Axiomatic Economics by Victor Aguilar: Free Online Short Stories and Poetry

Free Online Poetry - Some of It Actually Rhymes!

Are the Humans Warlike?

Orbiting the oxygen-rich blue-green planet,
We peer through gun sights, trying to read it.
Are the humans warlike? Be they tigers or sheep,
Either way, the fact is: Their planet, we need it.

Know your enemy and know yourself – Sun Tzu.
To learn about the humans we’ll capture one,
Test his strength, his courage and his mettle.
Find out what they’re made of; that will be fun!

We hover over the city, looking for one alone,
There’s our prey, walking through a cemetery!
God! He fights like a demon! Eight of us fall.
But we tie him up and to our ship we do carry,

The human as he writhes in our grasp. An ell!
Muscles bulging, he strains against his binds,
Blood pours out as the cords dig into his wrists,
But he pulls even harder. His teeth he grinds.

We bring him to the CAT scan machine,
An advanced version that can read minds,
It looks for thoughts of surrender, of fear;
But hatred, fury and rage are all that it finds.

Snapping his binds he leaps free of the CAT scan,
Striking in every direction he lays ten of us low,
Our spaceship is splattered with blood and gore!
Stealing a shuttle, he returns to the planet below.

Half of our crew dead, we abandon the planet,
The humans are too fierce! They can keep it.
Our species has conquered many planets before,
But not this one; to our home world we beat it.

The sun is rising as he races across the cemetery,
He had wanted to stay and kill the rest of the crew,
But, being a vampire, he had to return to his grave,
The aliens didn’t know it, but Earth has its monsters too.

The God of the Pit Fighters

They call us heathens and savages; a cruel, cruel people,
It’s true, in Sodom, there’s not a single church steeple.

We like to stage pit fights, that’s our only real passion,
Two dogs or two slaves; if they won’t fight, we lash ’em!

Top dollar paid, the call went out far and wide,
Bring us your best; mere men and dogs we deride.

A trader offered us the ultimate pit fighter for sale,
It will fight ten dogs? We thought it was a tall tale.

A great striped beast was brought to us in heavy chains,
We should have killed it then, if we’d had any brains.

In a twelve-foot-deep pit the terrible beast was placed,
It will fight ten dogs; with whiskey the crowd was braced.

Instead of fighting, it jumped straight up into the crowd,
Excitement turned to terror. The screams were so loud!

In a blur it went through us like a striped chainsaw,
Cutting in every direction; talk about shock and awe!

One man, Lot, left town; before the beast he cowered,
But his wife went back for her jewels and was devoured.

Now the tiger lives in the woods and stalks us for food,
They say it’s punishment for our sins, for being so lewd.

So we’ve built a church and we pray to the Lord in the sky,
We’ve got to do something – anything – before we all die.

What do you think? Will the God of Abraham save us,
From the God of the Pit Fighters, who does crave us?

The Slurp Monster Cometh

Little Zoe was twelve; so cute, vivacious and sweet,
She loved pistachio ice cream; that was a real treat.

But what she liked best was playing around the pool,
“Be careful,” her mother urged, “don’t act the fool!”

So energetic! Around the pool chairs she would dart,
And tell tasteless jokes, trying to rhyme the word “fart.”

“Don’t run so fast! And don’t forget your sunscreen!”
Her mom warned, “There are many dangers I’ve seen.”

Zoe’s mom was such a worrywart, always in a dither,
Yet right under her nose, a horrible monster did slither.

A powerful suction device scoured the bottom of the pool,
It vacuumed up all the dirt and debris; an ingenious tool.

Zoe fell asleep in a pool chair. “Don’t get a sunburn, dear,”
Said her mother, blind to the fact that the end was near.

The slurp monster reared out of the pool on its plastic hose,
And sucked poor Zoe’s brains out, right through her nose.

Now Zoe stares empty-eyed while she sucks on her thumb,
She does not hear her mother’s cries; she is deaf and dumb.

Nothing ever changes for poor Zoe; every day is the same,
“Zoe the Zombie,” she’s called. Yeah, that’s her new name.

The Master Debater

IF premise, THEN conclusion!
You see a flaw in my reasoning?
Well, that would be an illusion.

