"acquisitions" poems
Distant learning courses in the heart
Irrelevant actions have left us all apart
Acquisitions decaying those stray minded people
It's no longer a commonplace to feel peaceful
Simultaneous occurrences have our mind in disarray
Through our pasts they begin to replay
All these calamitous activities brought through maleficent eyes
Disintegrate what's left sending us in a fools paradise
We reap to elope from these rigorous bearings we call home
Only to find ourselves cast away into the unknown
We strive to survive in a world full of abhorrence
Being seen transparent just as worthless corpses
Those few who prevail are not left without detriment
They are forever severed a mental delinquent
**Nevertheless our story lives on
In this godforsaken marathon**
-Joseph B Schneider
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
The solitary reminder,
a sole survivor,
hopeful-placed,
forgivingly encased
in little boxes decorative
hidden in plain sight
throughout our home.
Single and incomplete,
the lonesome leftovers,
openly hid upon bookshelf,
desk corners, fireplace mantels,
storage units of the
I am unlost,
I am unfound,
Raise your hand,
stand up and say
that is me,
that is me.
Minor treasure chests,
of carved wood, seashell real,
acquisitions of trips
to faraway places,
these boxes, they themselves,
visible but unremembered,
just there, no cares,
no one knows,
when or why.
that is me,
is that me?
Space fillers, memory taunts,
grandchildren's playthings, delight,
when they someday come visit,
weather and parents permitting,
finding keys for locks, doors,
from three homes ago.
Can they unlock me too?
Boxes hoard the things
we have lost, but cannot discard,
can't sacrifice, gotta keep,
an admixture of buttons,
dried flowers, faded notes that
once upon a time mattered,
shook someone's world...
Some kept in hope,
others, sequestered, lock-up,
jails that we are both
jailor and jailed,
the joke being on me.
Should we, you and I,
exchange these
cases histories of lost hopes, memories,
it would not be surprising,
if when opened,
the contents identical,
even if you are in Manila,
Leeds, places of need,
and yet,
we would be shocked,
asking,
*that is me,
is that me?*
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
Life's reflection glistens through sands of time.
Days past due reunite with our current days disguise.
We glimmer in the false light portraying us to our knees.
Reaping such qualities turns our words to disease.
Acquisitions conquer minds through solid demise.
Leading hearts of hate to realise.
We are our own living destruction.
Believing such theories brought through subduction.
We replenish the rot of our personality.
To feast off our remaining qualities.
Together we fail united we'll fall.
Through the eyes of evil till death do us all.
-Joseph B Schneider
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Panasonic and Sony beeping
in custom made Reid & Taylor pockets.
A trade for a Rolex throned on his wrist in lieu of
once existent dreams, in now hollow sockets.
Adrenaline pumping before
high stakes meetings and brunches.
Calculating the dose of his choice of drug,
penthouse suites and timeline crunches.
Dizzy with ambition, painting
******* bleached canvasses.
Narcissistic laughter aimed to beguile others,
he, for whom his relaxants are stresses.
Dealing with the Devil himself,
power tainted and ill-gotten,
the realization that humans are not beyond sale;
in markets, mergers and acquisitions.
Recessions, Inflations, cruel overdoses
of risk, of danger unspoken.
And when he surfaces again to consciousness,
profits, losses both taken and broken.
Lost in the sewers filled with;
stock brokers and agents alike: the pawnors,
a haughty expression with green bills,
to score his ecstasy, capital owners.
Another dollar, another hit
never enough to sleep remembering the day.
A Corporate ****** scouring for riches,
a high, a trance not soon before long will sway.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
2 addicts in conversation
I've always said the act of love itself from unrequited to world wind is a drug that claims more addicts than all narcotics combine. From the rush to the withdrawals. tears and anticipation to the eruption of having it taken from you. This love drug leaves you a fiend even if you've never participated in its consumption, you pursue, hunt, track and lose your mind for the slimmest of chance in its acquisitions.
