Jill, A New Poem

Jill, A New Poem

Willful, stubborn and defiant,

Beautiful, a spitfire -

We have written many months -

Today she sent a picture -

Not a recent one, but one

When she was just a girl -

How long ago? 42

Years. She was a beauty -

As she is at 60.

An enigma – that I felt

An understanding youth in every

Syllable she wrote.

Now the photo – which I framed -

Cements and underscores

The certainty of her and my impression.

She went to Europe, told the Pope

That Jesus is a fiction.

She was there with Shakespeare when he

Wrote her favorite play -

7-25-13

 

The Cat

One needn't be mean to be hated.

Merely to love, seek attention or talk

Fosters antipathy deep in a heart.

It cannot be helped.

Nature made a mistake.

What is the purpose?

The universe fumbled.

Mothers devour their children.

10-3-13

 

A False Adage

The good die young,

The wicked never.

And honest men die poor.

Be assertive

Or prepare to grovel.

American naivete

Collapsed in 1960.

No one trusts.

The trusted once

Were called professionals -

Doctors, cops, psychologists.

And god has been dethroned

By communication and free speech.

And in the 20s Proust declared

That none believes in heaven.

10-2-13

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie

Was very prolific,

And everyone loved her.

No blood and no puke.

English, her actors

Were warm and commanded

A depth and an interest.

British, you know.

Deceptively simple

Untangled and looked at,

She always surprised me,

And always alive.

10-2-13

 

Impressions In Denny's

I trusted you. And did you

Even for a moment

Believe what you were saying?
The enigma of the mind.

I lay and counted stars

Until the sun had risen,

Then faded into slumber

Til dusk had come again.

So many different people

And none of them is homeless,

Dressing as it suits them,

And sleeping where they like.

10-2-13

 

Doing Good

All that I'm supposed to do -

Look after what is mine,

Don't step on a policeman's shoes

And scuff his spit shine.

I'm not my brother's keeper.

If I have a heart of gold

And want to be intrusive,

Or if I'm cold,

It's the way that nature made me,

Or my mother in her prime.

I've done some small but good deeds

In my time.

Rebecca is an angel,

George almost a saint.

I use the subjunctive,

And don't say “ain't”.

10-2-13