The Mystery of Banking

The bank has ten billion this year,

But the money is surely not here—

It’s been quite lent away,

Pending some future day,

So it’s only a promise , that’s clear.

Is it borrowers then with their share

Who have the bank’s money to spare?

Nope!  They’ve spent it all,

To get profits next fall,

So the money is clearly not there.

One may begin wondering where

Is this something not here and not there—

There’s a ten billion list,

But does money exist?

Such thoughts only lead to despair.

                             Alex J. Pollock, c. 1970

Waltzing

For your light feet and graceful steps

I offer praise and thanks,

I’d rather dance a waltz with you

Than own a hundred banks.

Sonnet

Since we will vanish, oh my one, my own,

Together with the burnt out candle’s flame,

And nothing, nothing, meriting the name

Of You or Me remain, though bright we’ve shown;

Since too no verses, certainly not mine,

Can hold the light or stand against the dark,

No lines recall a glow, no rhymes a spark,

And this is true, although you are divine—

Divine, I say, I also (if with scars),

Two miracles of thought, will, passion, breath,

But since stone blind to miracles is death,

Who snuffs as well as spirits, worlds and stars,

Therefore love me while we burn and be—

Thus purest logic, truest poetry.

Lines on Holbein’s “Dance of Death”

He stalks unseen through all our days,

While puffing self-importance, we

Tote up our wealth, dine richly fed,

Make speeches.  He, all mockery.

Sniggers as our flesh betrays.

We push from thought the end we dread,

He waits and grins in parody.

April in Chicago

The zephyrs turned to gusts and chills,

It’s snowing on the daffodils!

Too cold for any vernal fling,

Rough winds do shake Chicago’s spring.

Lines While Riding the Chicago L

Oh, you cannot make a poem out of riding on the L train,

Though you’re clever, Alexander, so my Muses will explain,

It’s for certain not a pleasure—it’s too boring to be pain,

It’s only jerky, crowded, noisy and obnoxiously mundane!

Moonbeams Needed

The daily tasks that never end,

Cling like cobwebs to our minds,

Entangle in a thousand strands

Our souls in lilliputian binds.

They hide the essence from our view,

Intruding even in our dreams,

We must escape! And freely rise,

Like Cyrano, upon moonbeams.

Herrick

Robert Herrick, cavalier free,

And ever perfect metrically,

Your loves were bold,

Your verse controlled.

In poetry a mistress’ knee

Can be a subject properly,

      If every rhyme

Arrives on time.

You were immoral we can see,

But still immoral gallantly—

Your sin? An ounce.

It’s style that counts!

Variation on Pope

Radiation wandered blind across the endless night,

God made the Eye, and there was light.

Liquidity

(with apologies to Shakespeare)

Tell me, where’s Liquidity bred,

In the world or in your head?

How begot, how nourish’ed?

      It’s in your mind and eye.

But when the FED so great and fair

Starts printing by the trillions there,

You know Big Brother’s taking care

      And you go out and buy!