Questions

A Place

Too many words and not enough sensations.

Too many to make desperation rhyme.

Too phoney on ridiculous occasions,

Songs that serenade another time.

I write my thoughts in rhythm. What's the good?

The bookstore owner said if one believes,

It obviates the meaning of the poem,

And he who doesn't, will just slough it off.

In amber, I've preserved his simple wisdom.

Sleep's a treasure but it disappears.

Room for gorgons, shrinks, a dozen gods

That live unknown but active in the mind.

4-20-14

Thoughts

Perhaps because I'm happy

My tendencies relax

And I am feeling sleepy

And nodding off in Denny's.

I'm reading in a book

I wrote 3 years ago

And recently I published.

I see the suppositions

And opinions that are mine -

Rather fine opinions -

I believe them all -

But have no need to see them

Come back to me again.

But were the older poems

Much earlier than now

That touch and yet embarrass

Such heresies of thought?

Still since I believe them

The are not new to me.

But in this open cedar chest

I lift and raise the lid

And see the same intentions

Of colors, songs and myths

And perfume of the cedar -

And let the boring feeless thoughts

Return to whence the came.

Sensation doesn't end,

But pertinent opinions

Are kept alive by relevance,

Repeated by the crowd,

And no one knows the author,

Nor whether they are true.

When even sense seems true.

4-20-14

Ending With Cats

Gout is not poetical.

But doubt which is heretical

Is quite a most refreshing

Way to see.

Gullible, naïve and shy,

Preferring to believe a lie

Than challenge someone else's

Verity,

He feasted on the sedge of life,

Existed on the edge of life

And dwelt beside the water

Of the sea.

And watching with eternal calm,

The swells and breakers were a balm

That soothed him like the touch of

Poetry.

And in his house unfairly set

Upon the shore and always wet

He lived alone. There's nothing

Wrong with that.

But fifty feline cherubim

Lived beside the sea with him.

And people love a kitten,

Not a cat.

4-19-14

Love

In some ways we're alike,

The human race and I.

Unrequited fancy

Makes everybody cry.

But it's no fantasy.

Torment is a grip,

And measuring your words

To avoid a slip.

She told you resolutely

She will not let you in.

Gored by indecision -

To go back again?

To go away alone

And let your feelings chill -

Impossible! Your heart

Can't leave, and never will.

Everything you say

To her is like a prayer.

What you can't conceive

Is that she doesn't care.

4-19-14

 

An Opera Concert

The singers in this concert are
So fucking arrogant!
Huggy, huggy! Curl your lips
And keep your noses up!
Their voices aren't that wonderful,
Subtle and subdued,
Gentle, warm and peaceful
And inaudible.
After every number
The conductor turns around
And claps his hands. The singer smiles.
The orchestra applauds.
This is all so nauseous!
Did they all take lessons
From Callas in unqualified conceit?
The women show their boobies
And the men are dipped in grease!

8-31-11

Questions

What should poets write about?

Beauty is passe.

Polemics. Things to fight about.

Art has gone away.

Where do old crusaders go

When their flag is down?
Where immigrant invaders go -

To someone else's town.

Before the caged canary sings,

Take some free advice.

Americans are lots of things,

But none of them is nice.

4-18-14

A Long Jingle

Americans are very cute

And hideously happy,

Good as gold and gold is god.

But if your hair is nappy,

Or if you shun the ladies and

Go ga ga for a chappy,

They won't be very nice to you

(The cops won't like you either -

Cops do what they're told to do),

And congress for a breather

In several states and just because

The right has rights and Santa Claus,

Will dig up some archaic laws

And put them back in force.

The blue laws? But of course.

4-18-14

If you like my poems, I have several books on KIndle, most a $1.  On Amazon, I have about 100 paperback, most for $10 apiece.  On Amazon, click on Books on the dropdown, and type Joseph Hart Poetry.