I am pleased to announce that Zumwalt’s poem, “The Threat of Virtue,” was just published today in the highly respected Society of Classical Poets. This poem is a necessary indictment of the People’s Republic of China’s (not a government by, for, or of the people) systemic persecution of Falun Gong practitioners. Zumwalt effectively contrasts Falun Gong’s spiritual virtues of Truthfulness, Compassion, and Forbearance with the ongoing state censorship, forced conformity, and organ harvesting perpetrated by the criminal PRC.
Appreciate any comments you leave on their website, particularly those expressing your opposition to these atrocious actions by the current mainland Chinese government.
She glowers like the towers telling our past hours to strangers passing peddling private wares of seeding past affairs shoot the blaster pass the mustard
laughing choking not disclosing distastefully hoping resolution teases like a ten buck hooker a textbook burner
wishing off evil thoughts with wards of destruction
in frantic future non-operatives mask reality like drifts of mud tracked on Sybil's high polished floor.
pound the telephone sharply spinerating – generating – expecting raise roofs of village flashers swiftly fending mentally attiring tremulous trumpeting a sour-sounding mellowing hollowing “carving” miracle mecca with a teaspoon and an ‘e’ coupon. pass the bumper shape the shark fin strumpet bakers lower floors of bundled tenements friskily sending incompetently mending revolving in time shaping destiny like the rivers of mildew in the august of the dusking mountains of equinox.
— zumwalt (1981) (When first discovered in 2011, I did not post this particular item here, but due to increased interest in Zumwalt’s works, adding now. Is it a draft, is it a final version? As always, Zumwalt has declined to comment, gently reminding me that a poem is what the reader makes of it.)
Weighing in at 140 pounds and dwindling, barely five-foot-something, known for their work ethic, is 92% of the American population, some angry, some brainwashed, some apathetic, some simply perplexed: Let’s hear it for the Plebs!!!
Weighing in at — excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve just been informed that weight is not public information — weighing in at undisclosed, holding 80% of wealth in the stock market, ever increasing in size and influence, are America’s billionaires, hungry for any additional victory they can achieve: Let’s hear it for the Modern Monarchs!
The bell rings!
Before a single Pleb can protest, the Modern Monarchs surgically start to remove sensible regulations protecting the Plebs. The jab lands clean before the Plebs can parry.
The Monarchs taunt, and rapidly shift to Public Policy Tilting, cutting funds for infrastructure, environmental protection, healthcare and education, world health and food programs, dissolving USAID.
What a show from the Monarchs: They duck, pivot, bob and wave with their effective cross-arm defense and their backsteps against fair taxation, leaving the confused Plebs bewildered, exhausted, holding the proverbial bag, sinking to the canvas from its weight.
The Plebs are tough and get to their feet!
The Plebs square off again with the start of a one-two combination, but the Monarchs slip and roll defending with legal leverage, using lawfare to swamp the Plebs, brandishing immunity regulations, delaying accountability, countering and elbow blocking the IRS from pursuing audits, withholding money rightfully owed to the Plebs!
The Plebs are stunned, groggy, wobbling, staggering, but hanging in there dishing out a $5 million penalty for fraud!
The Monarchs pull and counter with identical twins turning that 2022 lawsuit from the Commodity Futures Trading Commission into an apology, and a stunning reversal in favor of this Trump 2024 Campaign donor twosome!
The Monarchs are dominating this contest. Let’s be honest, folks: the Plebs have no chance!
The Monarchs, trained by the most expensive personal trainers, are 4000 times more likely to hold political office than the Plebs, and have the means to influence what they don’t hold, putting these Plebs at an insurmountable disadvantage!
The Monarchs trade in favors: a bill for a check, another seat in their pocket.
The bell rings to end round one.
The Plebs glance at their corner, but there is no stool, no medical attention, all of their allocated funds invested in gold stools for the Modern Monarchs.
The bell for round two rings.
The Plebs valiantly face the Monarchs again!
The Monarchs cuff, clip, smash, throwing haymakers at will!!!
How can the Plebs remain standing?
The Monarchs brazenly pound contributions at Congressmen, Senators, at local representatives: for every cent landed dollars are reaped!
The Plebs attempt to counter with a $47 donation. The swing is wild, but they keep swinging: Monarchs laughing off the few weak punches that land.
The Plebs remind the Monarchs that the Plebs paid for the arena, for the seats, for the ring!
The Monarchs remind the Plebs who paid for the referee!!!
The Plebs continue to sway, left to right, right to left, with no apparent sense of direction.
The ref takes a well-deserved nap.
The Monarchs brandish weapons: inflating slabs of beef, gas pump handles, coffee cans, medical bills, overdue rent, credit reports.
Pugilistically, the Plebs are in a deep deficit, unable to fight back the endless inflation.
The Monarchs land another uppercut and another! An endless flurry of complaints rains down on the Plebs’ credit profiles!
The Plebs are buckling at the knees but still keep to their feet!
A brutal combination from the Monarchs! Stop-work orders straight to the jaw! Supervisory exams — closed! Twenty-two pending actions against the banks — dropped! And a solar plexus punch to finish the round: fifteen hundred regulators dismissed in a single afternoon!
Ladies and Gentlemen, this is absolutely astonishing: The Plebs have lost billions and billions since the match has begun— and yet— are miraculously holding on!
Folks, it’s clear: the Monarchs look to end this match— but— the Plebs refuse to go down for the count.
On cue, the referee comes between the Plebs and the Monarchs, halts the match, holds up two fingers in front of the Plebs— and lands a three-punch combo, followed by a kidney punch, sending the Plebs to the floor!
The count begins.
Half the arena, Plebs themselves, join the count, cheering wildly!
The crowd certainly looks pleased! Their pockets may be empty but this once-in-a-lifetime entertainment allowed them to root for a real winner!
