday for all.
Yes, your emergency sure sucks, but I
Don't see why that means that, when you must call
For help and interrupt another's fun
That he can't charge you more. That's freedom, son.

In Which My Preliminary Reaction To A Popular New Book Makes Me Queasy

TV has soaked up free time, it is true,
But I am nervous as I start to read
Clay Shirky's newest tome. I tend to view
New books with generosity but need
To ponder this. It's not that this book's bad;
His own excitement that we can do more
Than sit there now, alone and watching, sad,
Unworthy of our heritage, is, for
A moment quite contagious, but then he
Goes on to cheer how our free time could hence
Be harnessed for collective projects -- see,
That's great, until that view gets too intense
And I'm reviled should I choose not to play
As I'm expected to, a given day.


Epmire Avenue EAVB_JRYBRYMDIN

In Which I Bid Facebook A Not-So-Fond Farewell

This has been coming for a long time now.
One straw always looks innocent and light
Until one bows 'neath many. I'll allow
I bore more than I should have; I'll not fight
With anyone o'er what it finally took.
The ratio of benefit against
Annoyance long has caused me, yes, to look
Askance at Facebook; I for long have sensed
Someday I'd leave it for good reason. Schemes
With "features" that just mock my privacy
And open up abuses despots' dreams
Could barely outline, all add up to be
Not worth it to play chess or simply chat.
There's other places where I can do that.

SESTINA SATURDAY: In Which I Muse On FREE, Copyright, And Work

A weekend? Not for me; I go to work
As though it were a weekday. I'm not free
As others are. This obligation's mine:
To be here when I'm needed. It's their right,
Those who do pay my wages so to choose.
I sell my time, exchange it for my pay.

But what I do, the toil for which they pay
Is not what I regard as my life's work.
My livelihood is separate; I choose
To keep my purpose clear and my mind free
Pursuing what I love, as is my right,
But never treating my soul as a mine.

While others' paths are diff'rent, quite, from mine:
They trade direct their musings for their pay,
I do not find, for me, that this is right.
My job allows me to pursue my work
As I see fit, and thus I write care-free,
When, what and how thus just for me to choose.

And there is this, too, in just how I choose
To publish and to share this work of mine:
You, reader, see this poetry for free.
I don't depend on willingness to pay
And make a gift of my improving work
Which you accept, or don't, as is your right.

In honesty, the thought of copyright
On this is really not something I choose
Or else I would not blog; I'd hoard my work
Until I found a way to profit. Mine!
I'd cry, you cannot read until you pay!
And this diminishes what should be free.

We once believed that all mankind was free,
And born that way, each endowed with his rights.
Now more and more it seems we're asked to pay
In various coins, surrenders. Do we choose
This actively? I think not. Friends of mine,
You let things slide 'cause stopping them is work.

I gladly pay for good stuff that was free,
In gratitude for work that's been done right.
But still insist the right to choose is mine.