Whoa! What’s Going On Here?

God and Adam

Michelangelo, what’s going on here?
Adam’s schlong’s a bit small, the navel scar
Superfluous—but that’s not what we most fear!
What’s with that flimsy minimal peignoir?

And those lads (no lasses?) seem awf’lly young.
Check out god’s left arm, his caressing hand.
Is that why Adam’s notably unhung?
Did patron Julius really understand

The breadth and depth of Michael’s preference?
We know it took the artist four long years
To paint that ceiling, richly reverent,
But wonder: did church gold assuage his tears?

Did vengeful Michelangelo miscast
His painted god as evil pederast?
(12/5/11)

Posted in Illusion, Lust, Religion

Behold!

Tell the truth! If you (not some almighty)
Designed these human bods would you not blush,
And contemplate the source of beauty’s blights—
Stubble, crinkled ears, hyperbolic tush?

As designer, intoxicated, flushed,
Determined to imbue this charming flesh
With beauty worthy of fine artists’ brush,
Would you incorporate that pubic mesh?

Would you paste on eyebrows, a hair-lined schnoz?
Would you retain those useless stupid toes?
Male nipples, fingernails, all flagrant flaws—
Adam’s apples, hair under arms—all woes!

Think Sistine ceiling—Adam, god—bizarre!
That artist paints a pointless navel scar.
(11/29/11)

Posted in Beauty, Religion, Vanity

Ode To The Venice Beach Paddle Tennis Courts

Think about it!
These paddle tennis courts
Incorporate
The scope of modern history.

Here, the penniless
Contest with multimillionaires
And, often, win.

Here the obscene shouts
Reflect immense geography:
French, Spanish, Portuguese,
Mandarin, German, Thai,
Korean, Yiddish, even Romanian—
And, of course, English
From time to time.

Here, octogenarians,
Unwilling to recognize
The toll of years,
Insist on their pathetic
Limping lunges,
As if the end of play
Were equal to
The end of life.

Here, the shtarkes
(“Strong ones,”
For those without the language)
Reveal their mythic speed,
Skill, power, guile
In every weekend tournament.

Here, passionate disputes,
(Enflaming armies
Across the whole disheveled Earth),
Erupt—the trigger?
Bad line calls.

And here, sets end
With that affectionate
Slap of hands
Signifying
“Good set!
Thanks for the game.”
(11/23/11)

Posted in Sports

The Way It Is

       The best lack all conviction, while the worst
       Are full of passionate intensity.
       …………………………………….
       And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
       Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
          W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming (1921)

Yeats was right; that shapeless, slouching beast,
Its toxic breath infecting all the Earth—
Perilous mutation—nullifying
Sense and arch philosophy,
Asphyxiates humanity.
Mythic gods grin,
While we,
Their idiotic pawns,
Weep.
(11/17/11)

Posted in Politics, Religion, War, Wisdom

Occasional Verse: Republican Presidential Primary Election, 2012

Alas, it’s come to this for Pimp-Hat Cain,
That would-be president. His handlers groan—
Beset, no doubt, with angst, with writhing pain
Inflamed by that unleashed testosterone.

Forget ideas, forget his 9-9-9,
Forget those cash-cow Kochs—udder brudders—
Forget the comical pro-life-choice whine,
Forget the ignorance impelling shudders.

But it’s all wrong to bring him down for sex.
Our POTUS must display testosterone.
Consider: FDR, JFK, vexed
By stress, fought back, revealed a stiff backbone.

Defeat him, yes! But not for stupid sex,
Defeat him for his murky intellect!
(11/13/11)

Posted in Lust, Politics, Today's News

Heroes

There was, of course, Achilles and sling-shot
David, Samson, Arjuna—heroes all.
Adored for that firm strength we have not got,
Promoting good, dispelling evil’s pall.

And modern trashy fiction (crass, but fun)
Whose heroes, armed with elbows, feet, and hips,
Can take down surly villains (who needs guns?)
Without a sweat, while mouthing verbal wit

But nothing swells our souls like Hong Kong flicks.
We watch our hero’s shifting eyes, while thugs
Creep up. Then bang-crash, slam-pow! He inflicts
Ten fractures. Scornful, dusting off, he shrugs,

Continues on his search for that arch foe.
(How can the climax match what we have watched?)
He finds that scum—they battle toe to toe—
A distant view—he strikes from crown to crotch!

Triumphant justice—deftly butchered beast—
I watched that bad guy fall, half west, half east!
(11/12/11)

Posted in Inspiration