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Gerry Sykes Dec 4
The grey ghoul masks, tan mummy wraps,
    black witch's hats and corpse green Frankenstein faces
    haven't hit the bottom of the bin before
mince pies jockey for a place beside the hot-cross buns.
Halloween and Christmas are squeezed together
    tighter than a coin’s width.

Tinsel boy band advent calendars
    sell 24 chocolate milestones
    on the road to obesity.
Supermarkets offer a sanitised Christmas
    religion rinsed away
    like bacteria on a chlorine washed turkey.
They trade a childless nativity like
    pies without mince;
    sultan-less fruit cake;
    plum-less pudding;
an unstuffed winter holiday roast.

People wonder where our culture has gone:
      we sold it for a midden
      of conveniently packaged banality.
Reflections on the commercialisation of Christmas and the loss of cultural capital that results.
Midden - a ******* tip
Jeett Ratadia Jun 2018
Fabricate    the world,
tile                     by tile,
Until the towers sway.

     Overlook the foundations,
     in your                     frenzy;
     cement them another day.
      
           Let the buildings descend;
           frightened            humans,
           their lives        in jeopardy

                They felt         invincible,
                now are            vulnerable-
                their lives have become tardy.

                               *        *       *
                 the bird soars high above
                 the streets are         empty
                 its screeches                 for
                 we are no                   more
This is a poem that symbolises global warming: we are our own bane.
The poems structure is like a fallen building and the stanza below the Asterix is the foundation (its got a crack in it- : )- )
the Sandman Apr 2016
I'm
             drowning
                         in light,
                In blinding light:
Lights on cars; and buildings;
and lit up trees lining lit up streets;
             Houses with sills all lined in gold
And diamond; silver glitter glued onto mould;
Street lamps; and laser pointers; and
Towers; neon lights dotted with flowers
Of plastic sun; hoardings and billboards,
With bright teeth and skin and red words
Everywhere you turn,
Telling you what you want
And never knew you wanted;
Shop windows; chandeliers;
Presents for that time of year;
Cell phone pylons with twinkling,
Bright lights on top, like Christmas trees;
Christmas trees, with stars and angels
Speckled, Frosted,
Dusted on the tops;
Disgusting glare on sunglasses,
And a smiting gaze along the arms;
Bridges and fountains with gold poured on;
Platinum bands in every size, laying all forlorn;
Bedside lamps; and taxis; and taxi stands;
Every window, but the ones
Being jumped off of;
TVs and refrigerators, opened
Thoughtlessly at night;
Screens shooting onto impassive glass
That used to be faces;
Cameras, going off in quick succession,
Quicker than you can keep up;
I'm drowning.
We are taught desire, in light,
We learn to read in light
and scarlet letters of fluorescence
We are blind,
Now that the road is paved for us,
To the light that was before.
Goodbye, jungle of pylons and scrapers of the sky. I will live among your shards no longer.

My first list poem (that actually remained a list poem by the time I was done with it)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCzccXAF8Lo
the Sandman Apr 2016
Lack-luster, in dull
Clusters, tall pylons reign with
Gods that look like you.

— The End —