"adverts" poems
For seventy or more years TV
And radio ruled the world,
Along with telephones.
But then computers made their mark,
Soon followed by mobiles, Smartphones,
Ipads, Bluetooth, Wifi and who knows what?
In no particular order.
So herds of sheep migrated
Into Cyberspace
Even Myspace!
Then on to Planet Facebook
And Terratwitter.
We talk with people we’ve never met,
And meet folk with whom we’ve never talked.
It keeps us occupied I guess,
And gives relief from stress.
These images that yet fresh images beget,
I’m sure Yeats would agree.
I tolerate these adverts flashing in my face
And soak up knowledge to my solid mental grace.
A world of wonders beckons in
The depths of Cyberspace,
And as a Nerd before they were invented,
I have to say I’ve truly found my place.
Paul Butters
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
psychologism, i.e. neo-racism, neo- due to it being without any collective ethnic collectivisation, best insinuated by marijuana users, grouping alcoholics with ****** sharp shooters; they think they have the moral high ground, but they talk jack sh-: medicinal marijuana is synthetic marijuana / ore without casual-use effects, it's not the sh- you put in your **** have a *** change and tell me about children suffering from cancer while you're at it: because those starving children of africa adverts... are really really working... knowing that the man in control of such charities earns over half a million a year - post-colonialism only really works while you have former colonial indigenous peoples nearby, then you can milk that ***** cow from the locals... make sure you think the nairobi international airport has a dirt runway and you'll feel all ******* fuzzy giving money to these companies... post-colonialism only works like that... import some former colonials to milk the former colonial whites into coughing up money & guilt... then watch the irish get leery with sarcasm at almost anything... and the scots gear up pride and become politically malignant... the good friday agreement? tony blair did as much as / avoiding-tax cigarettes smuggled from eastern europe west of the ural mountains exchanged in belfast... but geographic borders were never used in rhetoric in politics... because ireland was always further west than iceland: as oaths go... it was a neighbour of liberty iseland... with the true statue of liberty in a moulin rouge cancan attire, skirt up, flame extinguished - although ***** as hell: and in koranic reality, requiring a harem for her three holes.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Hand in hand
Walking down the road
Skipping with an animal at our heels
or
Hand in hand
Screaming down a rollercoaster
Tears of laughter on our chins
or
Hand in hand
Watching a film in the cinema
Entranced with the popcorn in the adverts
or
Hand in hand
Right next to me
And not in my imagination
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
Oh
to be the girl in those adverts ,
Light,
skinny,
beautiful
A tragic line
to every gentle rib
I fetishise her fragile fingers
A monstrous beast reflected in the mirror, the worst possibility.
Tis poetic, there she stares
Says her lines; remaining fair,
Into my face, My acting is heavy handed and awkward
She’s a consumable reality,
She’s easy on the eyes
The fragile female,
salvageable.
We are a tragedy of ages, her Juliet, I Faustus
They silently boo while I slop onto the stage
A lazy slob,The **** of society, just don’t eat you fat **** men like curvy girls We don’t want to see you, You’re so brave! You’re the problem, it’s not hard hide your mass from view, unkempt, repulsive, vile. hide yourself it offends my sharp eyes.
I open my drooling mouth to speak, but there are chins smothering my mouth
My eyes clouded by greasy cellulite
I don’t want to exist like this.
So just stop eating.
I’d give an arm and a leg,
my pale teeth,
my parasitic possibility
my child
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC
Articles of clothing,
writ by the wearer,
Particles of loathing,
spit by the swearer
We wear our souls on our sleeves
hand-paid machines
print letters of jest
on wallet-proof vests
sifting society's sincerity
through media's selective filter
cleverly diffusing the difference
between adverbs and adverts
Green is the new black
Trading black paper
for greener souls
-or-
Greed is the new snack
Feeding omnipotent omnivores
with insatiable goals
The bell sighs,
"Let freedom toll."
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
Christmas is upon us !
