The End of the World

“Some say [a poet mused] the world would end
In fire; / Some say in ice.” Nice metaphors
For unconstrained desire, chill hate. Abhor
The infidel, lust for paradise! Wend

That twisted way where Hate and Love portend
Which path this fractious world—torn, pummeled, scored—
Will choose. Hate seasoned Love—feast for adored
Divinity—last supper, this world’s end!

Nah! Greed bests Love, Hate—malignant tumor
Whelming Phlegm, Bile, and Blood. Dread misgivings
Usher in the deadliest of humors.
The world’s end purchased—cost prohibitive—
By that new temper’ment (whispered rumor!)
Born of Shit—sire of daft derivatives.
                                         (3/28/09)

Posted in Greed

Natural Selection

Take the cosmic view: insect colonies
Are more humane than proud humanity.
Social hymenoptera—those wasps, bees,
Ants—get along more peacefully than we.

Their legendary harmony provokes
Probes, queries morality—how are we
Evolution’s grandest feat? By what strokes
Of ego-driven logic do we see

Me, always me, central on a planet
We (enthusiastically) ravage
And offend? With hearts (gray, icy granite),
Greed-stiffened, pulsing god-decreed savage

Blood-rage, we’ll finally succeed, and leave
Burned Earth to those same wasps, and ants, and bees.
                                     (3/21/09)

Posted in Vanity

Ruminations

     For J.J.

What is it good for—
Painting, music, sculpture, poems?
Power? No! Just breath!

Painted caves reveal
Envisioned prey—hunted meat—
Art is magical.

If physics, not art,
Reigns, why, then, do we call rules
Music of the spheres?

Ancient sculpture found!
Terrifying gods, or just
Pleasing to the eye?

Conundrum: were poems
Imagined, then puzzled out—
Or always aflame?
               (3/18/09)

Posted in Poetry (What is it?)

Ceramic Pot Inscriptions

     For J.K.

Flirtatious birds flit—
Stalking cats misunderstand—
Unrequited love!

Cats, obsessed with birds,
Fret, constrained by gravity—
Unfair: cats can’t fly!

Slit-eyed cats can climb
But birds read dark feline hearts—
Tempt—then flick away.

Birds would like to stay,
Play tag, mix it up—but can’t!
Cats play much too rough.
                     (3/10/09)

Posted in Animals, Joan, Several Short Poems

Birthday Poem

     For V.M.

Virginie lives down by the tennis courts
With her paramour. She’s formidable,
Haloed with wild blonde hair, and will cavort,
From time to time, paddle in hand, nubile,

On those very courts. Sometimes, bleary-eyed,
Fresh from her bed, without much underwear,
She fetches coffee for her man. Eyes wide,
We watch subtle undulations, aware,

Hearts shivered by mild jiggle, warm riches
We will never share. Sweet ambassador
From Femininity! We sit bewitched
By her insouciant display—hearts soar!

Yet, doubtless, to assuage our grief, she smiles
And greets us with a warm embrace. No dearth
Of kisses; marmalade lips, beguiling,
Rescue us—fill our feckless lives with mirth—
Make us the most important men on earth!
                                 (3/9/09)

Posted in Friends, Local Color, Lust

Academic Major: Life; Philosophy Minor

Life too short? Nah—too long, too hard, bereft,
Meaningless. Climbed a pinnacle? Look down!
Fell into a dark abyss? Peer up. Deft?
Fond of slick theory? See our clownish

Goals for what they are—forays, fueled by blood,
Greed, passion—blows we strike to rise above
Unruly hordes, the rank, dank human flood
Raging between us and what most we love.

We lie, we lure, we obfuscate, pursue
Esteem, wealth, power, and respect—deface
Abe’s pyramid, those fundamental truths
Saint Maslow1 taught—there—listed at its base—

The absolute essentials: life’s main bliss?
Food, sex, sleep, and a place to shit and piss.
                           (2/28/09)

1 In a 1943 paper, the psychologist Abraham Maslow (1908-1970) proposed a hierarchy of human needs, depicted as a five-level pyramid resting on the fundamentals that support and define the human condition—“breathing, food, water, sex, sleep, homeostasis, excretion.”

Posted in Wisdom