Weathered, abandoned, once filled with passions, but time has worn them away.
0 Comments
Where once there were railroads, there now are dry weeds, The tragedy hits the small town, which concedes, Its citizens flee the continued decline Of commerce and finance, which soon realign In cities metropolis, feeding demand For more and more money while rich firms expand. Its Main Street once bustled with people and cars, With art shops expanding their sidewalk bazaars, The comings and goings of patrons who shop And follow commands from their one traffic cop. The diner was full at the end of the block, Especially lunch time when townfolk would flock. So what of the plight of the rural home town, When factories fail and their markets close down? The land left to grazing won't mean very much Compared to the lifestyle, the township's quaint touch, To knowing your neighbors and watching kids grow, They'll never be hamlets like those long ago. The schoolhouse is empty, replaced by a bus That carries the pupils for miles to discuss What history teaches of progress and time, And how they are better in cities with crime, With corporate farmers and Wall Street affairs With leaders who cater to rich millionaires. There certainly can be an argument made For moving away when economies fade, But better to gather and plan for success, To rally the neighbors and fight the distress. Complacency gone and its failures ignored, The life of the home town may still be restored. A little bit of countryside enhances urban atmosphere, as each and every weekend morn the farmers and their wares appear. They've driven far to bring their goods, been wide awake since four o'clock, fresh fruits and shiny vegetables, their very best, from private stock. While supermarkets' volumes need the harvests of the largest crops, the smaller farms and dairies thrive on growers' pride and country shops. Enhancing urban atmosphere, the farmers and their wares appear. Bacchus and the Scribe arrived today, with pencils sharpened, wanting no delay. Their reputations have preceded, though, with Bacchus having reached career's plateau, and news of his decline won't go away. The Scribe had reassured with plain dismay that they can compensate for disarray. These virtuosos came to stem the flow- Bacchus and the Scribe. With profits clearly leaching everyday they know accounting could have gone astray, though theft of cash could be the ugly foe. They've proven now that errors long ago have skewed results- these pundits are okay, Bacchus and the Scribe. |
AuthorJack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana. Archives
April 2021
Categories |