The Desolation Caused By Greed

She had come to assume
That the continuity, the regularity of full moon
After full moon, the prosperity that extended
Year after year, meant that she could count on
The public trust, that she would spend her last days
In well-governed cities, that her money
Was protected, insured, that somewhere, in some
Underground vault, where it was safe from theft,
Was shining metal.  She dreamed of spending
Her last years sailing untamed seas or
Reading a book under an olive tree,
Never thinking that it would come to this….
That the sky would turn to lead and cupboard bare,
Bed cold in winter with her empty stare.

Her father had told her bankers could be fair,
Would never smile and befriend you without
Enduring belief they would not deceive you,
Not to your face, not lie and cheat in ways
Entirely legal.  Now she wanted to string
Barbed wire around their altars,
Burn their office desks, place sentries
Outside their doors or just lock them away
Forever in their greed, forcing them to consider
What they had done to those without a face.

There is always such a weight that comes
With fearful knowledge, always the suffering,
Always the hope their shame would minimize
The profits that they made, beat their breasts,
Weep over the desolation forever caused by greed.
It was not the poor immigrant who stole
Across the border that brought the system down;
Not the welfare cheats who’d lost their pride.
The stone that brought Goliath down was
Well-aimed by the upright crowd, the ones
In suits and ties, driving German cars and
Watching athletes at their games.

Now it was too late to hope for help to come,
Government after government sank
Under the cloud of accumulated debt rated AAA.
She looked over her shoulder and her
Retirement fund was dry….
No promises were kept because another wept.
This was not the result of marching boots
Invading or bombs falling from the sky.
This was not done by foe, but it carried the same
Weight, same fear, same dismay of crushed hopes.
And the only majesty she could muster was rage.

Only Naked Angels

Please God, be aware…  I’m putting you on notice
All future visitations by angels will only be
Permitted admission into my house, my personal
Presence, if they are naked, completely and starkly
Without external clothes, drapes or robes of any
Nature, allowing, of course, for feathers in wings.

I request longhaired angels, male or female,
Young or aged, thin or fat…. As long as they are
Passionately in love, naked to the elements,
Unashamed of breasts or penises or vaginas—
Playfully prepared for instant intercourse, willing,
Eager to knell in worship of the body and spirit,
All bounteous nature without reserve, bringing
Fullness of the Hebrew Bible’s translation
To “know” another, altogether erect upon feet,
Aware, every muscle hard, engorged in anticipation of
This present, fecund, divine moment, wildly engaged,
Exposed, vulnerable as all Love is vulnerable,
Casting off protection, moderation, hesitation.

Only naked angels, please— no shields, no swords,
No bolts of lightening, just bringing the echo of
Heavenly choirs, the divine scent of whatever flowers
Grow within your grounds, even accepting
Without judgment whatever weeds
Come along, as we will plant new gardens,
Populate a New Earth, unpolluted by
Warped attitudes of flesh and sex,
View new horizons, new valleys filled with
Promises, peace longing for consummation,
Lambs and lions bedding down together,
Innocent, as before any priest thought marble
Statues needed fig leaves to cover naked form.
Let angels come naked, trailing only glory, only sunlight—
Gold, pure in energy, divinely inspired and blessed,
Blown upon the winds,  the wings of desire for Love.

Each Holds Wildness In His Heart

“In vain, man’s expectations; in vain, his boastful words.                                           God brings the unthought to be, as here we see….”                                                                                                                                                    — Euripides

There is such mystery wrapped yet in more mystery.
Thinking one’s mind contains clarity of sight
Does not make it so… only reveals what one
Makes of it today, this very hour.  Another hour,
Another day, one cannot hope to say what dawn
Shall bring upon the rise, nor if one’s lungs hold breath.

When mortals take the place of God, as they now do,
Confusion sits upon a golden throne.  Yet even
Ancient Greeks believed that gods consulted oracles,
Watched for omens shimmering in the air.
Though I know not much of truth, I would suggest
Its deepest answers are taken deeper still
If given softly, darkly, hinted with smiles….

For each of us holds wildness in his heart and
Only hopes to understand it, though it may
Serve as King.  It runs as wolves on
Mountains, hungry, howling at each phase of moon,
Drunk on poison of wickedness or righteousness,
It matters little; it sprints beyond control,
Beyond at best a glimpse of destiny or grace.

We do not know our own lives, nor what we are—
Nor where we go.  Thinking does not make it so.
Prayers do not produce sufficient blessing that
Happiness lasts beyond a day or three at best,
Only irony lingers immortal in the wings….
And Death.
Summon then what laughter, courage, dignity
Can be called, and never keep love’s passion waiting.

Good Friday….

Now we face the blindness of human unkind,
Hearts turned to stone, blood spilled
Upon the Tree, dreams of hope swallowed
Into three long days of darkness, the soul,
The Universe rent in two as we progress
Into the littleness of the way we live.

Weep this day for all flesh, too comfortable
Steeped in hate, fear of death strangling,
Stifling breath, burying life in the grave…
The stone rolled across the opening so
No light can penetrate, three long days
Darkness reigns… then we shall see….