Homeostasis

Syd's Poem

There once was a lady named Sydney

Who had a big stone in her Kidney.

The doctor she went to

Was lit, stoned and meant to

Do horrible things to her, didn'he?

 

Homeostasis

I'm filthy and I stink.

All I do is think,

Then turn it into verse.

But still an empty purse.

I'm sitting in the rain

Beleaguered by the sounds

Of music that's insane,

And drinking coffee grounds.

12-10-13

The Mentally Ill

Where since Hitler and before

Was mental illness treated

Like the sick were human or

Not morally defeated?

Victory. Defeat. That's how

The human species sees it.

Whoever wins or loses now,

It's nature that decrees it.

Bizarre or mousy, angry, bland -

See how the twisted grew.

The sick believe they're worthless and

Their doctors think so too.

12-10-13

 

Paloma Noyola Bueno

The highest math scores in the country,

Twelve years old and still unsung -

In her picture, smug and pompous -

Einstein stuck out his tongue.

12-10-13

 

SSI

This man is sick, so they beat him.

After they defeat him,

They nail him to a shed

With thorns around his head.

Give him nothing he can eat.

When he's lying in defeat,

Kick him in the head.

Soon we'll all be dead.

12-10-13

 

Bad Poems

My poems must be very bad.

No one wants to read them.

Even Jill – the last to die -

Puts the books aside.

People who have horrid lives,

Desperate or lonely -

Even people such as these

Write mediocre verse.

Where is god when nations fall

To treachery? And nature

Doesn't care when flowers wilt

Or schoolboys drown a kitten.

Nothing's fair and nothing's right

And very little's good.

In a year you cease to cry

And wait for death to claim you.

Dickinson was very bad,

A basket of bright phrases.

She's the Yankee Queen of Verse.

Bukowski merely silly.

12-10-13

 

Jill

I'll survive. But I have been rejected.

I think she's bored. My verse is all the same.

Weary now of keeping me afloat,

She's sawing at the guy line to my craft.

She's got books she hasn't read. For months

She's has said that she will read them soon.

Even one another person wrote.

If not her, then who is going to read

My poesy? I weary of myself.

She hides her brains to keep me feeling smart.

Irony, as Ginsberg is her poet.

From ecstasy to boredom. This is life.

She told me that my verse is ordinary,

But somehow I have made it seem profound.

Don't give your heart to strangers. You will never

Get it back. I've lost my confidante.

12-11-13

My name is Joseph Hart.  If you like my poems, I have books on Amazon and Kindle.  Most of the paperbacks on Amazon are $10 or less (thicker ones are a couple dollars more), and most of the Kindle books are $1.  I no longer know what's good or bad in what I write.  But I used to prefer "Endymion Awake", "Ten Chaps", "Poems Published In Audience Magazine", "Keats & The Sea" and "Motley Chaos".  Most of the other books are cynical, iconoclastic and sacrilegious.  You can get to all my books by typing "Joseph Hart Poetry" in the search bar, under books, on Amazon.