“I suspect there will never be a requiem for a dream, simply because it will destroy us before we have the opportunity to mourn its passing.” Hubert Sibley, Jr., Requiem for a Dream
we of the blue work-a-day Mondays,
stale “Pastor says” Sundays
and Veterans’ Day at the mall
where manufactured dreams are sold
they’ve fitted us with iron lungs
the muscle we use is not our own
our scripts are poorly written
our poems stillborn, our music silenced
by Madison Avenue, by financiers
and politicians, some teachers,
some preachers too
and entertainment news …
like carnival barkers, they hawk their wares
material addictions, stoked jingoism …
……for this …
we barter our minds, betray our souls
……Chumped!
we are swallowed whole.
© 2010, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; Illustration courtesy of Frits Ahlefeldt, Public Domain Pictures.net
The BeZine 
Really enjoyed this poignant poem.
LikeLike
Oh my goodness, Jamie. I prefer a happy ending, but this poem is designed, rather like the Beat Poets of the 50’s, to shock us into standing up and thinking about what’s happening to us. Bravo and well written.
LikeLike
Love the graphic!
LikeLike
Wow! Powerful That reference to the iron lung–what a metaphor.
LikeLike
Bullseye, Jamie!
LikeLike
Just talking at dinner about how kids’ games have become like this…like Pacman…when there used to be more thinking, more strategy, more creativity about the way we played. Now it’s just touch and click and gobble and be gobbled.
LikeLike
This is so true Jamie. This poem resonates deeply with me. Beautifully worded.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on THE POET BY DAY and commented:
My Friday poem on The Bardo Group blog is a follow-up on John Anstie’s essay on Thursday …
LikeLike
Jamie: This poem speakes to me. Thank you.
LikeLike