Licking at crumbs

Licking at crumbs

A Poem by Beccy

You know them well, those
tamed and well trained city pups.
The dunners and yappers
replete in pinstripe and penury;
the high polish of their John Lobbs,
scattering the pigeons
pecking at scraps.

It's like a conveyor belt,
stiff armed, shoulder bowed,
heads like nodding dogs,
coming and going in servitude,
as from the tunnel a dragon roars,
beckoning with it's open jaws.

Often, as is the city's wont, it rains, 
and the black, bobbing cloud that snaps 
to attention seems impenetrable 
when viewed from the high tables
on the thirtieth floor; though on 
careful inspection, there are gaps,
a scattering of crumbs.

Sometimes, the sun shines through;
when it does, there are those who 
glean an understanding of how a man
can enjoy the soil trapped beneath 
cracked and weathered fingernails;
how he can trace each precious little
seed to its final windblown rest.
 

Mostly though, 'it's just the way it is,' 
they say, not really understanding 
the synergy between balance 
sheet and an affair of the heart. 
The thrill of each new day becoming 
lost to the limits of stagnated imagination,
in the same way as limitless possibilities
become caught in the intractable web of 
unexplored destiny.

And thus, pleasantly and presentably 
seated, almost nobody looks around.
Instead, dunning and yapping in concert,
they lap at crumbs of comfort that
fall from those higher tables; 
Time caught, as child and avarice collide 
across horizons infinitely wide;
whilst back and forth the profits stream, 
just out of reach, as in a dream.

© 2018 Beccy


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Reviews

My sister, who works at the local casino and has a masters degree in business administration, chose the world of cheap thrills over the morally reprehensible rat race of blind ambition. I guess, painstakingly, so many get lost in the flame blaze of trophy riches and then loose the grace and morality of ideal worth. Then they retire and die without once hugging a tree, talking to a stranger or writing a poem......beautifully written...dana

Posted 2 Months Ago


I really like the perspective you have taken here, of being ablt to see those below the view of those little cogs, going about their business like they are big wheels, whilst never questioning why they were so eager to be part of the machine that praises greed and ignores the unwanted.
Great job on this piece. I feel that it will improve with each reading and show things missed first time round.

Posted 1 Year Ago


Beccy, I haven't been around here for a while, but I'm very happy to read your strong and poignant writing. Thoroughly enjoyable and thought provoking. Thank you.

Posted 2 Years Ago


This is a vivid looping reel of film, showing how the rat race looks & feels. Your descriptions are so interestingly unique, yet recognizable. Love the way you show the choices & payoffs & sacrifices as a necessary evil built into this seeming addiction to success. Even tho this is stated with an unrelenting harshness, there's also a note of sympathy between the lines & we end up feeling sorry for these automatons. (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Years Ago


Not a single strand of altruism from those dunners and yappers huh? Material greed seems to be as addictive as it is unfulfilling. This is the first poem of yours I've read and I'm already a fan.

Posted 2 Years Ago


not to be read quickly ...love the title and the metaphors with crumbs and gleaning .. the view from the streets to the heights ..all clouded with fog and rain..the dreary hangs heavy ..love the empathy towards the middle class ...a struggle in any country ...love the admonition against avarice...when its added to ones ambition it destroys ...love the language .. had to look up "John Lobbs" so am comforted that i must not be a snob ;))) strong work Beccy!
E.

Posted 2 Years Ago


As much a hamster wheel as a at race Norman. I go out while I was ahead and still understood the things that really mattered.

Beccy.

Posted 2 Years Ago


Born in London, worked in London, it took an enforced retirement to move to the coast away from the rat race. Here I learned to write, paint, read and enjoy the pleasure of "normality". Your poem made me realise what I once accepted accepted, but now never miss.

Posted 2 Years Ago


More disillusioned I seem to recall CD. I quit the city soon afterwards, left it to the dunners and yappers, most of whom had never opened a book of poetry in their lives. :))

Beccy.

Posted 2 Years Ago


CD Campbell

2 Years Ago

Right. The hustlers. People can really suck it.

First Page first
Previous Page prev
1
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

1559 Views
25 Reviews
Rating
Added on March 18, 2017
Last Updated on December 2, 2018

Author

Beccy
Beccy

Northampton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom



About
I'm forty three, single and have a lovely thirteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and re.. more..

Writing
The new estate The new estate

A Poem by Beccy


Perspective Perspective

A Poem by Beccy


Giving Giving

A Poem by Beccy



Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..


Windy Windy

A Story by Samuel Dickens