A Circular Poem with No Beginning and No End
revolution?
it all starts when the
emotional electrons of
selfishness and fear
crash and collide,
thereby causing a chain reaction
that sparks the pulsating protons
and irascible ions of
savage seething anger and of
horribly hellish hate,
and this in turn ignites the
molecules of misery that
electrically explode into
woeful wailing wars and
dreadful devastating death;
but the question is this:
will there ever be
an end to
Did he learn how to
share?
Or did he shoot his popgun
because he didn’t
care?
Was this lad a contented little
child?
Or with fear
did his radical head run
wild?
Did he eat his meals in
peace?
Or if there was no meat,
did his impatient fury never
cease?
Was this boy ever
kind?
Or did his terrorized teachers
raise a furor thinking he lost his
mind?
Did he turn the other
cheek?
Or did he revengefully
call every enemy a
freak?
As she opens the door of the
luxurious limousine,
with quivering, slender,
inexperienced fingers,
she ever so briefly
hesitates.
But before logic can stop her,
she rashly swings open the door of
emotion, and dives in before
reason can stop her.
The car abruptly speeds off,
and her body falls backwards
onto the long bench seat
which is as bouncy as a mattress;
she looks down and is disturbed
to see that her new white dress is
soiled by oily french fries
that are sprawled everywhere;
alarmed, she jerks her body
spasmodically
and knocks over an unseen
plastic cola cup,
and its black liquid --
its pop and fizz long gone --
splashes onto her lily flesh.
The depraved driver leers at her
while whispering lewd words that
slither like a serpent
out of his mouth,
creeping and seeping into
her virgin ears,
maliciously coiling around her
brain, before steadily injecting
their poisonous venom
into her mind.
Depressed and disappointed,
she slowly, sluggishly
exits the vehicle,
feeling used,
like a throwaway,
like the limo’s black exhaust.
It opens up its cavernous mouth
and exhales its cigar breath,
then it prepares for its next meal,
more greedy gamblers,
who are like meaty drumsticks
dreaming of finally
hitting the jackpot
and filling their huge pockets
with millions of clinking coins.
It opens its mouth and
hungrily,
gluttonously,
gobbles them up,
chewing on the tasty meat
of their fat wallets.
After swallowing their savings,
it rudely spits them out,
fleshless,
penniless,
bags of bones.
Inspired by the writing of St. Teresa of Avila
Mortal sin is like
Pluto’s moon Charon,
which creeps stealthily
through the chilling
daytime sky,
until finally
its foul black disc
completely eclipses
the Son.
Whoever says he is in the light,
Yet hates his brother or sister,
Is still in the darkness --
But beware The Twilight,
Neither fully in the light
Nor fully in the darkness,
The Land of the Lukewarm,
Like the Laodiceans of old,
Who are neither hot nor cold,
Who will be spit out like
Salt that has lost its flavor,
Like vines that have no fruit,
They will be thrown out
And they will wither,
Ever so slowly wither,
Into the black earth.
Fred is a linguistic
con-a-sewer,
And his foul words stink
like black manure;
His expletives are
nuclear missiles,
More irksome than
teeth-shattering whistles;
His vile phrases
detonate in our ears,
And our clean thoughts
the toxic fallout smears;
Of his weapon he is
extremely proud,
His soul is poisoned
in the mushroom cloud.
Willie the Worrier woke up in bed,
He was quickly filled with horrible dread;
His main goal in life was to get ahead,
Yet he stumbled and fell behind instead;
Never satisfied with his daily bread,
Now this stressaholic is door-nail dead.
Ricky rushes madly all the day long,
He’s petrified things will turn out all wrong;
His two nervous eyes seem made of green rock,
That shift like the pendulum of a clock;
Keep up with the Joneses, he must, he must,
Or all of his dreams will turn to grey dust;
His sad sour life is a merry-go-round,
And Fear chases him like a hungry hound;
Tragically, he lives at a breakneck pace,
With worrisome wrinkles on his blank face;
Ricky’s afraid he just might go crazy,
The truth is that his future’s quite hazy;
He needs to run, run, run, and buy, buy, buy,
But he never stops to ask himself why.
