Weep and Howl…
Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you. Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are motheaten. Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. —James 5:1, KJV
The Chancellor and the pundits can blow sunshine up your undies all they like: there’s a depression coming and it’s going to get very ugly out there. Let’s have poems in the form of Decasyllabic Quatrains on the theme of the financial crash and the coming misery. I’ll work on mine just as soon as I get back from the soup kitchen…
A La Carte
Money’s tight and it’s going to get tighter,
Tighten your belt and get set for the storm;
Your pocket’s light: it’s going to get lighter;
Your passions are cold, the soup is luke-warm.
Bodies are stacked in the street like cord-wood,
Burn them for fuel when they’ve dried out enough,
The parks are all deserts where trees once stood,
Denuded now of all burnable stuff.
Eat all the rich and the fat and your pets:
We’d eat humble pie but pies are long gone;
Stone soup and dream bread: as good as it gets;
We ate all the frogs–there’s none left to spawn.
I’ve eaten the kids; the wife was a treat,
The postman was quick, but not quick as me;
I’d eat my leg if it had any meat:
Oh, for a fat politician or three.