“In the Fifties”
In the Fifties all the wonder of pastel was “in,”
The funds so well arranged in bank accounts
Left dormant through the War. Largesse, secured amounts
Were stored, but goods were spare and produce thin,
Production not yet shelved to compliment the newfound peace.
The Sixties featured families rounded off from nine to an even five;
The troops were home, chariots had fins, and promises alive
Throughout the world to put such potential in the fleece
As might be had for children in the doxology to provide
A balance, a nom de plume for a strange apology
For the deprivation of Depression and the horrors of the War Years. Anthologies
Replaced by catalogues from Sears, recruits were down but churches thrived
And so did freedom, and to the sirens of liberty went the clear-eyed youths
Who loved at will and, sur le pouce, found themselves
in the Seventies illumined in haloes of hair and something to close to truths.
“The Day Defines Eternity”
The day defines eternity while its rites
Address themselves to Second Comings in the banks.
Their drunken dawns leave little more than husks grown rank
In what might have been a glorious musky mist. Delight
In shadows, the dampness of a late-night bar, nefarious decisions,
Addictive ends and all that drowns in rampant collusion
Sewn within the lining, a pocket
of darkness embroidered, timed confusion,
Utter usury of fantasies in trillions at the Fed, and all its fine revisions.
So it is with what it is that spawns nocturnal fiscal hope
In monthly monetary infusion after closing hours, florid firsts
And lasts in hourly quotations: their very earnings are their curse.
Ambitions, envy, greed along the taut and binding ropes
Of any other night. It is just so!
Still the constant Wall Street run is ever lost,
While speculators riot in the night and no one owns the costs.
Posted in Duplicity, Economics, Greed, Materialism, Poetry, Politics, Vices
Tagged Avarice, Business, Corruption, Lyric Poetry, Sonnets
Confirmations late, perhaps, but guaranteed;
Never ending certitude, the consolation of pieces
The tattered ends of surest re-creation and redress,
The eyes trained to see all between as weeds,
The winded wilderness of detraction,
Thoughtlessness, but cannot tarnish the polished thought.
Win or lose, the matter has been decided; ought
Escapes the scrutiny of the watcher, a refraction
From within illuminating all that’s without
And damn the static in the wavelength. Repercussions
Riddle doubting minds and incidental mental defections
From others in the cast. The curtain rises, scenes begin
And with or without a climax or a denouement, a lifetime of delights
Will out in time. But who feeds the candle in the late nights’ softer lights?