1971
Poetry
by Michael F. Nyiri
"The Blessed Are They Who Mourn Song and Let This Be a Lesson to You"
Slithering sidewalks swinging Unemcompassing every direction. The facades of the cement-cracked Buildings reach skywards toward the sun. People in the city chant School yell leaders rave and rant Everybody does what they can But to hell with what they can't. Plastic people praying to their God "The Lord in Heaven has to grant us peace." The lamb in the pasture gave his fleece A mad man in Brooklyn shot his neice. Out of the window stare the throngs Myriads of motions Giving, taking, tokens Cluttering emotions Drinking gallons of potions. Painting up the ugly faces Buttoning collars, tying laces Sun goes down the throngs come out People mingle Scream and shout Roam about Laughing lurid people crying Open doors and shut their minds. Come out and dance in The streets, You happy, Mad People. Sing a song of sixpence, mourn a dirge and cry Four and twenty blackbirds ate up all the pie Sing for your supper, honey Eat up all you can, Money, presents, solid things Were important since the world began. So let the world go out Saturday night and get stoned They seem to have a better time that way But all the churches Sunday morning Will mourn for those lost souls Who died for thier plasticity And churches pass the money bowls.
copyright 2001 by Michael F. Nyiri
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