God

       For S. F.

Listen to Marvin read God

There’s a fellow down at the tennis courts
Who keeps asking me about god. Which one,
I wonder, Yawah? Krishna? Zeus? Or Thor?
Inari? Jesus? Crow? Allah? Kwannon?

Countless more—each the hero of some book
Each with strange powers, each the source of dread.
Marduk, perhaps? (good for fertility
And thunderstorms). Or Horus, the falcon

Who pulled the sun across the sky? “Don’t say
God” I cry—call out the name, then we’ll see—
Cobble up some answer to your plaint; lay
To rest all wonder, doubt, constraint and fear!

Then, stunned, wide-eyed, you’ll know you are alone.
No ancient relics, shattered holy bones
Caressed, worshipped—no desp’rate prayers intoned
Can save your sorry ass. You’re on your own!
                                        (9/22/07)

Posted in Religion

Chung Mong-koo

Have your heard the story of Chung Mong-koo,
The oldest living son of Chung Ju-yung?
(That legendary Pop, “The Founder,” who
Imaged the Hyundai group and made it strong.)

Well, truth be known, young Chung’s a wily crook,
He stole a hundred million bucks by god!
(Not to enrich himself! Oh no—to hook
With bribes those folks who’d give Hyundai the nod,

Because (you know) what’s good for us is fair
For South Korea!) Karma! He got caught,
Convicted—sentenced to three years in stir—
This left the whole damn country quite distraught!

How can Korea thrive sans Chung Mong-koo?
There’s simply no one else to run the show.
Suspend the sentence (as we always do),
But levy fines to let the wide world know

We’re serious. Judges admonish Chung—
“You’ll behave, work hard, be responsible?”
Duty bound, replying, as he was sprung,
Solemn, bowing Chung murmured “Yes I will.”

Hosanna! Korea’s saved; Hyundai too,
Because young Chung’s free, no rue, no coup—phew!
                                          (9/20/07)

Posted in Greed, Politics

The Ballad of Norman Hsu

It started sixteen years ago
(With hey, ho, hey what’s new?)
And looms stranger every year
(Where’ve you been Norman Hsu?)

A Wharton grad, no dummy he–
(Ho, hey, oh to be free!)
He’s “earned” stupendous wealth so far
(Hey, ho, quite wittily.)

Yet no one seems to know just how
(What’s your game Norman Hsu?)
And what’s the role of Sus and Paws?
(Tell us—what do you do?)

You’re good at bilking, this we know
(Hey, ho, greed can be milked)
We caught you, but you didn’t show!
(Ho, hey, court system bilked.)

Why bundle for the Democrats?
(Risking all Norman Hsu?)
What can those politicians do?
(How help you Norman Hsu?)

Why post two million bucks in bail?
(Hey, ho, gotta get gone!)
Have you no stomach for our jail?
(Ho, hey, off to Taiwan?)

The best laid schemes, one poet said
(Ho, hey, the flesh is weak)
Gang oft agley, left you abed!
(Hey, ho, what pills can wreak!)

Looks like you’re cooked, old Norman Hsu
(Hey, ho, justice at last)
There’s nothing Democrats can do—
(Ho, hey, your life’s recast!)

They’ve all clamed up, your lawyers too.
(Hey, ho, poor Norman Hsu.)
They say you’re incoherent, stressed.
(Ho, hey, what can we do?)

Alas, the game is up old Hsu
(Hey, ho, the ponzi’s through!)
And all the Democrat’s can say
Is, hey, old Norman—shoo!
                             (9/10/07)

Posted in Greed, Politics

Senator Larry E. Craig (R-Idaho)

Jeez Larry, what were you thinking? Horny
Is one thing, but in an airport crapper?
You’re sixty-two, for god’s sake—how lovelorn
Could you be? In Minnesota? Sappy,

Miserable sad sack—twenty-seven
Gay-bashing years in Congress flushed away.
For what? “I’m not gay and never have been!”
Is that your best shot? Far worse, those dark gray

Rippled, looming shadows you’ve dodged among,
Terrorized. Was the lie worth it Larry?
The pride and power, the applause thundered
By adoring constituents. Harried

By your cowering soul, could you not shun
Hypocrisy—the ultimate corruption?
                                   (9/3/07)

Posted in Conformity, Illusion

Applied Poetry

Zeal inflames guts and brain—gurgles, boiling—
Creates this piercing patter that arrays
Fresh agitation. Sound patterns roiling—
Image, meter, rhyme (nothing too outré).

A consequential question: to argue
Or evoke? Evocation’s all the rage
These days! Spin that gossamer web; eschew
Clarity (false gem!) for feeling—engage

Tears, smell, sensual tingles (luring flesh)—
Evoke with humming words! All very nice.
Did I mention, I’ve one crop left to thresh?
And, frankly, evocation won’t suffice

Because I wish to save the world before
I die, and poetry’s my only tool.
I could, of course, evoke a hue—rosy,
Particulate, mordant nuclear ghoul

That cooks us inside out—suggest that bang
(Not whimper) will likely mark our stark end.
But evoking doom won’t do; we must hang
These fomenters—and that takes argument!

So, how can the world be saved? Not easy;
Earnest blood must drip. Those who speak to god
(Metastasizing tumors!) must be freed
From spiteful life! No more crusades, jihad,

Spewed hate proving my god’s bigger, can quaff
More juice than yours! Yawah, Allah, Krishna,
Even wussy Buddha: begone! There’s half
Your wars right there—and deadliest by far!

That leaves those simpler wars—plain thievery—
Less vicious. After all, we do not blow
Up what we lust to possess! Misery
Is not the aim—just riches—to wallow

In wealth. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to prop
Economies rather than crush those fraught,
Miserable masses—build up, not drop
Our clever bombs, weeping at what we’ve wrought?

And there’s the other half of wars, right there!
I have not time, nor wit, to diminish
God engendered hate and corporate greed—
Alas, my rant remains unfinished . . .
                                 (8/30/07)

Posted in Religion, War

Aesthetics

Alexander ravaged Persepolis;
Smashed the place, doubtless to avenge Persian
Excess when they ruined the Acropolis.
War, hate, loot—the same in ev’ry version.

Then they fixed Persepolis—erected
Ancient columns—impressive from afar.
Their height, however, a bit defective—
“Too tall for that low mesa—plain bizarre.”

L. B., my archaeological friend,
Replied, “How can a column be too tall?”
Eyes slit, “Ah ha, you think Greeks knew it all;
That three, four, five is architecture’s end!”

That silenced me; I viewed the garish site
Again—“Dammit, L.B., the Greeks were right!”
                                       (8/12/07)

Posted in Beauty