Two Short Poems

©2013 by Christopher Oie Keller

 

On Sex

 

Is all this worth a biological imperative?

Do we play cards, sing songs, dance, just for?

Forgive my postulation that sensual stimulation is not the be-all-end-all

but one of those mean ends meant to justify some uncreative boredom.

Can it even live up to the hype?

 

 

Art and Sadness

 

It seems there must be suffering if art is to exist –

in Eden there was little want for adding extra flair –

and days of art and sadness often vanish quite un-missed.

 

At close of day, the toil finished simply to subsist

releases words that to be heard in ennui is rare;

it seems there must be suffering if art is to exist.

 

The worst of work is forced upon mankind without a twist:

powers prey on laymen stifling poetry and air.

With days of censored sadness often vanishing un-missed,

 

especially when those above deign fit to clench their fist

and through the fire and metal flung leave truth and beauty bare,

it seems there must be suffering if art is to exist.

 

Once the slugs have entered and released that blood-red mist,

and every tearful eye now holds a tired, broken stare,

the days of art and sadness vanish equally un-missed.

 

Yet all of this will often pause the moment one is kissed,

remaining painless, artless, while he pretends to care –

but since there must be suffering if art is to exist,

our days of love and happiness must vanish, nigh un-missed.