Forecasts

Forecasts

 
'...the burnt-out end of smoky days'

                            T.S. Eliot

 
l

 

The evening rumbles in 

and grumbles, tea is served, the kettle

whistles, bread 

is buttered, weary workers settle,

nibble, drink their tea and chatter,

as the platter's 

passed around and cakes are proffered

in the cozy parlour, lamp-lit,

rum is offered,

daily bread, and thankful for it.

Curtains closed against the weather,

children say their prayers together,

snug and safe now, sister, brother.

 

 
ll

 

The morning sun prods sleepyheads

to service and to play,

the colliery beckons

and the women make the beds.

The cobbled backstreets glisten

from the rain the night before.

The siren calls

and all the miners listen,

they heed the strident roar

and pull on their coveralls.

 

 
lll

 

You take fresh linens from the chest,

it's time to straighten up the nest,

then gargle, and repair your face

to meet the challenges and woes,

you hold your children to your breast

and wonder how by heaven's grace

you'll pay the rent, afford the food,

as praying to the Lord you stand and shiver,

arms and legs are shaking, all a'quiver,

a dreadful vision haunts your eyes,

the poor house, shameful to conceive,

you lie upon the bed and weep,

how will you cope, how will you sleep?

no items left to compromise,

a constant struggle to believe.

 

 

lV

 

He wrestles with his conscience, tried

and troubled, thoughts of fraud and theft

beset him constantly, he's torn,

his sickened heart is worn, bereft.

He looks into the eyes of strangers,

each consumed with his own fears,

distraught, and never satisfied,

into a world of want, stillborn,

condemned to worry all these years.

 

 

I suffer with these souls who wander

through a life of toil and grief,

tread-milled with no hope of solace,

no expectation of relief.

 

Take trembling hands from blinded eyes,

for the world revolves around you,

mankind labours, grasps and cries.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

Poem

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Devonshire Avatar
March 11, 2009 at 3:31 PM
Keith, again I must thank you for guiding me to a poem with a message that needs to be heard. The plight of the working class continues to get worse, never improves as the economy declines. Fears of living in "the poor house" are rampant in the United States, and apparently worldwide. You are a great storyteller, Keith. Wonderful, hard-hitting poetry here. I certainly share the concerns you express. Thanks for commenting on the Wall Street verse. I was angry. Love, Carolyn
Devonshire Avatar
March 11, 2009 at 3:31 PM
Keith, again I must thank you for guiding me to a poem with a message that needs to be heard. The plight of the working class continues to get worse, never improves as the economy declines. Fears of living in "the poor house" are rampant in the United States, and apparently worldwide. You are a great storyteller, Keith. Wonderful, hard-hitting poetry here. I certainly share the concerns you express. Thanks for commenting on the Wall Street verse. I was angry. Love, Carolyn
Dvorkis Avatar
January 4, 2009 at 8:50 PM
I think 'The Jungle' would sound like this if Sinclair knew how to write epic poetry. Verse 3 reminds me of the character 'Ona' who cried herself to sleep from the battle scars of poverty. Verse 4 is Jurgis who abandoned the traditional and 'legal' methods of obtaining funds only to end up defeated in jail. The kids from Verse 2 would rise from the morning sun to service in the Chicago meat packing industry and play in the garbage dumps. Universal hardship extends beyond national borders.
Mac Donald Avatar
December 7, 2008 at 8:47 PM
Hey to you, Keith! You truly are a master at capturing scenes, and bringing them to life. This prods each sense, making it feel as though the reader were actually standing by watching as each scene unfolds. The rhyming is perfect..very subtle..almost feels as though there was none(I had to scroll up:). Not always fun to trip over anchoring words. Smooth..flowing..a complete poetical story. Ahhh..you are so very talented! God bless you and yours...Love, Mikki
Thomas Avatar
December 7, 2008 at 11:48 AM
The last 24 years have been a financial struggle for my husband and myself, and we've felt so many times everything you've decribed so eloquently here. You've truly captured that sense of hopeless desperation and the fears that come from living on the edge....the disappointment that comes from working hard but never realizing financial comfort. Wonderfully expressive poetry! Thank you so very much for your comments on my poetry. I appreciate them tremendously! ~Juliane
Suzadail Jr. Avatar
December 5, 2008 at 12:56 PM
I grew up in a coal mining town. Hard working, non-complaining honest decent people. If I had a choice between a palace and growing up there again, I would never see the palace. The love, sense of family and neighbor could never be replaced by riches. Material things just don't cut it when you have that type of community. God Bless. Vince
Reynolds Avatar
November 24, 2008 at 5:50 PM
Holy wow. I'm preeety sure you just wrote my life, just here. The poverty; the many children (5!) the tormented husband working himself to death...yeah, I supose my life is the stuff poetry is made of, right? lol Seriously, this is amazing. like I said, you are my new favorite poet. no words to how close this hit me - right in the chest. love Kristin
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