Poems

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Phonies

America's Christian government -

Currently at war -

Gives him fifty dollars

On Thursday, every week.

There's absolutely nothing

He can do with that

But take his medications

And sit at home and sleep.

His medicine is free

From the USA.

America's largesse

Reaches to the rich.

But how the Yankees pray -

And no one likes John Galt -

And if you're black or gay

Avoid the Christian south.

7-11-13

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Crazy

How shall I ever get over the shrinks

Who crapped in my Wheaties

And told me I'm bad?

Practically 70, still I'm obsessed

With people now probably dead.

I am a poet!

Completely unknown.

I doubt that I ever shall be.

Still on occasion the Muses inspire

A phrase that is worthy of Keats.

7-11-13

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Ugly

Sinister magic,

Violence, shit!

That's all the world ever wanted.

Never a prophet of kindness or truth.

It kills them

And sees them as saints.

Socrates, Gandhi,

Jesus and King,

Kennedy, Harrison, Milk!

Nothing's too ugly,

No death too profane

Or repugnant to horrify Man.

7-11-13

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The Waitress

I can't stand that woman!

I wish she'd stay away.

She's crazy or she's phony,

And probably she's both.

Wait on someone else.

Don't look at me. Don't talk.

Like a couple roaches,

Crawl back into the wall!

I think she may be innocent

And simple as a grave.

At 4 a.m. she'll nice you

To an early death.

7-11-13

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Proust

Proust is not a memory

To me. It is a book.

Nor Sartre a philosopher,

But fascinating fiction.

I am very shallow

And the things I see

And overhear are all

I think I understand.

All my life is awkward

And everything is wrong.

Only the vocabulary

In my poems works.

7-11-13

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An Entertainment

Why am I in search of publication?
To make an entertainment of my feelings.

As though somebody wanted poetry.

I seldom read. Just Brooke, Millay and Keats.

Other poets do not make me happy.

Anachronisms. What is poetry?

There is no form. Just dirty fantasies.

Dirt! Like in the gutter and the road!

Does anybody still remember Keats?

From college? He was never taught to me.

I won't read or touch the poetry

Emerging from this country in this age.

I'm narrow minded. Bigoted. Effete.

Tattoos, rap! I've always been alone.

6-3-13

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The Ants

A dozen ants on the drainboard

Infinitely small,

Tiny legs and cowardice

Coming from the wall -

I hate them in the kitchen!

Shall I kill them all?

There must be some way better,

Though I can kill a fly.

All things born to passion -

All things born to die -

7-10-13

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Gandhi & The Ants

Life is impossible.

Everything feels

And everything wants to live.

But I must flush the sink of ants.

And Christians pretend to give.

Damn! I'll do it.

I'll kill them all.

Let Gandhi sit and pray.

I wet a sponge

And killed them all.

I hope they're gone to stay.

7-10-13

My name is Joseph Hart.  I have several collections of poems on Amazon (most about $10) and Kindle (usually $1).  I think the best of these are "Poems Published In Audience Magazine" and "Ten Chaps" (a collection of 10 short books of poems, this book is not on Kindle).  One called "De la bouche du diable" (only the title is in French) is a collection of mostly crude, irreverent, iconoclastic and dirty poems.  It is not on Kindle.