Thoughts in a Time of Economic Crisis
by Michael Brett

Now view a lost horizon through sunken ships:

There are torpedoed ships below the cliffs of Mull,
Beached, abandoned. Above them an L-shaped lighthouse beam
Unbolts the night for scrap.

Each ship is just wartime frames now: squares, oblongs,
Photographs without pictures save those viewed
Through their spines and ribs:

The spume and crash of breakers on Cubist rocks.
The drawl of tides, like empires losing control,
Where the ships all beached in scattering haste,
Holed, torpedoed, burning.

A hundred and fifty years ago, politicians, thinkers,
Heard all the World's Seas ticking in their pocket watches;
Saw Constantine crosses in harbour cranes
And felt a kraken Europe uncoiling to wrap the world,
Make it so rich-thought Marx- it could abolish money.

The tumbling currencies remain.

In the rusting diamond cantilevers-
As the waves strike-you can imagine the ghosts
Surrounded by ocean, their rivet guns and steam hammers
In forgotten shipyards calling

Come back to work, boys.
Come back home.

Copyright © 2012 - Michael Brett
Published: 8/2/12   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem