For S.S. and A.C.
I dreamt I was slowing
And the reaper,
You know, the grim one,
Was gaining,
And I would be harvested
Before I held the new edition
Of our book,
Caressed the artful cover,
Saddened by my fate.
But then I woke
And understood!
The volumes hadn’t come
Because every single one
Had already been sold
To bookstores
At every compass point—
I, gladdened by success.
Like that drunk Li Po,
I wondered which vision
Was the insight,
Which the dream?
(8/22/14)
The last pizza slice
Aromatic, inviting,
Sits on the table.
Which of the two will grab it
Despite the other’s fierce scorn?
(8/16/14)
What animated
Thoughts roil the brains of two men
Viewing that last slice?
What philosophical view
Empowers the man who wins?
(8/16/14)
Two yeshiva boys
Eyed the last lush tasty slice.
One snatched it and bit.
The other snarled, “impolite!”
The first smiled—“and you’re moral.”
(8/16/14)
With apologies to W.S.
Famously, all the world’s a stage, complete
With exits and entrances, absurdity,
Hate, love, the bitter and the cloying sweet,
Heroism, cowardice, piety.
Famously, we who attend know quite well
Life is a tale told by an idiot.
Last week, one of Gino’s lithe student belles
Smiled, greeted me, then put me on the spot.
“Gino told me you were a professor—
What did you teach?” “English lit—preached with vim—“
Then I introduced a stylish dresser—
“And this, my actor friend, is red-haired Jim.”
Her sharp intellect surveyed the factors—
And she replied: “all of us are actors.”
(8/10/14)
It’s mid-July;
The lotus plants
Burst into bloom.
Joan’s golden yarrows
Catch the eye
Of those who stroll
Past our front yard.
A miniature rose bush
Just one foot high
Displays a half dozen
Breathtaking blooms,
White, with subtle tinted edges,
And the various dahlias
Radiate
Beyond description.
Thirty innocents are murdered
At a Baghdad apartment.
Palestine keeps lobbing
Useless missiles into Israel,
Inviting air strikes
Leaving hundreds dead.
In central Africa
Christians and Muslims
Systematically slaughter
Each other.
Seventy folks were shot
In Chicago
Over the holiday weekend.
Everywhere, inspired zealots,
Responding to orders
From their one true god,
Kill the infidels.
Meanwhile
Regal oaks, stately elms,
Weeping willows
Overarch
Lotus, rose, yarrow, dahlia—
Incandescent, stunning—
Wordless poems.
Breaking news: car bomb
Kills 89 in Afghanistan.
Malaysian plane shot down
Over Ukraine for no discernible reason.
295 dead.
More wordless poems.
(7/15/14)
Suicide bombers, headliners,
Sacrifice to be diviner—
Get seventy-two
Fair virgins to screw
Who may not possess vaginas!
Those martyrs seeking orgasm
In Jannah they hardly can fathom,
Focus their wits,
Explode into bits—
Which part gets to feel the grand spasm?
(6/28/14)
