Internet Yearning
Ms lonely heart
sits at her computer
reviewing candidates
at an on-line dating service,
each one promising
to make her happy,
most of them so clever
she cannot tell
who is sincere,
who is unscrupulous
hoping to take advantage
of a vulnerable person,
so she is indecisive
and does not push
the tempting button
of connectivity.
Diminishing Voices
I do not know
why the young become poets,
since they seem to be
more concerned with aesthetics
than issues of our time.
I think of Byron,
going to Misalongi
to join the Greeks
in their fight for freedom,
dying for an ideal.
I think of Whitman
seared by the horrors
of brutal civil war,
nursing the wounded,
giving of himself.
I think of Ginsburg
howling his frustration.
the classic outsider
accusing, opposing
the land that built him.
Poets have fallen silent
on vital issues
settling for security
in a university,
unfit for current challenges
Observer
Each morning
I go to work
and see an old woman
looking from her window
in a ratty tenement
eluding gentrification,
allowing her to peer
at a confusing world,
face pressed against
unresponsive glass,
seeking to decipher
why she's been marooned
in a submerging building.
Protective Shields
They sit at computers
desperate to reach someone,
make human contact,
but never know
who responds,
identities concealed
by remote electrons,
permitting indulgence
in communication
that does not lead
to risk of discovery.
Travel II
Eastern Europeans
sufficiently endowed
with ample euros,
some legitimately earned,
cruise New York City
camera in one hand
guidebook in the other
looking for landmarks,
reasonably certain
the secret police
are not watching.