One thing I’ve found intriguing working on this project is looking back at old pieces of writing and seeing where they stand in today. A poet’s job is not to simply record historical events as they occur. This job belongs to historians. While the historian must document what happened. The poet looks at may happen. Poetry is more ‘philosophical.’ then history, according to Aristotle, because in order to unfold a plot in a manner that is convincing to the audience, the poet must grasp and represent the internal logic, the necessity, of the outcome of those events. Poetry as an art form predates texts. The earliest poems were sung or chanted. The poems helped people remember history, law, and genealogy. As I dig through old poems, I can follow the history of my thoughts and feelings. I can recall historical events that occurred and what it felt like to live in that historical period of time. I came across this poem. I wrote it so long ago, that it actually pre-dates my memory. It speaks to the gaps in wealth in society and how we live in a society dominated by corporate culture. Years later, the poem is still relevant, even more so. The discussion of corporate culture, the distribution of wealth, and the need for a middle class are issues very much at the forefront of society. It’s probably not the best poem I’ve ever written, but, way back when, I wrote about something I was witnessing and feeling and today we stand at a place where society is debating these ideas with great passion. I found it very interesting. So, here’s what I dug up.
Electromagnetic storms on the surface of the sun,
Clustered together sentiments in suburbia.
Cyclically the recession comes and magnetically
businesses detach from black signs with orange flaming
Now Hiring, written on them. Droughts
of work. starving for smiles, cooling culture,
Red Giant businesses SWALLOWINGsmaller shops.
Your coffee isn’t hot, it’s colder
then the atmosphere of the places you shop.
BIG BUSINESSES rise like Olympus Mons causing
even Starbucks to look like a tiny Everest, the core
sitting in Washington. Pressure greater than
two hundred fifty billion atmospheres, yet
down here on the cold cement,
we’re feeling like we’re on Pluto
as over ninety nine percent of the profits sit
In the core of the sun,
Even that has been bought out
by sun spots sitting in swivel chairs,
drinking designer coffee, blackening
the sun’s arteries, causing a drought of fresh sunbeams
from reaching the heartland.