The logic of this verse fails, but hey, poetic license rules!
I watched my cat Sunshine engrossed in play,
Tossing a discarded two-inch yarn thread.
Then—pouncing upon it—untrammeled glee
His aura, as he pummeled, clawed it dead.
This for ten minutes (a human hour!)
Spent, bored, he left the thread, sipped a cool drink
Munched a bit of rich wet food, licked and scoured
His creamy fur, found a patch of sun, blinked,
Curled tight and slept with that firm abandon
Only animals possess! My envy,
Palpable (wringing my arthritic hands)—
I mused on evolution’s banditry.
Perhaps, it could have paused at somewhat less—
Left me fur-balled, and free of human stress?
(12/28/10)
There once was a man named Obama
(Elected through passion and drama).
Despite all his verve,
He soon lost his nerve,
Succumbed to tart tea-party trauma.
There once was a man named Barack
Who placed “change” and “hope” back on track.
When push came to shove
He donned tattered gloves,
And utterly failed to shove back.
Though principled, our man Barack,
Envisioned that he could be whacked;
Since elections depend
On funds without end,
He kow-towed to flush plutocrats.
Obama created a zone
With rhetoric bright and high-flown.
We wept at his speeches,
Then found they were feces,
Since promises have no tailbone.
(12/17/10)
Obama, Barack is his name,
We armed him with power and fame—
We should have foreseen
Wealth grow more obscene,
Since money’s the name of the game!
(12/19/10)
Morality struggles with wealth,
But rich men are masters of stealth—
They finance both sides,
Hence whoever abides,
Attend to the rich folks’ good health.
(12/19/10)
Political rhet’ric’s malarkey,
Suggesting that views differ starkly—
No matter the spin,
We get what we’ve been:
Base plutocratic oligarchy.
(12/20/10)
Politics sure can be funny—
Even make Washington sunny—
The Start Treaty’s sell
And repealing “don’t tell”—
Why not? They cost us no money
(12/22/10)
For B.L.
This guy Bruce, at the paddle tennis courts,
Is fond of mocking me. “If you’re so smart,
How come you’re not happy?” Brash, he exhorts
His narcissistic principles—imparts
Philosophy that has an ancient name.
He’s got his, you see (as we have ours)—wealth
Enough, space to live, even modest fame—
Insured by decent (if not perfect) health.
“That ‘turbid ebb and flow of . . . misery’
Is not my problem! ‘Ignorant armies’
Clashing at night?1 Fuck ‘em! Idiocy,
Plain and simple, suitable for barmys.”
Disdaining blood, strife (too realistic),
He fashions mind-wrought bright peace (simplistic),
Eschewing all signs apocalyptic—
Abides within, wholly solipsistic!
(12/19/10)
1 Allusions to Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach.”
Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a
heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation.
It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the
illusory happiness of the people is required for their real
happiness. The demand to give up the illusion about its
condition is the demand to give up a condition that needs illusions.
Karl Marx, Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right
It wouldn’t be so bad if religion
Was, in fact, the opium of people
That drug, after all, provides regions
Of serenity, as do church steeples.
If you trust in god, you don’t have to throw
Off your chains, revolt—the better life comes
With death; residence in the cold, hollow
Bosom of deities and their isms.
How strange, then, that religion’s always fraught!
God, itself, threw Adam out of Eden—
Krishna, himself, forced Arjuna’s slaughter—
Kill infidels (keens Allah), earn Heaven!
Sunnis and Shi’as blow each other up.
Catholics and Protestants still mutter.
Hindu-Buddhist enmity never stops.
Morphine fails to still hearts’ god-sourced flutter.
Naïve Karl—no opiates still the rage
We slaves feel for infidels, plutocrats.
Both CEOs and priests appoint sages—
Construct our maze. We impoverished rats
Certainly escape—not to god’s zion—
To dark loamy holes—black oblivion.
(12/19/10)
What a world we own.
Jihadis blow themselves up!
For holy Koran—
Or seventy-two virgins?
And what will they do with them?
(11/27/10)
If you kill yourself—
Declaring your Muslim faith—
But ate pork sausage,
Does that debit your virgins
In the Garden of Allah?
(11/27/10)
Apathetic souls
Professing rich faithfulness
Do not qualify
For fierce, hot carnal pleasure
Unless they kill multitudes.
(11/27/10)
If you had on Earth
Just one writhing non-virgin,
Would that satisfy,
Preserve lives, save innocents,
Relieve those airy virgins?
(11/27/10)
Marriage, Christ taught us,
Does not exist in heaven.
But Muslims object,
Surrender their earthly lives—
Lusting for angelic wives!
(11/29/10)
The share of total income going to the top 1 percent of earners,
which stood at 8.9 percent in 1976, rose to 23.5 percent by 2007,
but during the same period, the average inflation-adjusted hourly
wage declined by more than 7 percent.
Frank Rich, New York Times (11/21/2010)
What strange increase and puzzling decline
Might join fierce finance to rich poetry?
Surely these two—antagonists—recline
In sep’rate beds, certainly do not ski
The same steep slopes. Yet poets should not skip
Description of the deadly demon plague
Spread by voracious rats—hedge funds that gyp
Bankers that chip, CEOs who renege
Their own humanity, slyly enrich
Themselves, exploit, careless, the myriad
Victims of their lust. What foul witchery
Allows one one-hundredth to reap a mad
Harvest of twenty-three point five percent
Of all income even as we others
Suffer a vicious seven point descent?
Percentages in poems? Linguistic smudge.
Call it what it is—an epidemic—
A new black plague without a ready cure—
Corruption bred, foul, wholly systemic
Spawn of pond-scum wealth. Ninety-nine endure,
While one gourmet devours obscene wealth—
Fattened on gross largess obtained by stealth.
You drain our blood. You’re evil, smart, and tough.
How much? Goddammit! How much is enough?
(11/25/10).