Another year is gone
It seems like only yesterday
We celebrated the last one
Adverts on the t.v
Toys upon the shelves
Children are told stories
Of santa and his elves
Food is on the table
Theres turkey , christmas pud
Children on their best behaviour
Trying to be good
Carol singers outside , singing in the street
In woollen hats and scarves they dress
With wellies on their feet !
A snowman stands a guard outside
With a carrot for a nose
Presents under christmas trees
Tied with pretty bows
Jingle bells are ringing
As rudolf pulls the sleigh
The saviour lord jesus
Was born upon this day
Christmas is a time for peace
To last the whole year through
May santa bring his greatest gift
Of christmas joy to you !
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
*keep folding your cool designs
they hold afloat all your dreams
waiting on that raft
to it all*
1.
how I marvel at your vigour to grab any sheet of paper
to create shapes to your fancy
your vision sees further-use in adverts and pamphlets
so creative and undaunted by the wide-ocean
windy-rains may come, whip away your lovely paper-boats
but you set forth fleet-footed in salt-spray
your eyes follow their route on bobbing-smiles
you watch their trail and scout over rocks
yes, they sink soon.. yet, you don't cry
how you run ruddy your cheeks -- oh, how you do inspire!
2.
I didn't mean to silence you
when you sang your song
it's just.. I had a headache
(but you know -- that is poor excuse!)
may the lilt in your voice carry so high
and I pray that grace be mine
when you speak your thoughts
3.
black wings with orange-beaks congregate on the shore
beauty untold when they all take flight
high up in the sky -- what a sight
a flock of blessings in the rain
flying over smiles on paper-boat
*with every flap, thunder rolls its power
and there's little place for lightning to hide
its splendour
it crashes smack-bang within
the silent-blubbering
of sightless-whales*
may dreams land sweetly
and yours..
come true
S T - on 2 march 2014
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Banality reins supreme
In our children’s dreams.
What do you expect
When principles defect
And brand names
Mark the scene,
When rock stars sell their souls
To executives in suits,
Make perfumes
From their dance room sweat
And wear expensive boots,
Then slap their name
On random ****
And sell how nice and cute
Their clothes look on baby girls
They know we can’t refute.
As if they write their music,
Or pen their awful hits,
******* souls for millions;
Tear integrity to bits.
When art is lost for money,
And the formula is the norm,
When thousands gyrate madly
To aural chloroform,
When children posture wildly
In photos with no shame
And send them to their idols
Who don’t care to carry blame,
When all we know is taken,
Corrupted and perverse,
And all our keen philanthropy
Is squeezed into a hearse,
When there’s nothing left
But adverts on our doors,
And mindless dancing robots
Falling to the floor,
Then we might just notice
How much we had to lose
When we turned our children loose
To tie up their own noose.
No matter how steep the cost,
There’s always room to climb
As soul-less music moguls
Wrangle for a dime.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
This is an example of a webpage shortcut I created recently thanks to tinyurl-dot-com: tinyurl-dot-com/what-could-be-greater and leads to a text-only display which web browsers help us zoom in on. Extra poemhunter-dot-com website info: The Denis Martindale poet search helps find poemhunter-dot-com/denis-martindale/poems/ and so does the exact title search help if searching for What Could Be Greater? The results page has this exact title search option. Edit the URL poemhunter-dot-com/poem/what-could-be-greater/ and visit a larger text font display that also featuring adverts. Select the print-friendly version there just to read the text version and a few extra links.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
Shop fronts, curbs and pavements.
Bin men wear hearts on their sleeve.
Coffee shops, bakers and jewellers.
A homeless man searching reprieve.
Adverts and billboards shine bright.
The cleaners have swept the streets bare.
Commuters and tourists combined.
This city called London we share.
Marching to a steady beat
Marching to a steady beat
The pavement are veins
People the blood
The city the heart
Pumping the beat
Pumping the beat
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
I have laid claim to the Tyne Bridge - it is my home.
You can keep the streets, the shops, the bars
Share them between you
But please
Let me have the bridge for myself.
