This Be (the addendum to) the Verse-poetry of Frank Feldman, p. 1 of 2 pp.

Frank Feldman 10 Burnham Place Fair Lawn, NJ 07410 201.796.9296 jazzdog40@aol.com

This Be (the addendum to) the Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. A poem which hides more than it seeks, And is only somewhat true. For they were just the hapless vessels Through which the cosmos spokeBoth they and you are now the punch lines Of a cosmic, tragic joke. Tethered to the ills that flesh is heir to, You awaken in the wombFated to decay and disappointment, You advance upon your doom. Your souls imprisoned in a body Which stinks and rots, then diesFace it now, instead of later, So its less of a surprise. The lot of mortal man is troubled, Once from the womb hes tornYour parents flaws were not the problem, The problems being born. Your dilemma was not your mum and dad, Your dilemmas existentialEnough with all their flaws, and how They stifled your potential!

This Be (the addendum to) the Verse-poetry of Frank Feldman, p. 2 of 2 pp.

Away with your wounded inner child! Hes grating and hes cloyingYour rightful complaints your destiny, With which the Fates are toying. Blame your genes and not your parents, Who were only following orders To produce the machines to carry their genes, (The bodies of their sons and daughters). Your folks heard Natures siren song, Her sweet, seductive voice, And their instincts overwhelmed them, (Though they fancied it their choice). You can rail away as if youre Job At how nobody caresImagine the fault lies with the gods Now its clear that its not theirsFar better to read philosophy, And maintain a bit of pride, If youd have have your friends speak well of you, Once youve up and died. To not have kids might be advice To which the wise man harkensIf not, at least his kids have art And poetry (like Larkins).