My arguments are more than sound,
Before the logician extraordinaire,
My opponents all fall to the ground!

No one can beat me in logical discourse,
I pick their arguments apart one by one,
My polemics are an unstoppable force!

Where their theory stood is now a crater,
Exposed as frauds! But why do they laugh,
When I call myself a master debater?

Our Improbable Home

A little blue marble, lost in the vastness of space,
As inconspicuous as a penny dropped in a lake,
Yet it provides a home for the human race.

In a nearly circular orbit; what’s the chance of that?
If the gas giants were orbiting near or widely elliptical,
Our little rock would be ejected like kicking a cat.

We have a thin atmosphere while Venus, the same size,
Has crushing pressure and a runaway greenhouse effect,
Which makes it uninhabitable; any living thing there dies.

We would too if we had not been struck by another planet,
Which created the moon and blew away our atmosphere,
When it hit the Earth a glancing blow, circled and did ram it.

A square blow would have shattered our brittle world,
While only the most precise angle could accomplish this.
What’s the chance such a thing through space was hurled?

If the moon were not there our axis would be unstable,
The seasons would vary wildly if our planet tilted over more,
It is only by holding steady at 23° that life here is enabled.

Had the oceans frozen over, the ice would reflect the light,
And never thaw. If they ever boiled away, the clouds
Would hold the heat in and never condense. That’s right.

Either extreme, freezing or boiling, cannot be reversed.
Yet for billions of years we have walked this tightrope,
Between 32° to 212° ocean temps and avoided the worst.

It takes billions of years for intelligence to slowly evolve,
Had this been interrupted by a large meteor or irradiation,
Re-starting evolution, then humans would not be here at all.

Many improbable events combined to make Earth so nice,
The chance of failure was immeasurably close to 100%,
The galaxy isn't big enough for this to happen twice.

Temptation

If wine tasted like pee and chocolate like dirt,
We wouldn’t get drunk, we wouldn’t get hurt.

If girls had nary a bump under their shirt,
We wouldn’t be tempted when they flirt.

Yet to these things I am always alert,
My downfall – alas! – I cannot avert.

It’s really not my fault at all, you see,
God put these temptations before me.

I cannot stop myself! Blame Him instead!
My eyes are spinning round in my head!

I’m so very, very tired of trying to stay away,
Temptation! I can no longer hold you at bay.

Come Out To Play

Girls and boys, come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
And come with your playfellows into the street.

Crawl out the window, climb down the drain,
Run away, run away, race down the dark lane.
Baby sitter, baby sitter, bring the infant along,
Hurry child, hurry! Can't you hear my sweet song?

Mother says to Father, where have the children gone?
Don't bother me now, they'll be home before long.
But Daughter went out with her little brother in tow,
Perhaps we should follow their tracks in the snow?

I work all the day long, can't I get a minute of rest?
Our son is with his sister, I'm sure she knows best.
One of the other parents is supervising their play,
Don't worry, they won't let any of the kids go astray.

But the street is empty, I don't know where they've gone,
And just before they left, I heard the most eerie song.
We should go look for them now, if it's all the same,
In a minute, says Father, after the football game.

But it was too late, the children were gone for good,
They had all vanished, from the whole neighborhood.
Where had Daughter gone? Did a pedophile take her?
No, no, that was not it. It was the sausage maker.

Werewolf!

I approach on my hind legs like a human,
Though I cannot help leaning forward,
Ready to pounce, on the balls of my feet,
The man cries like a baby when he’s gored.

Why don’t they run and save themselves?
Covered with fur; long teeth in a wolf’s snout,
It must be clear that I am the werewolf they fear,
Yet I move through the city, walking freely about.

A werewolf stalks the city, the newspapers report,
Bloody corpses torn apart with teeth and claws,
Many have heard him at night, howling at the moon,
Yet I walk down the street and they do not even pause.

I yank a pedestrian into an alley when no one is looking,
Breaking his neck as I go, I pull him behind a dumpster,
Powerful jaws snap bones; my fur is splattered with blood,
If only he’d seen I was in wolf form, he’d have run for sure.

