“Amazing Grace and Little Wonder”
Amazing grace and little wonder who
It is that for a bowl of soup will squander future space and sovereignty
For a moment’s roaring respite; whose the chilling ring of casuistry
Devours precious primetime dinner hours on fecund ferial days. Few
If any fruits are plucked as potpourri for monumental business gambles
Gaining mastery of the blinding present, yes! perhaps, but whose the futures,
Fortunes and logistics strewn throughout the Milky Way with vouchers
On the run defined by wine and fine cuisine served with soundbite scrambles
In code for ever-mystic fiduciary streams, desiccating brooks
At source that damn the costs and swelling columns in the ledger?
Preferences, then, will legislate toward the whim; they pleasure
In the hidden barb, the ensemble, the purple caveat; the subtle lethal hook,
The crocheted will and hubris that, matched with folly,
supports acquired taste in all-consuming pain;
One need not wonder when and where the markets’
blisters will amaze, but if the boils’ll ever drain.
Posted in Ephemeral pursuits, Federal Reserve, Fiscal cliff, Imagism, Law's delay, Licentiousness, Lyric Poetry, Mammon's glory, Market quotations, Markets, Materialism, Pedantry, Peter Principle, Philistines, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Delusion, End Times, Illusion, Lyric Poetry, News Media, Sonnet
“They Will Not Stop”
They will not stop, you know, until they cannot bleed.
Medical reports and residuals lead along with grocery lists at pharmacies,
An incessant rush to check the listings, read it; Pharisees
Of all descriptions grease their glistening needs, their silences as Oprah leads
The willing and the lambs to where they’ll find a finer grass,
Their pastures filled with bargains and abundance in the aisles. Omission smiles
On senators and preachers alike while the candidates cross the miles
Between the nearest hometown threat—one’s neighbour’s ass—
And gasoline that surely tops the current troy ounce of gold.
They’ll turn the page (they must of course) and trash
The smokers. Pump the gas and all that cash
Gets laid on ever-righteous Exxon barrels from oil rigs grown bold
In seas with calibrated bets and calibrated ease and no one is about to change.
If the goal is self-destruction, that, too, can be easily arranged.
They cannot listen nor can they speak but add to texts and stare
In disbelief and aptly vapid joy or base relief.
It keeps them glued to screens for clues in sound-bites of vicarious sleep
Gaining gravitas as they crowd the streets in hot pursuit of here and there.
Within their palm-grown cast of “Friends” and plenteous roe of virtual Network
Sites, seeds of virtual gardens, the literary fantasies of high-speed basic needs
Are gathering rams whose force has not abated. Nor have others failed to cede
What must come, eleventh in hours, aphorisms distilled to slogans. It begets
A certain sobriety while in the flush of wine they watch the tube,
The latest and exclusive live reports of signs of life in presaged strife,
Of storms on every coast, perhaps a virus in the circuit as the people vote—
Specifically on Wall Street and the Treasury, the spin of market’s quotes—
Before the rage of Ponzis and daily revelations of electoral strife
Amongst the self-anointed Mayans of the day recorded as a long pursuit,
Another longest march to what it means to scream and yet be mute.
Posted in Aphorisms, Electoral strife, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Market quotations, Markets, Mayans, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Self-destruction, Slogans, Sonnet, Sonnets, Wall street
Tagged Double Sonnet, Ecology, Economics, Economy, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Sonnet, Sonnets