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Recorded Reading (3:18): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/s7m7b9wks8wgefzqvg17r/Visions-Funny-Money.wav?rlkey=o3cv8c6uymi554pxha4v058gp&dl=0
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(To get full value from the poems in this series, begin at
… then scan introductory notes for “Visions of Nova Terra I” through “IV.”
It is a global economic fact that the military budget of our country alone could feed, house, clothe and educate every citizen of the planet. It’s also a fact that fully one third of every years’ global food crop is lost to carelessness and graft ~ while only one quarter of its people are hungry.
So. The funds necessary to sane planetary administration are there already, even before extraterrestrial contributions begin ~ they just need to be organized with a good will on everyone’s part ~ or what we know, in individuals, as adult behavior.
Just think ~ we who, according to the theories outlined in this poem series, find ourselves suddenly surrounded by people who’ve matured enough to realize that PEACEFUL COOPERATION ACTUALLY MAKES VERY GOOD ECONOMIC SENSE!!! ~ what will we do with all the other military budgets! And then the private monetary military budgets! Fences, guards, guard dogs, guns, lights, lawsuits!…
… And the technology described here exists today among us, in rudimentary form, already)
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Visions of Nova Terra ~ Funny Money
Since all of us have all we need
To profit most are blind
We’ve left the days of usury’s
Motivation behind
So we have extra energy
To one another to be kind
On some of us from time to time
Inspiration fall
About a lovely way in which
One might aid we all
That’s when for funds upon
An autoteller make a call
That autoteller set up is
To read our DNA
To find our motivation
Is or is not what we say
And if it is — sure, we can have
The money that we want today!
There are no thieves or footpads
Around that teller lurk
Even if they took the card
They couldn’t make it work
To leave contented home, that thief
Would truly be berserk
And we have many fewer
Sad and crazy people, now
That individuality
All happily allow
Relieved of constant panic
Between every paycheck how
To feed and house those treasured ones
For whom Old Terra never cared
Ever by anxiety
About their functioning impaired
For their fate, just as for our own,
Unendingly scared
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My Poetry 
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