THE ANGER OF GOD

 

     “Hellish fire or love comes from the same source

     as heavenly fire or love—from heaven’s sun, or the

     Lord. However, it is made hellish by the people who

     receive it.” Heaven And Hell, section 569.

 

Why does the Body Electric

Cease to flow with the urge—

Bursting into cinders

With an uncontrollable surge?

 

Look at the Good Grey Poet,

Paralyzed in a wheelchair--

Paraded around the country

Like an idol they prepared.

 

What glamour deludes them

That Freedom has no consequence?

Still searching for that Promised Land,

They stare out in a trance—

 

Consumed with lust and greed,

Strip-mining purple mountains

And smothering the prairies

With flesh of butchered bison.

 

Whose Name do they call upon,

Kneeling to their false desires?

Damnation cleaves the sky

With pyrotechnic fire.

 

Their separate selves they sing,

Yet utter the word Democracy—

In virtual wastelands condemned

To wander and grope blindly.

 

Have the flames of Heavenly Love

Turned hellish in their breasts,

Casting them into the furnace

Of their own self-righteousness?

 

UNWANTED OFFER

 

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrg

The phone rang

The telephone solicitor

Wanted a contribution to charity

 

I said

I am a very wealthy man

I have hundreds of poems to offer

Give me your name and address

And Ill send them all to you

 

No no

He said

That’s not what we’re after

Your financial support

Would be greatly appreciated

 

Au contraire

I replied

I could not give you straw

When I have gold to offer

Now, your address?

 

He hung up on me

 

   NO MATTER

  

Oh, who will trust a poet—

No matter how he pleads

That his poetic musings

Are just what you may need?

 

You trust the man of science,

For he can show the way

That flies can walk on water

And ride upon the waves.

 

We all can trust our bankers,

As long as our accounts

Are yielding compound interest—

No room for any doubt.

 

A doctor writes prescriptions

When illness takes its toll.

Pick up your bed and walk now—

Your faith has made you whole.

 

But who can trust a hoodlum

Who serves the Fascist side

As lawman for the lawless?

Yes, everyone must hide

 

From one who follows orders

To terrorize or kill

Without a qualm or question,

Without a pang of guilt.

 

All people who resist him

Will stagger from his gun,

No matter what they stand for—

No matter if they run.

 

And should you disbelieve this,

And trust him to do right

No matter what the wrong is,

Why not step in his sights?    

 

     FACE AGAINST THE WALL

 

 

They found it in the company trash can,

That photo of an unknown, smiling man--

And used it in a grisly sort of game,

To give that harmless face a clever name.

 

They taped him to the concrete office wall,

And mocked him with a scribbled list of all

Humiliating names they could address--

And made their sport into a vile contest.

 

Oh, how they laughed at their display of wit,

As twenty or more lines were filled with it!

And with each vicious jibe, their hearts were chained

Like Ferris wheels to their revolving brains.

 

For where such cruel levity has grown,

They gather who cannot go forth alone

To face the moral nature of their acts.

Instead, they hunt for pleasure in the trash.

 

But at an alley’s dead end across town,

Nobody heard for hours the shrill sound

Of infant terror in a plastic bag,

Among the headless dolls and toxic rags.

 

They found him when the time was far too late,

And shuddered at this vision of their fate.

A dead end is a place where grown men crawl,

Their laughter choked, and face against the wall.

 

TWELVE STEP PROGRAM

  

One hundred Cedar Waxwings

Devouring winterberries

Beside the sewage treatment plant,

So hearty and so merry!

 

In choirs they perch, just singing

Their constant, high pitched tune,

Their pointed crests expressing

All phases of the moon.

 

Contentedly they roost where

For me is bitter cold,

Allowing me to sidle close

While peering from below.

 

I’ve known them to pass berries

Branch downward, taking turns

At gulping the fermented fruit—

So much they never learn!

 

For choked on the choke cherries,

Or other fruit they’ve found,

They teeter-totter drunkenly

And tumble to the ground—

 

Unless one thinks to proffer

Ones haberdashery,

To catch the greedy little sots

Before they hit the street.

 

Without a Twelve Step Program,

They live “one day at a time.”

Their lack of moderation, though,

Should bring our own to mind.

 

TO LONGFELLOW

  

There was a time when poetry was found

Throughout this land, in parlors far and wide,

And actually was read; while side by side

Sat families and friends all gathered round

To hear your words. This practice was held sound,

Not an anomaly, as ‘tis today--

For the electric image now holds sway,

And poetry lies crippled on the ground.

 

Return to us, O Longfellow, to teach

Once more the liberal arts in our sad schools,

Where poetry is gibberish or trite!

You showed us that the Old World’s cultured rules

Can be applied to us afresh, despite

Our quest for novelties beyond our reach.

 

 

METAPHYSICALLY FIT

  

Around and round the Mall they go;

And when they stop, nobody knows.

 

In groups of two or three or four

They power walk the shopping floors--

 

Or so they think.  If I should speak,

I’d tell them that they’ve sprung a leak!

 

Their energy is spurting out,

Like oil from some burst tanker’s spout.

 

They walk to keep themselves in shape;

To do so they must concentrate

 

Upon a fixed idea of How

And Who they are. So like a plow

 

Each one strides briskly, cutting through

Us loiterers, to pay their dues.

 

I may not know as much as they,

But I can waste a better day

 

Just strolling the world’s Mall at large,

Shoplifting visions free of charge.

 

My technique ain’t no hocus pocus:

They are simply much too focused,

 

Blinded to the merchandise

I pick and choose from at a price

 

That all of them refuse to pay:

The loss of speed! A fair exchange,

 

To swap their warped mentalities

For wellness such as I conceive--

 

Considering the benefits

Of being metaphysically fit.