The bottle green arch of Newcastle,
And the stew of water that runs beneath
The sheer drop of air between them,
Lightly salted by the sea.
It is but the only childish affectation
To follow me and hold true
Through the contaminant of temporality.
Just please, let me keep it.
I shed the skin of adolescence
And left my school tie at home
When I made the journey North.
I arrived expecting transcendence
But instead I received the unwanted gift of the present.
From the clamour of Manhattan,
To the desolation of New Mexico and Peru,
The present will forever be the most effective ammunition
In shattering the stained glass of the world’s wonders.
I know this from the beauty of memories.
Those wonderful fragmented images of childhood
That so efficiently cut out the hours of exceeding boredom,
And the tedium inflicted by the men in suits.
And the future,
The future of flying ships,
The mining of the moon
And downloadable pizza.
But we know in truth, when we arrive
There will still be lawyers
And adverts,
Beggars on the street
And apostrophe’s used incorrectly.
I digress.
Let me return to the Tyne Bridge
My bridge on the Quayside.
For despite the bird ****
And the playboys that trundle over it day after day,
It stands defiant over deep waters,
Daring to cheat death
Or vice versa.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
*adverts and the internet medium:
d'uh... you forgot the capacity
of the mute button...
wha'? wha'?
audi tt?
(let's expand on the title:
geometry (Y) the three dimensions,
and trigonometry (W)... cosine rule,
i.e. how three-dimensional space behaves).*
i was born in the late 20th century,
and, right now,
i'm seeing the "problem"
you thought jews in europe
were the problem...
ever read anything
on the subject of kabbalah?
i can only reply
with sepultura's:
ra-ta-ma'h-hatta'h...
**** me, the tetragrammaton feels like
licking a pharaoh's toes in linguistic terms...
*and there are always four,
to ensure there's one*.
but at least the aztec pyramids
were not burial grounds, or burial monuments,
rather, sites of capital punishment...
which the conquistadors misunderstood!
only the whites know the concept
of ethno-masochism.
by common-tongue standards
so thoroughly expressed with
the desired eloquence, stated, already.
social sciences are a disease
in terms of science per se...
why isn't there a divine intervention
story with regards to the aztec pyramids?
**** me and the scaffold!
the largest bird on earth,
and instead of flying off,
it sticks its head into the earth
to "hide".
that's pushing it...
that's saying the non-existence of god is based
upon the non-existence of a good joke;
i just don't think he needs to be
revered...
but obviously people have other
plans...
never mind the comedian...
mind the moloch;
so they pray, and pray, and ask, and plead,
and end up looking like amassed lunatics...
they demand praying...
me? i demand of myself thinking about him...
hard to think about nothing,
if i were thinking about nothing,
i simply would be, not thinking;
and you'd probably find me:
painting.
but **** me, aztec pyramids didn't receive
a divine intervention
but the egyptian pyramids did...
clearly the aztec pyramids weren't vanity projects
akin to burial sites / tombs...
clearly...
sites of enforcing capital punishment;
years later mis-translated by conquistadors...
and in militant atheistic form...
said: retarted.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
this but a nightmare tale
for the adopted child
he'd not been treated with
a meekness so mild
raised by parents
who were sick of mind disposition
they abused him
without having any contrition
the boy utilized by deviant grown men
for ****** gratification
there was no human decency
in this fornication
their child's photos
shown to online perverts
who'd drool at the sight
of these lewd adverts
as a mere babe the lad
was groomed for paedophiles
of his parent's wickedness
they'd be placed on criminal files
no Christmas Dreams
only a lasting memory of buggery
the child was deprived
of innocence in his infancy
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
The other day, I
Tried to eat a
*** of yoghurt.
Lacking the tools,
I called up
To my mother:
"Mum! Where
Are the spoons?"
The fatal words.