Ignoramus Maximus is his name,
And playing the stock market is his game;
With a dark ghoulish smile and fiendish eye,
Greed burns inside him and will never die;
He listens to the experts on TV,
Thinking these people the future can see;
As the stock market climbs to all new highs,
He trades hundreds of stocks of every size;
Thinking of nothing but buying and selling,
His addictive life is very telling;
To the god of riches does he succumb,
So that his sick brain becomes very numb;
But seeing his statement, he starts to choke,
He finally learns he’s totally broke.
In centuries past, courtships took more time,
Holding hands was special and a little kiss sublime,
The merging of two hearts: as one they would rhyme.
ButNowIt’sHookUpsWithStrangersAndLotsOfAbuse,
APrettierGirlWalksByAndThenIt’sTimeToVamoose,
JustMeaninglessSexTillThey’reDeadInANooseAnd
We start with small
roller coasters in our small
lives, seeking a little excitement.
But-it’s-not-enough-and-so-we-
want-to-go-even-faster-and-so-we
search-and-hunt-for-even-more-thrills.
ButIt’sNeverEnoughAndFasterAndFaster
WeGoUntilFinallyWeDerailFromThe
TracksOfTruthAndMoralityAnd
i-fear-
the-dangerous-and-
dreadful-death-spiral,-
the-dantean-inferno-
of-chilling-chain-reactions,-
of-technological-terrors,-
of-atomic-annihilation,-
of-regressive-progress,-
moving-us-forward-yet-
plunging-us-deeper-
and-deeper-and-deeper-
down-down-down-
into-the-frightening-funnel-of-
tomorrow
Francis, the Poverello of Assisi, really cared for Mother Earth,
The clear starry skies and sparkling waters filled with mirth,
Happy, healthy buds burst forth brightly in glorious new birth.
NowWeWatchWithDeepDreadForOurWoundedWorldBleeds,
SheSilentlyReachesOutToUsAndEverSoDesperatelyPleads,
WhatCanWeDoInOrderToCureHerAndSupplyAllHerNeeds?
When I wave the white flag
in the serene surrender of prayer,
I allow the water of my soul
to be poured freely into
His chalice of gold;
there I am baptized by Love
and born again,
transformed by the Transfigured,
changed forever by the sweet
new wine of the Spirit.
Before modern technology, time moved very slow,
Life was about life, not just earning some dough,
It was nice to stop and feel the whispering wind blow.
ButNowProgressPushesAndPushesToDizzyingHeights,
AndIt’sNothingButFastFoodAndThenWorkingLateNights,
GluttonousTechnologyEatsFatherTimeWithMegaBitesAnd
Back in the day, people would quietly chat by the fire,
Or maybe silently read and learn, like a monastic friar,
Of tranquility's beauteous bliss we would never tire.
ButNowThereIsNoiseNoiseNoiseBombardingOurEars,
HonkingHornsScreamingSirensAndSnaggletoothedJeers,
TalkingHeadsBoisterouslyBabbleAndTrebleOurFearsAnd
In years past, students could focus more on learning,
Reading was something for which they were yearning,
Page after glorious page of the classics they were turning.
ButNowIt’sGradesGradesGradesNothingButGrades,
WithMoreHomeworkMoreTermPapersAndNoParades,
There’sMoreFrustrationMoreFearAndTheirEnergyFadesAnd
2,000 years ago life was lived at a slower pace,
There was time for family, and to see everyone’s face,
People took time to notice the beautiful stars way up in space.
NowLifeIsSoStressfulAndSoRushedAndSoObsessiveAndSoFast,
WeHaveToBuyBuyBuyAndBeSuccessfulAndAlwaysAvoidBeingLast,
SoWeNeedFlatScreensAndSmartPhonesAndNoTimeForThePastAnd
Sometimes modern-day judges,
get creative and dabble in
Macbethian law,
and they proclaim:
“Fair shall be foul,
and foul shall be fair”;
but they should be like
good baseball umpires,
so should they call
a fair ball foul,
or a foul ball fair?