Let's take a hit together now and forever. As friends, lovers, partners, and unify.
I feel you! I hear you! Where siblings of the same needle in its lust and retrieval.
-xin-
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
One of those expensive shops
its name in large red alphabet
that wink into the night
its glass doors with handprints
'OPEN', they say
but the face behind the counter
wishes against.
See, I ran into big money
and I will spend it all on chocolate,
enough chocolate for a month.
Grabbing a clinking metal basket
I sprint to the section
of my recent interest
tossing fifty bars of this, twenty blocks of that
some milk white, most coffee black
wrapped in shiny colours and labels
nutted, chipped, tempered, moulded.
I bought a truckload
with a great sense of pride
and contentment with which
loudly, I sighed.
I went home, bathed, dressed
and set the mood right
imbibing first the sweet crinkling of the foil,
I took a generous bite
tongue and nerves at work
but quite early I open my eyes
to the heap of shiny acquisitions
to my first big expense that
stood dimly magnificent
but this time rather
quiety, I sighed.
"I don't like chocolate"
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
a music box of magic words
of circuses, gruesome murders and monsters
a mad logic of connected disconnected things
held together by the drifting mists of dreams
first air and rainbows
destroying pious falsities, telling new tales
of many things to come, flying above the crowd
showing the blinding white distance ahead
of the two ice capped poles
past he various categories
like old people who die when the weather turns
yet there is a desire to summon and expect disaster
you've seen the show, blinding like the sun on water
matched only by the patience
of the floating fall of a ladies silk stocking
a music box that looks immensely vindicated
and in those precious seconds, these busy seconds
that mumble and murmur to themselves
of divine and temporal forces
tastes the whiff of immorality
that possesses that special skin
that cruelty of countless acquisitions
of alchemy especially its capacity to coach sorrow
to teach it to touch the regurgitated
inaccuracies of indentured truth
ah! the music box who returns the echoing roar
of answerless answers with questionable questions
yet inoculated and protected by the vast pleasures
that somehow conceal themselves within the music box
in its rhythms and its clock-work metal innards
cancel out any pain and the half closed eyes that stop the heart
shatter the sky
shower with an avalanche of magnetic attraction
the magic music box, the magic music box
Pandora's magic music box
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
Written confessions of
Mundane avocations
Briefed & circled
Arrived bestowed
Swarming enemies
Cold wars
Doubled edged swords
Printed masks
Dust covered skin
Stretched over
Bones too big
Forms too estranged
Rips tear
Skin laid bare
How can thee compare
The glare blank stare
A body separated
From soul of self
Placed upon thy shelf
A heart burried
Planted below, feet
How they bellow
Silent screams
Muted voices
A lover of past
Reunited at last
The aortic pump
A mere *****
Beating throbbing
In her grasp
Claimed
Oh
How she dared claim
That sordid past.
And the other
She took the body
Both sufficed.
Two different stories
Questions, acquisitions
No confabulations
As to where art tho soul!
*Notably, it is said;
The body is merely dust & stone
Bone & chrome
Plastic, catastrophic,
The heart, oh thy heart
No longer gaping
Lonely & pulsating
She stole thee heart
Oh she stole thee heart
His heart
Without even firing a dart.*
The other, the wife
Filled with rife, strife
Burying those old bones
Of his,
Of his,
Six feet under
Covered
In
Gravel & sand
Mud & land
Spit on his grave
For at least
She can bury such resentment
For she,
The other
Stole his heart, broke her heart
Not once!
But twice.
Will that ever even suffice!
Two women at war,
One man
Oh he,
He is now dead!
© Sia Jane
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
I lament the days to come
theyre empty and look
so useless without
your words they moved
my view of things and
anointed the way
I look towards life
and living in a broad
perspective its seems
in vain, so now all
thats left are forgotten
words memories of
brightness and a
sun that fades into
an ocean of emptiness
no flowers please
acquisitions are not
appreciated
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:43 AM UTC
No wonder so many are unhappy
Their lives are predicated on pluses
Pluses= happiness
Unhappiness comes from minuses.
