Alms—For The Love Of God!

Alms: Money, food, clothes, etc. given to poor people.

Throw some coins into that beggar’s cup
Even if the sod’s an addict drunk—
The act’s plain virtue.

The phone call from the American Diabetes Society—
“Help us end this horrible disease.”
OK—put me down for a hundred bucks—
I could use some virtue.
But wait!
205.7 million rolled in last year—
The fundraisers kept 29.2 per cent—
A mere 57.7 million—
And Larry, the CEO,
Brought home a salary
Of five hundred forty-five thousand nine hundred and fifty dollars.
Who knew diabetes could be so fulfilling?

Take a look at our beloved ASPCA—
You know,
The outfit that saves those sad yearning hounds
And bereft kittens
Shown, relentlessly, on our TVs.
Those tragic cats and dogs
Generated over a hundred forty-eight million
In virtuous donations.
But wait!
The fundraisers kept 52.7 million
Of those alms.
And Edwin? The CEO?
That lout drained five hundred sixty-six thousand
To help with the rent and the groceries.

For pity’s sake, ask yourself:
How do my donations serve?
Do they mitigate poverty,
Soften pain,
Enrich the arts,
Or contribute
To entrepreneurial,
Orgasmic riches?

Looking for virtue, self-esteem?
Give the drunk a few bucks—
Stop being played
Like an out-of-tune fiddle.
(1/11/14)

Posted in Affluence, Greed, Illusion, Poverty

Winter Rant

Solstice, equinox,
Nature’s holy-days
Carve seasons into our blemished world.

December twenty-first
And my mortgage—
A poem a week—
Remains unpaid.

I jotted notes
Wrote two titles
Even made a quatrain,
But could not complete
A single verse.

My first remarks
Defined the power
Of unregulated greed—
The fertile seeds
Of revolution—
To crush humanity
Reduce this shining city on a hill
To chaos,
Leaving cold ashes
In its place.

But I’ve tolled that bell
So often that it’s cracked.

“Interest,” I thought,
“An interesting word.”
It’s what you get from lending,
Pay to borrow.
But, significantly,
It’s what makes life bright.
Imagine, if you can,
A life devoid of interests,
Except, perhaps, the meds
Reducing pain;
That’s what lies ahead.

Which, of course, leads to self-interest.

Born to melancholy
And suspicion,
I distrust those
Who seem to want to help.
I find the mission
Of most charities fictitious,
Fraudulent scams,
Enrichment schemes.
My doctor called—
Asked me to come in.
My first thought was
A milking plot
To bilk my Medicare
With fees for services,
Lab tests and the like.
But someone set me straight—
Providers get a capitation fee
And nothing more,
Which made me think
A darkest thought—
How Medicare’s prosperity
Would flourish
If they could introduce
A tiny “de”
In front of my
“Capitation.”

I made my living teaching poetry
Beguiled my students
With the mysteries
Of form, aesthetics, melody.
I’m much older now
And look back with a modicum
Of guilt.
I lectured fervently
On that famous ode
That ends:
‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,–that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’
Perhaps some threads
Of truth are woven into beauty.
But to argue that truth
Is beauty just boggles.
I wonder how much beauty
Keats found in the truth
Embodied by the long,
Agonizing illness
That killed him
At the age of twenty-six;
What beauty radiates
From our planet’s history
Of storm, disaster, plague,
And ceaseless war?

Perhaps,
Without a 23.4 degree tilt
In the axis of our Earth,
We might be freed
From the deadly chill
And morbid heat
Gifted by those
Solstices.
(12/21/13)

Posted in Beauty, Greed, Poetry (What is it?), Seasons

Horror Season!

Apologies to the Bard

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When business grapples humans by the throat.
When holy days, unceasing, bind our souls
To flagrant commerce based on anecdotes.

Why does a tale of helpful Indians
Create a four-day lapse in useful work,
Create a massive airline traffic jam,
Allow us to engorge as if berserk?

Then Kwanzaa, Christmas, Chanukah appear—
Emerge from mythic origins. Merchants
Wallow in divine nonsense, hold sales, cheer!
And wallets gasp at made up reverence.

Just as old age devours spirit, health,
So does this absurd season swallow wealth.
(11/26/13)

Posted in Conformity, Religion, Seasons, Wisdom

Need Vs. Want

In order to remain alive we need
Some living space, nourishment, water, air.
But mere necessities are trumped by greed—
Not needs, our wants become destructive snares.

Tell me, what is it that we humans want?
Fish, insects, birds and animals, content
With food, with space, with nature’s bounteous flaunt,
Eschew our rage, and angst, our discontent.

Ten thousand feet of living space, toilets
On every floor, an Aston Martin
Parked at the door, a gleaming private jet,
Stuff piled on stuff—luxuries that hearten.

Despite our fulfilled needs, failure to gain
Outrageous wants engenders human pain.
(11/21/13)

Posted in Affluence, Greed, Vanity, Wisdom

Typhoon Haiyan

A biblical god named Jehovah
Is frequently quoted in torah.
He’s often enraged,
Resentful, engaged,
And kills us with violent blow-overs.

His son is a godhead named Jesus
Appointed by pop to reprieve us.
He loves us we’re told,
A saver of souls,
So why does he fiercely bereave us?

The good stuff, we’re told, comes from god,
And men create woe (that seems odd)—
Now Falwell is dead,
And Robertson’s fled,
Who’ll tell us why this fierce jihad?

Just what was the Philippine’s sin
That justified typhoon Haiyan?
Divine mystery
Festoons history,
And tangles its yang with its yin.

We sinners attract our gods’ wrath,
They punish with holy bloodbaths,
Use foes, floods and plague,
With motives quite vague—
Those sacred divine psychopaths.
(11/16/13)

Posted in Pain, Religion

Emancipation

For Steve Scipione, always an inspiration

An intellectual, perhaps Voltaire,
Perhaps Diderot, many years ago
Reflected on our freedom and welfare
And determined what everyone should know:

“Men,” he proclaimed (women too—human yeast)
“Will never be free until the last king
Is strangled with the guts of the last priest.”
Mercifully, he never saw new things—

He never saw the dark enslaving source
Controlling worship, governments, and banks—
Birthing our greedy corporations’ force
With Wall Street traders’ horrifying pranks—

Far worse than priests and kings—alligators!
Reptilian beyond all decency,
Secret financial manipulators—
Parasites—sucking up our currency.

We never will be free until, benumbed,
They choke to death on their own bilious scum.
(11/15/13}

Posted in Greed, Politics, Poverty, Religion, Wisdom