He (the master of the universe) shouts sell, sell, sell
Feels the euphoria of risk, the joy of hubris
Calculates gain and loss, as shares fall cent by cent
The flashing green screens turn red, indices tumble
Chip, chip, chipping away at the banks foundations.
She cowers, crouching in the corner, back to the wall
Drawing the duvet tight about her
Her hands over her ears
Blotting out the noise
Discordant sounds of blame on blame
And smashing china.
She surveys the room that has been hers
For all the time that she can remember
Remembers, spring sunlight slanting through the curtains
Lying half asleep watching the boughs of pink blossom
Dance against a pellucid blue sky
Remembers, the bleak bare branches of the cherry tree
Outlined in monochrome by hoary moonlight over snow-covered fields
She hoards these images, tucking each one away in her memory
Soon they will belong to another.
She packs her prized possessions
In a small brown cardboard suitcase
The bear with the missing eye
A small antique box containing watercolours and brushes
Her pencils, crayons, and sketchpads
A music box inlayed with mother of pearl (her grandmother's.)
One by one, she removes her artwork from the walls.
She sits on the porch surrounded by angular square packing cases
Awaiting the removal van, to remove the vestiges of all she has ever known
Away from her room with its certainties and secrets
Away from this house with its sunlit hallway
Away from her school, her friends, and the teacher
Who taught her to perceive depth, light, shade, colour, and the beauty of images.
Looking up, she sees the late autumnal sun burnishing the cherry tree
A red and gold leaf floats silently to the ground
She sheds tears and watches them splash, one by one, on to the dusty planks
Whilst, a thousand miles away, a dealer, selling short, has brought down a bank, that employed the parents of a girl who sits on a dusty porch.
Author notes
I am sorry if this poem is somewhat imperfect but I wanted to post it because it is topical.
I have been watching news of the credit crunch nightly on television and wanted to show the effects on a more human scale than just the banks, the money markets, or government.
I'm here to learn, you are all poets so I respect your criticism.
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Unreal and beautiful
This writing was so beautiful. Tears splashing one by one on to the dusty planks; this brought me there. I can relate. It is soulful.
Pamela
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Packed with emotions of remembrance, frustration, sadness and simply life...truly a topic of conversation in most homes. Excellent penning poet
my pleasure to read, thought provoking ~Tia
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This poem is truly amazing and such a sad proclamation of our time. You have captured emotion and woven it into a heartwarming tale with imagery and passion.
Love,
Amera♥
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excellent write . . liked "the joy of hubris" and "dance against a pellucid blue sky" . . well done
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well done I love it
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As to the tone and technicals I think you've done a very good job. As to content, I detect a sort of blame game here that I don't like. I was born in the late 50's. The buying and selling on the stock market has been going on for, what(?) I'm guessing at least a century before I was born. I'd hate to demonize Wall Street floor traders if I get my ass in a sling with a mortgage agreement I made as an adult. Somewhere or another, sometime or another, people have to take responsibility for their own financials. If there are parties to blame for Great Depressions and our current mess, I think it goes higher than floor traders. When super-rich like J. P. Morgan or Samuel Chase or whomever tamper and manipulate markets to create disturbances to effect political change in total disregard to human life... that's heinous in the 3rd degree. I think we agree in principle, we just differ in the level at which we place blame.
Bottom line, well done poet.
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Really fabulous vocabulary choices in here (hoary, pellucid - just two examples) - and a poignant tale inside. I actually read this differently until the final 2 lines, that the woman was leaving a lover who was work-obsessed! Tricky, tricky - I enjoy a good surprise. It's a double-journey for the price of one. Good topical write!
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Thanks for your kind comments. I have edited this slightly to make it scan better.
I've been writing poetry now for just on twenty months and have managed fifty poems. However, I still feel my writing is terribly inadequate and does not convey my feelings and ideas. Perhaps I should give up poetry and take up macramé (what ever that is) but I know I can't, poetry has become the way I see the world.
Life is good
Love, Peter
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