Like Wilde

Sad Rain

Sad rain, wash away the sea.

Leave the night to madness,

Emptiness, loneliness and me.

Two years ago (they're dated)

I did write poetry.

It went to prose and rhythm.

But never was I free.

As I read the verse, I thought that I

Will try to grasp again (the gravid sky)

A melody, a picture and a phrase

To give some value to my latter days,

The fact that I am here, and didn't die.

I honor other poets, but I see

The one that I shall imitate is me.

4-7-14

 

My Aunt Mary

My aunt wrote something.

I don't know

What it was.

And her brother burned it

In the very flame I hope's

Consuming him today.

I cried, “You can't destroy it!”
“It's none of your concern!”
My aunt was very crazy.

She was fond of me.

I was fond of her.

And both of us were crazy.

I went to see her frequently.

I didn't know she wrote.

Her autocratic brother,

Christian homosexual

And homophobic prig,

Made absolutely certain

No one else would know it either.

She's irrevocably dead.

10-25-11

 

Why Beauty?

Why should poems be beautiful?

Keats had said it's so.

I didn't think of beautiful

Some 50 years ago.

Rhythm, rhyme and phrases,

Sensations, feelings too

Stirred gently in a cauldron

Often come out true.

I didn't aim for beauty,

I didn't think of truth

When I tried for poesy

Somewhere in my youth.

But what's the best ambition?
Simply to have fun?

Or crouch atop a building

With a newly purchased gun?

4-7-14

The Purple

Dylan! Sondheim! Born to royalty,

In age reduced to very common men.

Humility will overcome the kings

When they lie in state. Though now they preen.

Bob and Charlie. Masters of the art

Who never left the castles they were born in.

There they dwell with others of their ilk

And pedigrees. They do not sting each other.

4-7-14

 

Reading The News Again

How many of two millions (this is sport,

Playing Democrat) did he deport?

Men without a crime. Another trauma

For the harbor lady standing taller

Than the president without a pallor.

Our Hero. Every speech the people cheer.

Those idiots aren't possibly sincere!

Nothing changes but the Hero's name

And color. Every president's the same.

Some happy dissidence can be expected,

So the First Amendment seems respected.

4-7-14

The Homeless

Everywhere I see them,

Like flies on window glass

In the afternoon.

Hirsute, young and old.

The fall of a civilization

Made by Man for Man?

Stolen grocery carts,

Cans and bags and blankets

Mingle with the crowds.

No one seems to notice,

Much less care.

The death of art and talent?

The mindless seem to like

The violence

And ersatz savoir faire.

4-8-14

 

Like Wilde

Purple patches years ago,

Harbinger of madness -

Here and now, tonight,

Little droplets, bursts of light.

Weary brain beware.

Why be wary now?

Anywhere to go?

No exit anyhow.

4-8-14