All this they hanker after:
Pluses in wealth, power , position
Fame, recognition- even pluses in good looks
And wisdom--anything less is no consolation.
More acquisitions---the goal of life
(Pity those who live in minuses)
All the time they strive and strive
Chasing like addicts for the next round of seductive pluses.
Shouldn't they change their mind-set?
Surely minuses are to be more desired and embraced
Minus ill health, minus greed, minus envy, minus discord
Minus strife, minus discontent--aren't pluses sadly misplaced?
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
The young contend
With broken hearts.
The old must cope
With rusting parts.
The young feel time
Barely moving.
The old feel time
In bones disapproving.
The young stop
In front of mirrors.
The old move back
To make things clearer.
The young focus
On acquisitions.
The old release
Past ambitions.
The young, if lucky,
Transition elders.
The old will then
Be Elysian selders.
* selder: From Middle High German, selder 'dweller in a hut or peasant's cottage.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
The great equalizer
stood by the bed
watching his laborious breathing
and the pain quaking the emaciated body.
It's almost time.
No more layoffs to increase profits
lock-outs to break the unions
hidden caches to avoid taxes
mergers and acquisitions
under the table payments
price fixing, loan sharking
no bribing and extortions
no naive women to exploit
The great equalizer
stood there watching
with pity and loathing
patiently waiting
The end of the line.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
2 addicts in conversation
I've always said the act of love itself from unrequited to world wind is a drug that claims more addicts than all narcotics combine. From the rush to the withdrawals. tears and anticipation to the eruption of having it taken from you. This love drug leaves you a fiend even if you've never participated in its consumption, you pursue, hunt, track and lose your mind for the slimmest of chance in its acquisitions.
Let's take a hit together now and forever. As friends, lovers, partners, and unify.
I feel you! I hear you! Where siblings of the same needle in its lust and retrieval.
-xin-
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
wrestlemania
traveled cross country,
wrestling with extended
celebration and an
unexpected death;
the body maladjusts,
only to be disrupted
when time zones reset,
hard a-heels upon return,
packing up again for a
sacred pilgrimage
to a summer place
of sheltering, where poems
grow and dangle like participles
from local fruit farms, one
need only pluck and taste,
attach your moniker
and then feed them to the
joggers & walkers running past
send them all on their voyages,
hopefully protected from
travel disorientation and the
cycle of rebirth
with luck, bits and pieces of me
will accompany said word whispers,
them shreds and shards
requiring healing,
or just pruning,
exiting old words,
fresh fruit berries,
roadside acquisitions to b
carry me stained & strained
& happy new travels o‘er
this fruited plain
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 2:56 PM UTC
Taught through criticism
Thoughts were fuelled with cynicism
Feeling love was conditioned
According to our submission
We were imprisoned
In our minds where we envisioned
Better lives it became a mission
Tears, sweat and blood were always a given
But we've risen
Above these constrictions
Freed from our prisons
To make acquisitions
To make decisions
Based on valid reason
We were raised to be different
A generation of deliverance
That would
be of great significance
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:59 AM UTC
There is a moment where in your life
you realize all of this-
all the possessions and "things"
have no real meaning
And that our existence is fluid
and that bodies are just shells-
and that pride and wealth
don't matter either
It is at this moment
we are left uncertain
of why we work hard
what are we working towards?
I think many of us
are still searching for happiness
among worldly acquisitions
rather than finding it inside ourselves
Looking for a key to meaning
but what if there is no such key
and what if there is no such meaning?
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
I used to be a bright boy before the white noise,
disrupted my poise and ****** the joy
out from the world around me.
It’s astounding to see such a change.
No it’s strange but I found a way to get around the grey
but you’d probably say I’m deranged if I told you.