It is daytime; I’m back to my human form. I turn on the TV,
One of my kills was captured by a surveillance camera,
It shows a wolf with matted black fur and a pointed snout,
Tearing some poor girl to pieces; her name was Tamera.

Bored, I turn off the set, do my laundry and take a shower,
It’s been a long night without sleep, so I retire to my bed,
That afternoon I’m arrested. “If you knew you’d been filmed,
Why didn’t you run?” I see now: the werewolf is in my head.

Unlike in the Movies

Unlike in the movies, there was no slapping of leather,
Each man was ready to fight and held his gun in his hand,
One came to town from the west and one from the east,
Walking in the street to where they’d make their stand.

Unlike in the movies, there was no ominous dialogue,
No denunciations of “varmint” or talk of high noon,
They opened fire as soon as they came within sight,
Neither had come to talk; they came to kill – and soon.

Unlike in the movies, neither man carried a big revolver,
One man had a .45 Colt 1911, an expensive Army gun,
The other had a .22; a snake-killer and rabbit-getter,
He carried it every day; the 1911 was bought for fun.

Unlike in the movies, the fight was not over with one shot,
.22-guy had one hand in his pocket, the other held out,
He was a marksman; he hit every shot, six of them in all,
.45-guy charged, firing has pistol fast and with a shout.

He missed every shot he fired, then looked to his chest,
Finding six bullet holes, he rolled his eyes and fell flat,
He lay on his back and blinked at the bright sun overhead,
The other man calmly reloaded, then approached like a cat.

And, like the cat, curiosity killed him; inspecting his work,
He stood over the fallen man, who then fired his last round,
People are durable; six .22 bullets will not disable them,
But a .45 slug will; he was dead before he hit the ground.

The people crowding the sidewalks came forward to help,
A little boy among them; about five years old at the time,
They applied bandages and antiseptic to the man’s chest,
He was choking on his blood; “I can’t breathe” he did mime.

It was not the holes in his skin but the bullets in his lungs,
If only they had cleared his airway and laid him on his side,
He might have lived – the little boy knew what to do – but,
He drowned. Because the child did not speak up, he died.

An Account of a Gunfight

Some men went to fight some other men,
I’m not sure why, but shots were exchanged,
“I’m hit!” cried one among the attacking party,
So they carried him away; confusion reigned.

There was panic and the smell of fear in the air,
“I’m bleeding! Oh, please hurry!” he did beg,
And they did hurry, as fast as they could go,
Each of his comrades holding an arm or a leg.

It was three miles to the nearest house,
Asking for help and telling stories of strife,
They laid him out on the kitchen table,
And then boiled water to sterilize a knife.

“Where is the bullet lodged?” they asked.
“Here,” he sobbed, pointing to his rear,
They took off his pants and held him down,
If their surgery failed, the end was near!

“That’s not blood,” their neighbor observed,
And burst out laughing as it all became clear.

An Indian Came Through Town

An Indian came through town begging for food,
He was carrying a homemade bow and arrow,
The cowboys just laughed; they were so rude.

“You can't kill anything with that,” they said,
“Why do you carry it? Is it only for show?
“You must just scavenge what is already dead.”

But he insisted that he could kill with his bow,
“Can you kill a cow?” they asked. “Yes I can.”
So they went to the butcher shop with him in tow.

“Kill it,” they ordered, but the Indian said no,
“You must make her run so her ribs spread apart,
“Run her as fast as she'll go, it needn't be slow.”

A slash and the cow jumped forward with a start,
The Indian drew his bow and took careful aim,
Then shot the running cow right through the heart.

The cow fell dead in its tracks. “You're a winner!”
The cowboys yelled and slapped him on the back,
Then took him to the saloon and bought him dinner.

Ode to a Ka-Bar Knife

There is only one I can count on in times of strife,
Resting quietly in your sheath, I won't disturb you,
I'll let you repose; sleep, until I'm ready to take a life.

Oh my Ka-Bar! You are the essence of my life force,
Cold and hard and sharp; you have purity of purpose,
To those you encounter; it's certain death, of course.

"Give me yo money, bitch, o you gonna die!" says the thief.
You strike like a serpent, plunging deep into his heart.
Ejaculation! My pent-up lust is spent; what a relief!

