Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Friday, May 18, 2012

Bubble Gum Justice



 I read in the newspaper that the evil man of the
20th century has been captured.  I have given him
a name—cockroach.
He is as banal as Gregor Symsa yet not as deep as
Franz himself.
He is as banal as cliché yet his evil cannot be denied.

The news says that he was a pretender, an impostor
Circling the streets of White City, pretending to be
a harmless canine chasing his own tail.
So many pretenders.  So many impostors.  And he,
One of them.  “Let him be!” utter pagan gods, “We must guide
The wise one into the most perfect Age of Aquarius,
For we must be aware of the reality that is cast upon us,
As the members of human species.”

The White City could not bear to keep him any longer.
After all, he comes from the Black Mountain.
Perhaps he thought that his presence would create a
Beautiful yin and yang, as he tells you about the
Latest in macro-biotic diets.

 The Court of Fools and Jesters presides parentally
And in perfect posterity claims that justice will be
Served. 
The bells on their shoes ring:
“Allegedly,” says Rembrandt’s copier.
“According to,” says Vermeer’s descendant.
“Maybe,” says Goya’s admirer.
“We must define murder, we must define genocide,”
utters the chorus of transient jesters.
“Is it really true?” says the presiding Fool.

“Are your quarters to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, yes,” responds the cockroach.
“Is your invisible adviser taken care of?”
“The invisible adviser is in terrible need for crystals,” demands the cockroach.

Time wasted becomes a random series of events
disconnected from the Logos.
My voice pleads to the Court but they don’t respond. 
They are interested in beautiful object d’art of well-ordered world.
Do we have courage to see the lies?
Do we have courage to see the shame?
Do we have courage to see the betrayal?

My voice pleads powerfully for courage to be
Connected to the Logos.
Logos will reveal justice in the place where time
Is never wasted or discarded like the trash we take out
Every Tuesday night.
Logos will reveal the Light that takes us away from
Abyss of indifference.
My voice pleads and seeks hope and meaning.
Logos responds.

(Note: a poem written upon the capture of Karadzic, and when he was taken to the Hague)

Friday, June 17, 2011

Disrupted Youth

Youth has been lost
Youth has been disrupted
Youth will never be the same
Like a silk Hermes scarf
youth has flown into the desert
And I don't think it's ever
coming back.

A mask of the Academy
has replaced it
A shroud of philosophy
is dying to pontificate
A shadow of poets and novelists
and yes, theologians too, has tinged
the once youthful heart with a
small stain
Portals of beauty and portals of truth
have become cries of anger and confusion
and false becoming and false belonging.

Knowledge has framed the youth
Placed it in a temporary padded room
Youth needs to breathe
but it seems to have forgotten how
Youth has never had a moment of freedom
It doesn't know its ontology
It doesn't know its path
Instead, youth is sucking the blood of
long dead poets, feeding off of their
manipulated, distressed corpses
Youth is in atrophy.