Garfield’s Ghost
Garfield’s poster that reads:
“The guy with the most toys at the end wins”
Is theology not humor
Many if not most will agree
But I think I hear a far distant whisper from one
About camels, and needle eyes and the entitled rich
Who finds a very different cosmic view
About death and the thrill of collecting.
poem by Bill Grace
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Ms. Jekyll and Miss Hyde
The next door girl given to jeans and her art work
Is worth watching and investing an appropriate wave,
But I could not help but chuckle - after her graduation -
Seeing her transformed into interview
Folds of satin complete with high heels
Forcing me to marvel again at
The powers unleashed by a market society.
poem by Bill Grace
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War Wound
My father's wounds were real to me
His life holding very little of hypocrisy
If genes tell the story
His love of ice cream is mine
As well as capacity love things beautiful
His war is gone and mine as well
But I remember his war wound
A story he could only partially tell
That stood in the peculiar isolation of non-repetition.
poem by Bill Grace
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Seven Gifts From Our New Poet Laureate
Sir, it is not just your love of fine old trees
Or sharing the deep shards of truth's light
Your honesty about fear of money's power for instance
Your willingness to give your life away
A relationship of fifteen years that culminates in classic love
It is your assertion that poetry is not dead,
And the comfort that neither are you.
poem by Bill Grace
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Of Two Hammers
I gave a hammer to Al
Because he was great co-worker and pal
Although he called me 'Sir'
I was never taken in.
The hammer was silver not gold
Of no great worth did it hold
The silver was of steel, friendship and respect.
The hammer I kept is ugly.
It works well all the same
And is not insane
In trying to meet this world's demand for beauty.
poem by Bill Grace
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Sea World 4th Of July
This 4th the French may not be popular
This nation that helped to sanctify the 4th
Yet our crowd feels their influence
In sound and sight spectacular
Where even sea creatures do the bidding to delight.
If those rough hewn men could see their seed
With two centuries plus of growth
They too would respond with even greater shock and awe
Than we of television times.
poem by Bill Grace
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Charlie Rose Has a Chuckle
Being almost television addiction free
Even the Conventions I limited
To the speeches of Obama and McCain
There is the exception of the Charlie Rose show
Which steers much more than the movies I elect not to see.
It is the style of television that I hope will keep us free.
If vigilance for our freedom will yet be
It is the thing that makes us worthy of its keeping.
poem by Bill Grace
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There Is Something There
There is something there
That holds no guarantee like
Gravity against despair
There is something there
That is not fair
In a world of nature's strong.
I wish it were not so
The things that make us go
The glue I find that makes the planet spin
Comes back to a thing the ancients knew as sin.
Which is why I hope there is something there
Greater than a propensity for despair.
poem by Bill Grace
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Poison Gas at Bolimov
During the Great War
At Bolimov poison gas was first used
In the executive suite the sensitivities of a Marshall were lacking
The attack failed
This was no machine gun against the Zulus,
The stage was set for even greater horror
Whose face I have seen in a painting
That welcomed at the Imperial War Museum for many years
But on last visiting London
It seems to have been misplaced.
poem by Bill Grace
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Compound Kid
The cute young woman in her Honda
Does not think of her gated community
As a compound, a.k.a. ‘the Kennedy compound’
I can not read her mind
But this real estate has a powerful message
“I am not united to you. Your problems are not mine.
Here I am secure from who you are.”
Great bars of moving iron seal my isolation from yours,
Enforce the tyranny of the sensate as a lie.
poem by Bill Grace
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