"But I'm just a mugger, in the parking lots of malls."
"I know," I wonder why he tells me what is obvious.
"You didn't have to kill me!" the dying man bawls.

He falls. Like a geyser, blood spurts out of his chest,
I watch, fascinated. Each spurt is weaker and weaker,
Then it's over. Oh my Ka-Bar! You're the best!

Cap’n Queen Plundered the Caribbean Sea

Cap’n Queen plundered the Caribbean Sea,
To merchant shipping she was a dire curse,
In her wake no one was left to tell the tale,
Fortunately, she wrote it all down in verse!

They swarmed aboard a ship, knives in their teeth,
“Attach a rope,” she ordered, “so we can tow ’em,”
“Won’t we loot it and burn it?” asked the 1st mate,
“Not now,” said Queen, “I’m busy writing a poem!”

The Marines were sent forth, heavily armed,
But from one wreck to another they were led,
“She’s so elusive!” they cried out in despair,
“If only there was a way to get into her head.”

“I think I’ve got it,” announced one bright lad,
“A trap we’ll set for Queen while we lie in wait,
“She’ll be stuck fast, like a fly in a spider’s web.
“I’m sure it’ll work; I’ve been studying her of late.”

Queen’s crew met no resistance as they seized a ship,
The Chechnya it was called; Queen wrote that down.
“It’s the Marines! Run!” But Queen was frozen in place,
“Nothing rhymes with Chechnya,” she said with a frown.

Note: Cap’n Queen is the poetess Barbara Lee Conover.

All Kinds of Bitches

There are all kinds of bitches.
You can find them at the mall,
Most will come to you if you just call.
There’s the lonely bitch with hungry eyes,
The petite bitch who’s just the right size,
And even the horny bitch who on her back lies.

There are all kinds of bitches.
There are some that give good head,
And some that are quite dead.
There’s the vampire bitch who never dies,
And the zombie bitch who’ll someday rise,
But now lies in her grave and putrefies.

There are all kinds of bitches.
Some are plain and some as pretty as a doll,
But I love and adore them, one and all.
I love the stony bitch who never cries,
The prostitute bitch that the church vilifies,
And even the assassin bitch with mafia ties.

There are all kinds of bitches.
I love them all and think they’re swell,
Though there’s one that’s bound for hell.
Vindictive and spiteful, she can only tell lies,
That’s the lesbian bitch who can’t stand guys,
And with whom the devil surely fries.

Tequila!

Oh tequila, my throat you burned,
But heroism awaits; so I have learned.

With you inside of me, I can fly!
I become invincible; I cannot die.

I leap straight through a pane of glass,
The bouncer comes? Ha! I’ll kick his ass!

You are my strength, my armor and my crutch,
For without a shot of tequila, I’m in deep Dutch.

Like Samson, whose strength was all in his hair,
Sober, I am nothing; a weakling, full of despair.

Mr. Munch

Mr. Munch's physique was all wrong,
His head was shaped like a lightbulb,
And his fingers were much too long,

They wouldn't let him on the train,
"No lightbulb-headed people allowed!"
Just because of his oversized brain.

Discrimination it surely did seem,
The passengers stared at Mr. Munch
On the platform as he let out a scream.

But the train left the station anyway,
The conductor laughed and called out,
"Head like a lightbulb, you have to stay!"

The Scream – Edvard Munch

Spreading the Seed

Spreading the seed, that's my only creed,
No plans to get married – I'm in it for fun!
They call me a cad, but I think it’s really rad,
To have knocked up every girl under the sun.

“I love you” I say, to a different girl every day,
Little Victors are now as thick as sewer rats.
My progeny can be found, in towns all around,
But don't think I'm going to feed all those brats!

“How will I pay my rent?” each girl does lament,
With tears in her eyes as she tells her sad story.
I'm to house these bitches? On my meager riches?
There are so many girls now, I'd need a dormitory!

I have a vision - you could even call it my mission,
Impregnating girls left and right, that's my game.
A millennium hence, linguists will try to make sense,
Of how Victor became the most common name.

Click here to read some poetry about our current economic crisis.