No I’m not scolding you I’m holding you to the acquisitions
you back with whack facts you extract from your fruitless
disposition. Act aloof but you and I both know it’s truthful
the only loophole here is feedback so don’t fear the relapse
and I won’t appear so relaxed to you.
I used to love the sound of white noise while I sat in bed.
I found it reminiscent to the voice in my head.
I counted sheep to the static;
the ratchet put me to a deep sleep.
I used to be a quiet boy before I found a slight noise
coming through the television.
I can’t tell you what it sounds like now
so you’ll just have to listen for yourself
Momma call the technician.
Something’s wrong with the transmission.
I no longer see a picture.
Momma fix it ‘cuz its pixelated.
Momma listen, I’d fix it myself if I had the proper tools
but school never taught me how to.
Wow look at what I amounted to
when you took the time of day to stay around
and watch what I’m doing when you could’ve found out
why I wasn’t viewing pleasure like I used to.
© Matthew Harlovic
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
Golden windblown waves of wheat
Reflect a simpler time
When complications ragged arm
Intruded not on mine,
When halls of great endeavour
Held their hand for me to take
And the fire of inspiration
Did a racing heart create.
When the colours seemed so clear to me
The flavours cool and fresh
And time stretched to infinity
When clouds and blue sky mesh.
A discovery of wonderment
In the pride of new intent
And the strength to hold directions course
Despite all discontent.
And the gathered acquisitions
And the stresses and the pain
Holding family security,
And amassing fiscal gain.
In maintaining social standing
And competing for the best
In a litany of compulsion
In enslavement for the quest
And the pressures of the morrow's dawn
Throw a clamour to the air,
And the jaded eyes of yesterday
Sight the windrows standing there.
The waving rows of rippling wheat
Thrown far to distant scan
Invoke reflections of a simpler time
In the recall of this man.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 October 2010
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
Oh, Mr. Prufrock,
Pinned and wriggling on that wall.
Sometimes I wonder what those painted butterflies feel.
Sometimes I think
I know.
Measured with stretched bits of thread,
Taut and clean and precise.
Labeled with little placards
Like neat white grave markers.
How macabre, that we must
Skewer
Lovely things.
Define them,
Limit them,
Destroy them to preserve them.
I
Am formulated too.
I have felt the cold cut of it in my chest.
Behind that glass, up on that wall,
I wonder what that royal blue, feather-light creature felt
Just before the lights went out
With a bulbous, giant eye peering down
Carefully impaling it.
Those shiny black legs--- so fragile!---
Struggling.
Oh, Mr. Prufrock
I grow old as well.
I wonder if they ever feel---
Those winged acquisitions of ours---
The crumbling fragility of their beauty
Of their bodies.
Bodies that a stiff breeze can knock asunder,
Bodies that a sewing needle
Can unravel- I am OLD.
Your words stick me through
With who I am,
A sword the size of a pin,
But I am powder light
I am
Paper thin and I am so
Absurdly trapped--- A soul of supernovas
Held inside the tentative shell
Of a monarch butterfly
King of
"If you touch me the oils from your fingers will burn my wings away like acid."
How cruel! How laughable
And how exhausting
That I carry inside me
My own destruction
That I am a paper lantern
Which swallowed a holocaust of flames
And realized its mistake only when
Pregnant with immolation.
How exasperatingly final, and how precarious.
It must be so frustrating to be a butterfly,
Isn't that what you meant, sir?
To be so light
To be so gentle
To hold in your hands your little white label grave plate
And know, just know
That hardly anyone will wonder how much the needle hurt
Before they read it.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
At the corridor of planet
Murmurs raise my gaze
The thorn of life
******** masses
Could this be fate?
Or life is just unfair
In a quest to ascertain my thesis
A log of thousand thought struck me
Soliloquing yet to myself
The visit of death
Even to the tender hearted
I found myself wrapped
In dilemma
Life criticizing death
Of been hallow,
Death took turn in pointing the middle finger
"That's for ******** lives over"
The agonizing dialogue ensued
Right in the depth of my clouded thoughts,
It then dawn on me
That indeed,fate prevails,
And
Even if we feel the harsh tone of life,
Or we enjoy the vast of its bliss
What remains of us afterwards?
