The Wall Street Poet
December 1, 2009Jon Brooks Comments Off
Michael Silverstein is a financial writer and former senior editor for Bloomberg. But more recently, he’s known as The Wall Street Poet, writing market commentary in the form of satiricial verse. A regular contributor to Minnesota Public Radio, he also has his own web site, WallStreetPoet.com, featuring a substantial archive.
Those in the know about poetry will enjoy these mannered musings even more, as many of them parody famous poets. Take, for instance, “The Plight of the Charge Brigade,” in the style of Alfred Tennyson.
I
Charge it up, charge it up,
Charge up that purchase,
Deep in the valley of Debt
Plunge the card holders.
Stuff they don’t really need!
Charge for the fun! their creed.
Into the valley of Debt
Plunge the card holders.
II
Stuff they don’t really need!
Why should they be afraid?
Their stocks are doing well
They figure what the hell.
No stops to reason why
Just buy until you die,
Into the valley of Debt
Plunge the card holders.III
Soft goods in front of them,
Hard goods in back of them,
Goods on all sides of them
Goods without number;
Rush through the big mall store,
Scope out its sales floor,
Into the jaws of Debt,
Into the Land of More
Plunge the card holders.IV
Why should this frenzy stop?
O what great stuff they got!
All the world marvels.
Honor the charge brigade!
Forget the int’rest paid,
Happy card holders!
Or how about “Hedging Our Bet on a Risky Merger,” in the style of Robert Frost.
Whose got the cash we think we know,
To make this shaky deal go
But rumors fly he’s often prone
To stuff his nostrils full of blow.My firm to risk is not adverse
We know the pangs of sharp reverse
In arbitrage you take some lumps
When playing markets quite diverse.My partners, though, now have the shakes
They think this guy makes bad mistakes
It’s said his magic touch has fled
A victim, too, of coca flakes.So we demand a special hedge,
To take away our nervous edge.
A written, witnessed addict’s pledge,
A written, witnessed addict’s pledge.
Then there’s “The Guru Men,” in the style of T.S. Eliot.
We are the guru men
We are the pitch men
Hot tip purveyors
Spouting the obvious. Boldly!
Our pale visions, which
We parrot endlessly
Are dull and insipid
As boiled beef on toast
Or luke warm white wine in chipped cups
From screw top bottles.Talk without thought, views without content,
Pasteurized dreams, knowledge without wisdom;Those who have placed
In markets faith, their hopes for better lives
Bought our puff—completely—at their peril
And remember us sadly
As the guru men
The pitch men.This is the way the boom ends
This is the way the boom ends
This is the way the boom ends
Not with a crash but a lawsuit.
