Life

At lunch, the other day, with three old friends
(More than three-hundred-twenty used up years),
Munching Chinese food, contemplating ends,
We drift, recalled old smiles and salted tears.

Take a step forward, turn, and then look back—
Expelled, helpless, into mammalian life,
Parental goads and education’s wrack—
We learned desire, envy, endured strife.

We’ve seen it all—wives, kids, divorces, death—
Our noble species seared by ceaseless wars—
Survived it all, arthritic, drawing breath,
Amazed at modern hist’ry’s vile uproars,

And wonder, as death looms, since die we must,
Just why in hell we suffered all that fuss.
(1/25/13)

Posted in Aging, Death, Friends, Pain

Futility

I’ve complained about the weather,
Complained about the world;
Incessantly, complained
About religion, greed—
Those pustulant effluvia
That infect us all
With incurable disease.
Nothing left to complain about.
(1/22/13)

Posted in Greed, Religion, Wisdom

Humanity

They hunted, gathered, somehow stayed alive
They lived in caves, began resenting pain,
Evolved somewhat and grew a larger brain—
To satisfy an itch, learned how to wive.

They wondered, doubtless, what’s this all about?
What’s the point of living when doomed to die?
Responding, clever thugs designed a lie—
Invented angry Gods, armed with fierce knouts.

We’re put here by those Gods, they taught, to dwell
A certain way—be pious, sacrifice—
Exalt and worship Them, avoid all vice.
Life’s aim? Gain pearly heaven, avoid hell!

“Unlike the swine we eat, and spiders, lice,
You all have souls that last eternally.
So praise those Gods because you’re not a flea—“
Our priests declaim—“hard life is heaven’s price.”

Now seven billion humans live on Earth—
Endured parental shaping, went to school
Where competition and ambition bloomed,
Where teachers taught humanity has worth.

Six thousand seven hundred languages
(Astonishing, not so?) convey ideas—
Twenty-two faiths require us to fear
Twenty-five hundred gods and goddesses!

Don’t believe me, look it up! Satisfy
Your selves that humans are quite mad, yet still,
Despite propensities to loot and kill,
Superior to microbes and horseflies.

I understand the sources of our fears,
The idiotic smugness I abhor—
So why do I feed cats at our back door?
And why do moving words compel my tears?
(12/27/12)

Posted in Death, Illusion, Pain, Religion, Vanity, Wisdom

Unbelievable!

Newtown, CT, 12/16/12

Twenty-six people were murdered last week
By a bright, but awkward sociopath.
Twenty young children, were killed by a geek
Who added himself to his brute bloodbath.

None of us could figure it out except
That Christian evangelic Huckabee.
He knows why: “God was not present.” Inept
God-damned excuse! Then where the fuck was He!

Worse yet, that “interfaith” divine service—
Moslems, Jews, and Christians displayed their tools—
Some teary-eyed, some pompous, all nervous;
They’re probably not hypocrites, just fools.

No need to grieve, angelic spirits roam,
They gather up those tots, and bring them home—
Heal up your severed, blasted, splintered, hearts;
Your children rest with mythologic gods.
Trust us! Lords care for innocents who die
Believe! Believe! There is no need to cry.
So spoke those empty priests: “Believe, you’ll see!”—
Oblivious to their own irony.
(12/18/12)

Posted in Conformity, Death, Family, Pain, Religion

Haiku—Adam Lanza: Newtown, CT, 12/14/12

Awkward, bright, friendless,
Seething, seething his whole life.
Now let others seethe.

That six year old child
Adam shot eleven times—
Did he shed one tear?

Kill defending god;
For revenge; some righteous cause.
Kill for attention?

No matter the cause,
Rage is rage. They are normal;
I’m not. We all die!

He shot his mother,
Twenty children and himself,
To export his pain.
(12/16/12)

Posted in Death, Pain, Vanity

Manager’s Specials

Retail marketing, by nature complex,
Marshals strategies—both art and science.
When unsold merchandise begins to vex
Our vendors, technology reliance

Moves inventory, turns stale and retro
Into profit, saves the day, clears the shelves.
They fudge a little, tinker, and presto
The merchandise’s remade, as if by elves.

It’s done with clever lighting, with food dye—
Similar to salon treatment, face lifts,
Tummy tucks, repackaging what’s awry.
Manager’s specials—steak almost a gift!

Chemically enhanced, a moral sin:
Juicy red without, decayed gray within.
(12/15/12)

Posted in Aging, Greed, Illusion