Poems by, for and of our times
Joan Greenbaum
(in process)
Artifacts with attitude and us
[1]
Ode to the Selfie
(written for the older crowd; go tell them a story)
Listen, this is not so easy,
it takes some skill
and stead-fasted-ness
an ironic sense of humor
and a long arm;
Yes its best done by the young
with their shifting shapes
of face, body
and personality
as well as their wicked sense
of playfulness.
But you too; the grey, the pot-bellied,
the shifting shape of age,
you too, can get the knack
as you possess a stubborn sense of humor
and a sixteen year old
scratching to get out.
And here is the trick,
the beauty of it all;
you can frame your own life,
not the full-on, stand and smile shot
where your oddly chosen orange
sweater and protruding belly
steal the scene.
You alone can hide that double chin,
those sagging eyelids, deepening wrinkles
and that body bulge
heading south.
Listen it’s not easy,
it takes some skill, but you
can accentuate your surroundings,
placing yourself in the frame, like
an old Dutch painting,
highlighting your home, your coffee cup
the tschotkas in the bookcase, or
that wine bottle in your hand,
almost empty.
Ask your grandchildren to send you selfies
ask your friends to take a shot
of their favorite place with a slice of themselves
in the corner,
Ah, but I hear you thinking,
its selfish; those selfies
embody a culture growing inward,
like an infected toe nail.
A civilization swiveled on its axis
as the iphone becomes our self pointing
compass.
Ok, believe what you want
from your end of the lens
of history.
But, look,
look up at Instagram
and down at the filters on your ipad
see the ways that you,
and your selfie,
merge into a larger mosaic
the still life our times.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
[2]
In order to serve you better
(best read aloud with others)
In order to serve you better
this call is being recorded,
as you wait on hold
in hell.
In order to serve you better
this menu has changed
to befuddle and indeed
confound you.
In order to better serve you
please press
1 for English (why not)
2 for billing (we want your money)
3 for tech support (we will tell you to go online)
4 for a message from our CEO (the voice of god)
5 for a recording of hare Krishna (hare, hare)
6 for geese a laying (or go back for the false golden rings)
7 for random numbers from our CFO (reading from his spreadsheet)
8 if you dare, and
9 if, for some reason you are still hanging on
But, listen
in order to serve you better
do Not press that zero
not once, and
we know, you know, that trick
don’t even think of it
do NOT press it twice;
As, in order to serve you better
we are now directly connected with the NSA
and they have a drone
waiting for your
location.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
[3]
The Apps of Time
Some say the world appears through Facebook,
Endless life. Nothing deleted.
Young and old live on,
Barnacles and all. Forever.
Like it.
Others, of course, lean in, to Instagram.
Splashing visual snapshots of life.
Selfies and food collapsed,
Into moments. Blog-like.
Moments.
Twitter, on the other hand, blasts
The short beats of time.
Gone. Or surprisingly viral.
Two minutes of fame.
A flash.
Perhaps we live in
the in-betweeness of our daily rituals;
stuttering time-slots through
our fingertips.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
[4]
Life is a tweet
The creamy lemon moon
the soft gentle breeze
the sweet-scented air
the glistening dew
on the wilting rose.
Going forward
time heals
dream job
think outside the box
and be strong.
Who makes this crap up?
Who opens the brainpan
and pours it into
young children and
young wannabe professionals?
Poetry of our time is made up
Not of platitudes poured from the old
But the short staccato beat
Of 140 characters.
Food, place, self, sports
Police, train wrecks, political moments
Celebrity sightings, missed connections
And lost loves
The mimes of daily life
Comforting, familiar, steady
Beat to the rhythm of current time.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
[5]
Ode to Foxy/CNN
I think that they shut the window
of history. With a thud.
Slammed it into the oblivion of
24 hour news cycles, electronic bits,
too thin on-camera ‘personalities’
and the silent majority of audiences.
Silent in their barca-loungers
immobile in their plush sofas
popping pop corn to the beat of scores
of deaths, of riots, of fires, crashes,
ballgames, hurricanes, and of
governments gone to seed.
Marx said that history repeats itself,
first as tragedy, second as farce,
But with the window thumped shut
what can we hear? See?
No farce. No lessons. No irony. No thinking.
Each news cycle born brand new
Refreshed only by electronic flashes on
the teleprompters of Now.