For I later realise
That,
As the day close by rapidly
Our intense aim of frivolous acquisitions
Allow us exempt
the fact
That the end of each day
Brings us closer
To our journey beyond...
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Our lives crumble and fail,
East or west more losses, we avail.
Our foods turned life-sucking cocktail,
You got our revenues and livelihood to curtail.
We, the creators of the foodbanks,
Our lives now turned, mere votebanks,
You destroyed all our riverbanks,
Brought our lives to end with your loan banks.
Lived and cultivated happily, with self-reliance,
Demolished our self-reliance, with your idiotic brilliance,
Deliberately stole our self-reliant roots,
Through your money-minded ****** selfish loots.
Toiled ourselves to turn lands arable, through generations,
Your land acquisitions, put us under dictator oppressions,
Blood-sucking ********** gave us all fright & plight.
It’s time we rise and say Our Land is our right.
Deceived us with your developmental illusions,
Pushed us towards suicide, under incurable obsessions,
You commented our farming, old and backward.
Taught us land-killing cultivation, very awkward,
In the form of food, we harvest poisons,
With our life costing mistakes, learnt worthy lessons.
We don’t get our deserving price,
Unheard and Weakened is our voice,
To the rulers, we are just a useless choice,
For them, our deadly weeps are just a noise.
We sold our crops to middlemen,
Rulers sold our seeds to corporates,
We sold our lives, for a permanent solution.
For media, we are just a hype.
To the nature’s wrath, our crops became unripe.
For livelihood, we are compelled to get loans,
To repay you, push us to reloans,
Lose our lives, helpless and incapable to pay our loans,
Leaving our families helplessly to moan and groan.
It’s time we raise a warning.
To you we won’t keep serving,
You will realize our value,
To the corporates, when you lose your revenue.
It’s an alarm, it’s an alarm,
To the businessmen we lose our farm,
To the corporates our ownership is vested,
From owners we have turned rented.
Your life would be on danger,
Then corporates would play with your hunger,
You can’t even own a burger,
To them your lives too would turn meager.
Let’s rise and fight,
Exclaim our land is our identity and right,
Let’s correct, where we lack,
To the natural farming, let’s get back.
Let us raise,
Let us determine our price,
If we become selfish and vice,
You will lose all your slice and rice.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
They say greatness
comes from grand
achievements,
military service,
athletic endeavors,
or the acquisitions of wealth.
I do not need that flavor
of false bravado.
I would rather wrestle
poetry
from the heavy heart
of humanity.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
I think I'm giving up
I think I'm breaking down
I think I'm burning out
I think everybody turned me down
Hideous secrets,revealed to my dearest
Ridiculous acquisitions,provided to my ancestors
Wanted to send me to a dark and cruel direction
Now i just want to end it and go to my final destination
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Robots
boot up each morning,
strap on their combat boots
and ride into the battle
of prattle.
Floods of wireless information burn
their wires, blow their fuses.
With fusions and acquisitions
they acquire higher
positions.
Detrimental turnover data talk turns
them over, upside down,
up and down the escalators
till they escalate,
deviate.
Spiked punch in one hand they punch
their boss in the face,
face trial, try
rehab: habitually helps reboot.
En route …
They learn that living without wires rocks,
they figure figures rock their world no more,
they shed their armor, breastplates, hard as rocks,
when inspiration comes knocking at their door.
They learn to cherish nature, the divine,
their limbs grow flesh where only metal dwelt,
so do their cheeks flash in a healthy shine
and from their lips a firy spell is spelt.
They sculpt and paint do yoga and restore,
their empty batteries, their fuses blown
they blow their money at the wellness store,
And finally, anew they find their own.
Afresh they get back home, where bills grew roots
they turn their router on, strap on
their combat boots.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC