Flowers of content
Do not need the mulch of wealth—
They bloom anywhere.

Financiers’ passion
And bottomless greed produce
Wealth, not happiness.

Hot running water,
A roof, a loaf of bread, wine—
Happiness defined.

How do billionaires
Revel in their insane wealth
Since they, too, must die?

No inheritance!
Let’s race without advantage
And see who prevails.
(2/20/14)

Throw some coins into that beggar’s cup
Even if the sod’s an addict drunk—
The act’s plain virtue.

The phone call from the American Diabetes Society—
“Help us end this horrible disease.”
OK—put me down for a hundred bucks—
I could use some virtue.
But wait!
205.7 million rolled in last year—
The fundraisers kept 29.2 per cent—
A mere 57.7 million—
And Larry, the CEO,
Brought home a salary
Of five hundred forty-five thousand nine hundred and fifty dollars.
Who knew diabetes could be so fulfilling?

Take a look at our beloved ASPCA—
You know,
The outfit that saves those sad yearning hounds
And bereft kittens
Shown, relentlessly, on our TVs.
Those tragic cats and dogs
Generated over a hundred forty-eight million
In virtuous donations.
But wait!
The fundraisers kept 52.7 million
Of those alms.
And Edwin? The CEO?
That lout drained five hundred sixty-six thousand
To help with the rent and the groceries.

For pity’s sake, ask yourself:
How do my donations serve?
Do they mitigate poverty,
Soften pain,
Enrich the arts,
Or contribute
To entrepreneurial,
Orgasmic riches?

Looking for virtue, self-esteem?
Give the drunk a few bucks—
Stop being played
Like an out-of-tune fiddle.
(1/11/14)

Tell me, what is it that we humans want?
Fish, insects, birds and animals, content
With food, with space, with nature’s bounteous flaunt,
Eschew our rage, and angst, our discontent.

Ten thousand feet of living space, toilets
On every floor, an Aston Martin
Parked at the door, a gleaming private jet,
Stuff piled on stuff—luxuries that hearten.

Despite our fulfilled needs, failure to gain
Outrageous wants engenders human pain.
(11/21/13)

I harbor no unfilled desire
Except, perhaps, a peaceful world.
I sometimes sense that I’m admired
But mostly feel that I am foiled.

My wife is kind and substantive,
Good humored, talented and bright.
I’ve everything a life can give
So why my morbid psychic night?

I query: why my splintered heart,
And why my spirit drowns in blight?
My unresponsive human spark
Flickers, but casts no useful light.

Perhaps it’s simple—my splenetics?
The product of bizarre genetics!
(5/22/13)

Truth told, most of our mail is pesky junk.
“Vote for me,” “Buy this,” “For god’s sake, send cash.”
The bills, of course, can instigate a funk,
And greeting cards a lush amusing splash.

But, dammit, mail is sometimes just plain bane,
And generates the baleful shout “gevalt”
(A term of art that means “excessive pain”),
And sends serenity into default.

Our real estate investment manager
Sent one thin missive just the other day.
“Perhaps a cushy offer,” I inferred—
Alas, his letter went the other way!

The best of all our holdings just collapsed—
Our rental income off eighteen percent!
A letter that announces news so bent,
Should bear a warning symbol colored black!
(9/18/12)

He hires hard-times Ruben to partner
Him for weekend doubles games—the Ruben
Who “stays” (term of art for the homeless corps)
Under a bush beneath a freeway span.

Ruben, though destitute, plays tennis well,
And that, of course, balloons Don’s spirits high.
It’s nice to win, enjoy that prideful swell
And, at the same time, help this needy guy.

And when the game is done, Don, graciously,
Invites his partner to his gleaming car—
Drives Rube back “home” in his trim Ferrari,
To resume his hopeless, rough safari.
(9/15/12)

Smarts, not strength,
Control the world—
“Kill regulation—
Foul, depraved!”
(Those masters suck
What we produce—
We’re, once again,
Enslaved.)

But times have changed,
Smarts must take heed,
Attend to need,
Wash away the mud—
Or desperation,
TNT,
Will draw the smart ones’
Blood.

It’s in the books
(Yeats knew it well)—
Jeroboam, Robespierre,
And Lenin found solutions.1
It’s just not smart
To suck us dry
And foment
Revolutions.
(5/10/12)
1William Butler Yeats theorized that history worked in 2000 year cycles (for every Christ, an anti-Christ waiting to be born). When King Solomon died, Prince Rehoboam went before Israel requesting that they accept his sovereignty over the United Monarchy of Judah and Israel. When Jeroboam complained that Solomon imposed unfair taxes on Israel, and asked for relief, Rehoboam threatened to increase their burden. His intransigence resulted in a civil war that destroyed the United Monarchy. Robespierre was an influential figure in the French revolution. You all know who Lenin was. Damn! It can’t be right when the footnote’s longer than the poem.

A wealthy friend of mine, endowed with wit,
Charm, a poetic ear and the moxie
To create partnerships that benefit
Multitudes, has, despite a bright, foxy

Merit, fallen on hard times recently.
Not his fault; these recessions do occur.
Fierce investors clamor incessantly
As slashed profits seep, drain, like tainted blood.

It’s no wonder then, sitting in that car,
Facing another day of fretful banks,
The wrath of those (really somewhat bizarre),
Despite the wealth for which they owe him thanks,

That he would, sighing, like to exit from
The pain, responsibility, the rue
That daily torment him, that pounding thrum!
The conundrum? What place could he run to?
(1/23/12)

There once was a libertarian
With views both harsh and contrarion.
Opposing, with passion,
Tax, regs, and compassion,
He yearned for a world he could prey on.

Libertarians bellow what’s best:
“Free markets must not be transgressed!”
They firmly believe
Constraints are naïve,
And rules are just dangerous pests.

“Our government’s fat and corrupt,”
They preached as they lustily supped;
“Just hear what we say,
Get out of the way,
Let greed and self-interest erupt.”

Libertarians’ riches depend
On what the poor masses can spend—
So it’s not ‘one for all’—
‘All for one’ (be appalled!)—
A worldview they archly defend.

Corruption is rampant (take heed),
And lobbyists block what we need—
But what is the source
Of this immoral force
If not libertarians’ greed?
(9/23/11)

Thereafter, each time we met, snarkily
They teased. “So, did you get that TV yet?
C’mon Marv, do it!” Increasingly shrill—
Then the old TV gasped itself to death.

We did it—47 inches wide!
It took three days and two apt technicians
To get it home and up—perhaps the snide
Remarks would now pause, morph to contrition

For a moment, until they came to know
It’s not a Sony, just a Vizio.
(7/30/11)