October 16, 1974
9:30 p.m. 
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Material Things
The baby in the cradle will cuddle with her
toys
And marbles are important to young school boys
Cars and coats and stereos
Are great to have around
Expensive homes are rubbish when
You're buried in the ground.
But nice to have around
Listen to the sound-
Coffin boxes shopping-fifty models on the floor
Here's one made of iron with three color coded doors
Irony is black-they don't know who it's patterned for
Whether he be President or she
Some two-bit whore-
Material to the core.
I had money-want to buy Ft.Knox with all it's gold
Want to buy the lamb and fifty more-
throw in the fold
Churches preach religion-
Pass the money bowls around
What good is this money when you're buried in the ground?
What is it you've found?
I can live my life without a penny to my name
That my life would be so short-'tis but a crying shame
Pray for all the sick and all the dying and the lame
What good is the picture when you haven't got a frame
Look to Jesus, Yes, my friend, they say, and savor wealth
But I cry, what good is money with your failing health-
Spend it all, philosophize, the world will die so soon
Save it up-?
Or buy a cup-?
Or shoot for the moon-?
I could sing us dirges
If I could remember the tune.
copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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