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This thought-provoking poem written by Lancelot Schaubert challenges readers to imagine the world after capitalism has fallen, which is in response to Amos 6: 1-14.
Amos 6:1-14
Stripped to the Bonemeal
By
Lancelot Schaubert
Credits:
Illumination Representation Image by Lancelot Shaubert with Ai on Midjourney
Curated by:
Spark+Echo Arts
2022
Poetry
Primary Scripture
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I focused on the alliterative meter for this piece to give a sort of Old English Beowulf or Nordic ire. Most of the Hebrew ire is lost on us. I hoped an epic meter would round this out.
Spark Notes
The Artist's Reflection
Lancelot has sold work to The New Haven Review (The Institute Library), The Anglican Theological Review, TOR (MacMillan), McSweeney's, The Poet's Market, Writer's Digest, and many, many similar markets. (His favorite, a rather risqué piece, illuminated bankroll management by prison inmates in the World Series Edition of Poker Pro). Publisher's Weekly called his debut novel BELL HAMMERS "a hoot."
He has lectured on these at academic conferences, graduate classes, and nerd conventions in Nashville, Portland, Baltimore, Tarrytown, NYC, Joplin, and elsewhere.
The Missouri Tourism Bureau, WRKR, Flying Treasure, 9art, The Brooklyn Film Festival, NYC Indie Film Fest, Spiva Center for the Arts, The Institute of the North in Alaska, and the Chicago Museum of Photography have all worked with him as a film producer and director in various capacities.
Lancelot Schaubert
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Related Information
Time will come when the tyrants wane,
When Cape Cod will be encased in ice
Frozen like the final fires of hell
STRIPPED TO THE BONEMEAL
By Lancelot Schaubert
Time will come when the tyrants wane,
When Cape Cod will be encased in ice
Frozen like the final fires of hell
Where the tears of the taker confine.
To these Bible Belt complacent we say WOE —
To Lexington’s healthy horse breeders,
To Houston’s oil oligarchs and their wives,
To St. Louis’s stealers of farms
(The corn mutants of Monsanto fiefs),
To Indy’s hoarders of insulin patents,
And redlining real-estate
Brokers spread like a patina of SPAM —
We say woe to you wicked Christians.
You feel secure in the coastless heights.
For Saudi and Iraq, for the Soviets and China.
For Mexico City and Singapore.
For Japan and Uganda, for Polynesia and Sweden.
Are they so much worse for wear to insult?
Are you so better off than these beautiful places?
And there will be time for The End to anguish greed.
When your lapis lazuli La-Z-Boys®
Fold inward in a fractured heap,
When the mojitos you inhale dockside
Slip in your sweat and shatter on deck,
When your Golden Globes gilded in Peru mines
Tarnish by your misinvoiced trade policies,
When your Powers That Be lose your power in three
Carefully placed hurricanes,
When your poor will be seen, empowered and whole.
Enjoy your tours of juniper spirits,
Foodie reviews and festivals of music.
Enjoy your Costco wine and calves.
Your people — your poor — lie in ruin.
And because of that: America ain’t great.
"If the civility of a society’s what you want to size,
Take a deeper look at its prisons.” —Dostoevsky
The meal will get stripped to the bonemeal.
The lounge will stiffen, so languishes the sex,
And the market crashes making you the poor
And not merely the poor in meek spirit.
When your pride is ended, you will ask this:
How did the meek shall inherit the earth?
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Time will come when the tyrants wane,
When Cape Cod will be encased in ice
Frozen like the final fires of hell
