A Good Man

Art


Poetry and painting,
Music – art is gone.
Nobody who cares
For beauty is alive.


Paintings just mean money,
Connoisseurs and experts.
Poetry and music -
Politely called “abstruse”.


Rock and rap and horror
Dominate the market.
Art is a commodity
And everybody pays.


12-12-13
Ate


Wagner and Stravinsky,
A recrudescence of Berg -
The beginning of the downfall
Of art and lovely things.


As if the human race
Were besting all its gods,
And murdering the Muses
In a grand self-immolation.


12-12-13

Imagination


Except Bukowski's toilet overflowing -
Or sucking on a bottle of cheap wine
On the front seat, flipping round the dial
Looking for a station that plays classics -
Not Tchaikovsky, Chopin, Liszt or Cziffra -
But classics – any classics – like generic -
Or war declared – any topic's fit
For poetry – but words – poetic diction -
Rhythms, meters, rhymes – a verbal music -
Keats had them all – and I do not have one -
Nor had Millay – she was another bird,
Soft plumage like a kitten, and a spine -
Break the spell and shatter ropes and chains -
Imagination is the name of art -
Not feeling – unless feeling is the subject -
Imagination – cats and Poe possess it -


12-12-13
Facebook


Universal Facebook.
Everybody likes.
Jesus loves the faggots.
Preachers marry dykes.


Public recognition
To nations coming back.
Everyone's a brother.
White is nearly black.


The world will come together
In a village by the sea.
Huxley would be happy.
At last, community.


It circles round the globe.
In every village square
God is a computer,
And Jesus Christ is there.


Isn't that the deity
The western world expects?
But there are many gods,
Religions, cults and sects.


12-13-13
A Good Man


A good man is absurd,
Unnatural and gentle,
Whom nature doesn't favor
Nor deities prefer.
And everybody ages.
And everybody dies.


12-13-13

Optimism


She told the clerk in Winco
That her backyard was like ice,
Contented and secure.
She doesn't know in 50 years
There will be no backyards anymore.
But the earth will still be civilized,
Monorails and cities,
And there will still be art
For those who want it.
This is not a poem.
There's no music in the words
Like the Ode that made Fitzgerald cry.


12-13-13


If you like my poems, my name is Joseph Hart, and I have books on both Amazon and Kindle.  Most Kindles are $1, most paperbacks are $10 or less.  In the search bar on Amazon, under books, type Joseph Hart Poetry.