Euphoria: The Ins and Outs

Like certain strange, bewild’ring tax code rules,
Euphoria has two bases—inside
And outside. The inside source is tough; pools
Of fierce emotion eddy, whirl, and vie—

Sure, nourishment from mother’s teat comes first,
Deftly replaced by school-tooled self-esteem.
Then blooming sex (exotic blossom) bursts,
Rich scents define euphoria’s extreme.

But sex, self-love, success wear thin in time,
While pyrotechnic hate enflames us all,
While holy armies—certain and sublime—
Along with greed, reduce us all to thralls.

Outside joy’s dependable: inside johns,
The fridge, faucets, switches, and snug duvets
Taken for granted! Water, light, and warmth—
Sufficient euphorical array.
                     (10/23/10)

Posted in Gadgets, Inspiration

Euphoria: The Tanka

Seek euphoria!
Two species shine, coexist—
One beneath the skin
The other, dependable—
Light switch and water faucet!
                (10/14/10)

Posted in Gadgets, Inspiration

Psychotherapy

     For Inge Friedman

          Father Martin said, “Are you happy Adam?”
          “I have health, a job I enjoy, enough food, comfort, occasional luxuries if I
          feel the need of them, my poetry. Given the state of three-quarters of the 
          world’s poor, wouldn’t you say that unhappiness would be a perverse indulgence?”
                    P. D. James, Death in Holy Orders

So there it is; I—indulgent pervert—
Have all the assets Adam had in both
Eden and London. Yet, fully alert
To sparkling privilege, find myself loath

To smile at fortune’s gifts—cannot evade
The guilt of ineffectuality
Crawling from untrammeled sludge that pervades,
Sickens, and defines Earth’s realities.

My Muse is Melancholy. Though I know
What should, what must be done to save a world
Infested by those seven sins, no hope
Dispels my fear, nor forms new, glowing pearls.

Ninety-one year old Inge, with more life
Than an exploding star, explained it all:
“If you hate this bleak world and all its strife
Then you must hate yourself, become a thrall
To your own despair, take mis’ry to wife
Resigned to lubricate each meal with gall.”

She speaks cold truth. Although I do not hate
Myself, I can’t evacuate the scorn
My helplessness provokes, cannot elate
My bitter life; cannot provoke the dawn.
                       (9/28/10)

Posted in Affluence

Marketing

     For C.G., with a bit of poetic license.

Down at the paddle tennis courts, Carrie
And I sat, watching a fierce match. A man,
With a carton of M&Ms, tarried,
Approached, vending (he said) to fund a plan

Creating scholarships for bright, poor kids.
Hardened by experience, we sensed “scam,”
And politely waved him off, pleased to rid
Ourselves of one more desperate flimflam.

He moved on, paused, returned and stared at her
(Slender, fifty-one, face ovaled by hair,
Curly black, touched up no doubt), clearly stirred,
And said, quietly, “You have character.”

Now Carrie (who’s been around the block) gasped.
Sure, she’s been hit upon, leered at, flattered—
But that stuff was easy. This differed, grasped
Her viscera with prim praise that mattered.

He turned away, but she, wide-eyed, soul-axed,
Called him and bought a dozen candy packs.
                                  (9/13/10)

Posted in Local Color

Narcissism

Economies hurtle over cliffs
When narcissism—
Bastard child of industry—
Provoked by ads,
Rejects “enough,”
And leaps the wide abyss
To plain “excess.”

The homely car
The gets from A to B
Won’t do!
It must heat from zero to sixty
In five seconds,
Charm lascivious women,
And generate
Delicious envy.

Efficiently,
That drugstore watch
Tells time—
But it’s not a Hermes,
Hence contemptible.

And earlobes
Absent dangling diamonds
Provoke humiliation.

Those breast implants,
Bespoke Saville Row suits,
And crystal wine decanters—
What essential functions
Do they serve?

Lust, Pride, Envy, Greed—
The methamphetamines dispensed
By mad admen—
Speed economies, create unholy wealth.
Cool, no?
Not!
                (9/9/10)

Posted in Bullshit, Greed, Vanity

When Narcissists Meet

Ask yourself,
What happens when narcissists meet?
Physics is one thing,
Emotion’s another.

I’ve always been leery
About “anti-matter”
(Weird conceit),
And the strange notion
That its collision with “matter”
Makes both disappear
In a puff of something called
“Energy.”

It’s easier to believe
That colliding narcissists
(Flared demonic spirits)
Create a supernova—
A soul-sucking blast,
Leaving the black hole
Into which we all must fall.
                 (9/5/10)

Posted in Vanity