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soup's on; only bones
by Charlie Morgana gold rush California would be proud of,
a wake of flesh enters the machine of Hope.
let Dow Jones go down, new jobs appear up.
the masses trudge toward an open-flame,
rekindled by lost years of application.
now they awake; what gives? they ask.
that is the world that is going by.
that is everything they had no time for.
that is the happiness they would have.
that is the all, all is all. is is.
07/20/2009 Posted on 07/20/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 07/21/09 at 12:53 PM i beg to differ, sir: soup's on, but there's much that is meaty and rich in this soup! |
| Posted by Maude Curtis on 07/21/09 at 03:43 PM I've been there making soup from bones but it the love that's put in it that makes it so good, like these words, Sooo goood! |
| Posted by JD Clay on 07/22/09 at 12:11 AM I like your style, Charlie. When the system implodes chaos will reign and the spineless haves will be serving crackers to the have-nots. Good soup, my man. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/23/09 at 03:26 PM Your poem, like those lazers at concerts that dance a pattern above all of us mere mortals, beams before our eyes the spare reality-fruit of determined neglect. Social commentary for sure, but in the end, there is what is and that should keep our attention for the rest of this day regardless of the Dow and the punditry. Your surgery is appreciated, my friend. |
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