Firestone Feinberg VERSE-VIRTUAL 2015 November

November 2015

I'm a husband, a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a friend, a pianist, a composer; I'm a poet, a painter, a piano tuner, and a retired music teacher. I'm a relatively observant Jew and a diehard socialist. I'm 64 years old and live in NYC with my wonderful wife, Susan. And even though I don't have a college degree in English, I am the editor of the best online community poetry journal in the world.

The clock sat smugly on the shelf,
As if upon a throne,
Contented with uncounted wealth
Accrued through debtor-loan.

One thousand minutes from the lad
Who tried some time to keep —
Two hundred hours from the maid
Who’d stolen off to sleep —

And twenty days the afternoon
Full washed away by rain —
And thirty weeks — owed by the moon —
For daring so to wane.

Then laughed and laughed the greedy clock,
And selfish sneaked his hands,
As screaming trumpets — tick and tock —
Proclaimed his steep demands.