“Gold Bars Soar”
Gold bars soar that may or may not be there as dollars rise and fall
While doves and hawks lose feathers and the bourgeois stain
Their corporate tablecloths; numbers genuflect as mortgage rates
And candidates trade places in the spin. Who sleeps in the caterwaul;
Who stampedes for attention in the networks’ nightly call
To arms not heard since Boston; whose cotillions root for the notorious? Bait
And bombast never fails; the remedy is ever there and altogether late,
Meticulously timed by someone out to fill the stadia and malls
With never ending seasons’ greetings and wherewithal
To keep the vital signs of spinning polls and sardines at the gates,
Martin’s dream is deemed appropriate for the calendar and numbers integrate
The use of steroids and youthful thrall so no one drops the ball.
Who needs another change for heaven’s sake as one size fits all:
…And who really gives a damn with elections in the fall?“
Posted in Change, Dollar, Dross, Duplicity, Fear, Gold, Hubris, Idolatry, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Inflation, Lust, Lyric Poetry, Materialism, Media, Morality, Obama, Poem, Poetry, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Business, Dollar, Gold, Imagism, Immortality, Inflation, Lyric Poetry, News Media, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
It’s pathetic in the classic sense, egregious waste
To spend a world on what he thinks he is. He tastes,
But finds no flavour, sees the page, but in his haste
He reads and cannot spell. The crooked line is chaste
Enough to him and more or less he owns the knack to be
Perceived as top dog at the corner street arcade
Before divisions in the stable force his hand. He raids
His lifetime’s fortune fortified and buttressed by animosities
To what existed well before all witnesses to the crime had stepped aside.
His way’s engraved on every schoolyard jungle gym and sandbox slide.
It does not fall to him to raise objection, cop a plea, to cease or to resist
A new-mint shiny dime or shoot the moon’s deposits in the skies.
Addiction’s child plays the labyrinth of paradox, dilemma, and enigma’s lists
Of what’s been overlooked and what misfortune’s kissed–
“O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!”* And so he must.
He’ll play that card until the bar is closed, until his dollar’s been reduced to rust.
* …from “God’s World” by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Posted in Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Delusion, Dollar, Economics, Economy, End Times, Illusion, poetry, Sonnet