The Trap Door

The Loser

I am 67

And I'm tired of going last.

I step aside when bullies take a walk.

I even yield to women.

They are strident, sharp and loud.

I seldom tell the truth cause people talk.

I'm the only loser

When a hippopotamus,

Covered with tattoos and nearly bald

Working in the mini-mart

For 7 bucks an hour

For reasons of his own says things that scald.

12-14-13

Oakland

Every kind and charitable,

Sensible and sane

Thing that you will find in her

Is countered by a vile

And reprehensible insanity.

Autocratic, fat and

Arbitrary, esoteric

Nightmare nestled in

The soul of Oakland.

Escape! You can't!

She'll chase you and she'll

Linger in your mind -

A single sentence from the seven

Volume tale of Proust.

12-14-13

Compared To Keats

Some beautiful passages,

Cumbersome tedium,

Keats always believed he was

Meant to be great.

With several pieces

That glisten like jewels

Nestled in cotton,

Inferior wool,

I can't believe in my

Fate or my destiny

Greatness or genius were

Promised to me.

The promise! How Christians

With no reassurance

Believe in the promise

That nobody gave.

12-15-13

 

Awakening

I never was a snob.

I wrote my poems

And I read them.

Never read the hacks.

I read the great ones

Like Millay,

Before her Keats and Brooke and Poe.

But now I slumber shallow,

Wake up in a panic

From inconsequential dreams.

I'm a hack. A dismal hack.

I only wanted rhythms

And quintessential phrases.

I sit in Denny's writing

And they ask me what I'm doing.

Shall I say, “I'm wasting paper”?

Well, my coffee's getting cold.

I'm as close to tears since I was

Listening to Hoffmann -

Antonia – the trio -

Hearing magic brought from hell.

12-15-13

 

The Trap Door

Surreptitiously feeling I was

Better than I supposed,

I looked at untalented poets

And considered me better than them -

Not really -

Considered me better than them.

Such is my ego, a web

That wraps around bushes and trees,

Leaves a little attached to leaves,

Then flutters away in the wind -

Purblind -

Flutters away in the wind.

Heavy the man on the floor

Who thinks he's secure where he stands,

Til errant destiny trips the lever

And plunges him into the sea

And darkness -

Below the trap door and house.

12-15-13

Tubi

This is a tubby named Tubi,

In charge of the keys and the gate.

She has her reasons, however

They're due to a personal hate.

This she won't tell you. Of course not.

She'll dress it all up with some lies.

Like Ko-Ko in Gilbert's “Mikado”,

She comes as a sudden surprise.

She threw me right out of her garden,

And rattled her key in the lock.

Linkedin's there for the lonely

To squabble and bicker and squawk.

The megalomaniacs mingle

Who know what their fellows should do,

Ladle the praises and censure

Just like an infant of two.

And Tubi herself! She's a poet

But one who can hardly construct

A simple declarative sentence.

Tuby, you bastard, get f-cked!

12-15-13

 

Happy

Nothing in my consciousness implies

Or indicates the tiniest degree

Of insight, understanding. But the phrases

And words I think up writing poetry!

Other people love and live, have duties,

Values and beliefs. But what of me?

I have nothing but a pen and paper

And some inspiration from the sea.

Right this very instant, I am happy.

Who knows why? Another mystery.

Writing now a second little poem,

Some psychotic genius broken free.

12-15-13

At Sea

I am manic. I am happy.

Too, too happy. Is this rage?
Sitting like a doll in Denny's,

Just a little bit offstage.

It seems to me that now I'm writing

Better than I ever wrote.

Or is this a silly fancy,

Something to amuse the goat?

On the edge of thought and feeling,

But it keeps my little boat

Not alone but on the ocean,

Almost midnight and afloat.

Why won't some permissive feelings

Let the human race go free,

As a consequence of writing

In a stolen liberty?

12-15-13

 If you like my poems, my name is Joseph Hart.  I have books on Amazon and Kindle.  You can get to them by dropping down books, then typing Joseph Hart Poetry in the search bar.  Most of the paperbacks are $10 or less.  Most of the Kindles are $1.  I recommend "Ten Chaps" ($12.50 paperback, extra thick), "Words Without Music" (new), "Poems Published in Audience Magazine" and "Endymion Awake".  But there are over 70 to choose from (not all on Kindle), and most of them I regret to say are iconoclastic and irreverent.