I am Steve Heins, eighty-one years, a spark in the vast fire of being,
No college degrees to hang on my wall, no parchment to claim my worth,
Yet Columbia whispered, two French courses shy, and I learned from the world’s own books.
I have been a small-town boy, dirt under my nails from golf, chasing greased pigs through county fairs,
Six times I won, the crowd roaring, the mud my crown, my youth a wild, unbridled song.
I have swung clubs as a scratch golfer, danced on basketball courts, my body a rhythm of motion,
I have drifted, interstate highways my veins, several truck stop restaurants my temples, high plains and low my congregation.
Then, Big-city college man, I claimed the NYC neon pulse, skyscrapers my stars, Yet I wandered, self-indulgent, a distant father, my heart sometimes lost in the haze.
Auto-didact, I stormed Ivy halls, no gatekeeper to bar my way,
Scholar, student, historian, I devoured books, art, music—pages my kin, symphonies my breath.
I have been a poet, words my chisel, carving truth from the stone of days,
A poetry aficionado, lover of verses that sing the soul’s quiet and its storms.
Lost soul, I’ve roamed, yet found my place in the vastness,
Eighty-one years, I stand, a blizzard of one, my life a canvas of collisions, still painting.
2. Career
I am a business writer, economist, my pen a torch in the dark of markets,
Researcher, communicator, I weave stories for the weary, the hopeful, the seeking.
Wall Street knew me, mutual fund communications, shaping wealth’s pulse,
I spoke to traders, to dreamers, my words a bridge between chaos and clarity.
I am the Blizzard of One, storming broadband’s gates, defying Goliath’s shadow,
Internet Open Access my banner, freedom my cry, a digital dawn for every voice.
Practical environmentalist, I named myself, no dogma to chain my sight,
Energy efficiency my craft, lighting the world with a realist’s spark.
Chicago Climate Exchange, I was there, building markets for carbon’s weight,
Paris, I stood in its ancient halls, speaking to the EU’s schemers, my vision for emissions a map.
Lobbyist, I walked fifty states, D.C.’s marble my battleground,
For natural gas, for nuclear’s hum, I fought, my voice a gadfly’s sting.
Technology theorist, I dreamed in clouds, saw the future in circuits and code,
Bakken Basin, I spoke, The Weekly Word my stage, Professor Heins my name.
With experts—geologists, physicists, skeptics—they joined me, their truths a chorus,
We broke the noise, our podcast a fire, burning for sane energy, for human thriving.
ESG I weigh, fair and balanced, my skeptic’s eye unfooled by greenwashed hymns,
Political organizer, pain in the ass, I stir the pot, I wake the sleeping.
Tens of thousand articles, my ink a river, The Word Merchant’s flood across nations,
Curator, I gather truths, feeding allies—scientists, journalists—with light against the dark.
Self-financed, unbowed, at eighty-one, I am the storm that never quiets,
Sane energy my job, my cause, my heart’s unyielding vow.
This is my confession, my map, my open book,
Steve Heins, poet, fighter, a life of words and wars, still singing.
1. Life
I am Steve Heins, eighty-one years, a spark in the vast fire of being,
No college degrees to hang on my wall, no parchment to claim my worth,
Yet Columbia whispered, two French courses shy, and I learned from the world’s own books.
I have been a small-town boy, dirt under my nails from golf, chasing greased pigs through county fairs,
Six times I won, the crowd roaring, the mud my crown, my youth a wild, unbridled song.
I have swung clubs as a scratch golfer, danced on basketball courts, my body a rhythm of motion,
I have drifted, interstate highways my veins, several truck stop restaurants my temples, high plains and low my congregation.
Then, Big-city college man, I claimed the NYC neon pulse, skyscrapers my stars, Yet I wandered, self-indulgent, a distant father, my heart sometimes lost in the haze.
Auto-didact, I stormed Ivy halls, no gatekeeper to bar my way,
Scholar, student, historian, I devoured books, art, music—pages my kin, symphonies my breath.
I have been a poet, words my chisel, carving truth from the stone of days,
A poetry aficionado, lover of verses that sing the soul’s quiet and its storms.
Lost soul, I’ve roamed, yet found my place in the vastness,
Eighty-one years, I stand, a blizzard of one, my life a canvas of collisions, still painting.
2. Career
I am a business writer, economist, my pen a torch in the dark of markets,
Researcher, communicator, I weave stories for the weary, the hopeful, the seeking.
Wall Street knew me, mutual fund communications, shaping wealth’s pulse,
I spoke to traders, to dreamers, my words a bridge between chaos and clarity.
I am the Blizzard of One, storming broadband’s gates, defying Goliath’s shadow,
Internet Open Access my banner, freedom my cry, a digital dawn for every voice.
Practical environmentalist, I named myself, no dogma to chain my sight,
Energy efficiency my craft, lighting the world with a realist’s spark.
Chicago Climate Exchange, I was there, building markets for carbon’s weight,
Paris, I stood in its ancient halls, speaking to the EU’s schemers, my vision for emissions a map.
Lobbyist, I walked fifty states, D.C.’s marble my battleground,
For natural gas, for nuclear’s hum, I fought, my voice a gadfly’s sting.
Technology theorist, I dreamed in clouds, saw the future in circuits and code,
Bakken Basin, I spoke, The Weekly Word my stage, Professor Heins my name.
With experts—geologists, physicists, skeptics—they joined me, their truths a chorus,
We broke the noise, our podcast a fire, burning for sane energy, for human thriving.
ESG I weigh, fair and balanced, my skeptic’s eye unfooled by greenwashed hymns,
Political organizer, pain in the ass, I stir the pot, I wake the sleeping.
Tens of thousand articles, my ink a river, The Word Merchant’s flood across nations,
Curator, I gather truths, feeding allies—scientists, journalists—with light against the dark.
Self-financed, unbowed, at eighty-one, I am the storm that never quiets,
Sane energy my job, my cause, my heart’s unyielding vow.
This is my confession, my map, my open book,
Steve Heins, poet, fighter, a life of words and wars, still singing.
"I subscribe to Niall Ferguson's Substack for the links to Prager University videos."