Now, every time I
Go online, all the
Adverts are for cutlery.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
*i've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling
is ignorance, they're presupposing
all the african nations are like kindergarten,
they're insulating them... it's like that:
give a man fish or give him a fishing rod,
i.e.: give a man money or give him a
method creating & subsequently circulating wealth:
these charitable companies are insulting
african nations to be at a loss,
they're only feeding european bureaucrats
who are really the only worthwhile
charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5.*
a retired lady selling poppies
for a feeling
committed suicide
being hunted by ninety-nine
charity organisations...
charity organisations...
start-ups akin to apps of
cue: shaved face, young, eager
****** venom ****** statues
of jealousy...
all the bankers' wives have
a tier system, the origin of
charity companies
(surely a wife can't be as pristine
as her husband):
first two don't count,
third: modern art "collector",
fifth: philanthropist,
seventh: possessor of an O.B.E.
and as one bemused englishman said:
king arthur and the zimmerframe table
of knights with walking sticks rather than swords:
money made people lazy, less adventurous,
let alone less tribal and communist,
adventure just became predictable,
tourism...
the modern shopper is envious of
the hunter gatherer... so envious
he wants to look the part, but live as modern
lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions
can't go to waste... got to run standing still:
hey! don quixote! leave the windmills!
check out the treadmills... you see a caveman
anywhere in the sweaty parlours?
i don't.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
advertising has changed so much
in capitalism,
it's a form of existentialism,
while the french philosophers
abstracted in coffee shops
english existentialism took to
constantly advertising people,
they're not cheese grins and tampons
and toilet product quickies...
they're literally full time adverts,
they do that thing called blogging in video...
it's a strange existentialism,
it's a plagiarism of c.c.t.v.,
the new medium of advertising requires
constant consumer surveillance with those clowns
getting gifts from companies, talking about
getting them and pushing them on...
advertisement literally became a movie picture
akin to Hollywood... the internet age
gave us advertisement actors who
advertise with so much existential angst they
have to encompass each and every day
as wroth advertising - and confuse people
with mundane issues akin to dentistry
and take-away menus that they're not doing...
what they're actually doing;
*a friend in need is a friend indeed,
a friend with **** is better,
a friend with ******* and all the rest
a friend who's dressed in leather...*
(placebo's pure morning).
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18
monday started top draw
my venom going to spill
natalie is going to get poetry draw
forget girlfriends she will run for hill.
how dare she complain
when something is uncontrollable
insomnia through hardeep may rain
but freedom of speech not so honourable.
gabby and chloe showed they cared
how natalie was blunt
explaining hardeep was literally chaired
footage available now hunt.
onto shares and stocks
rodrigo learning how to trade
laughing off my socks
no barings even if bad bug won't fade.
nick and rodrigo in control
on boarder line ready to hassle
the biceps taking fall patrol
it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel.
failure to the task
hunger will be plenty
one comment can not mask
hardeep can make something out of empty.
dans hands were magic
don't get confused
gabby refusal was award and tragic
like basic budget just amused.
was sally watching adverts
the aviva app dash cam i log
roxanne will need youtube diverts
it was a tin man not a brown dog.
nick explaining about travel
lands of paradise and greens
at airport all unravel
seeing face on all them screens.
legs up and over
natalie and gabby to exercise
hardeep with a nasty dig and sober
saying nick doing shopping add criticise.
natalie and hardeep getting louder
hardeep gets my crown
unacceptable all about curry powder
she bring herself not hardeep down.
going to end with a critic
natalie won't see no irony
vicious mouth and hyper-critic
its all add to cbb savoury.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
Kippers and toast for breakfast,
washed down by a fairtrade Ceylon,
eagerly anticipating the Christain Aid appeal
through my letter box.
Aware of others earthly disengage
their morning monotony flickers through their lounge,
consummate hypocrites watching the repeat soap operas,
the profundity of their silence radiates through to the adverts.
as they had a cause too,
until its auto recluse with the
outside world
the news slot borders on paranoia
a dent to exclusivity.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
Place mats covered in doodles
have defined all of my outings with
friends and loved ones.
With pen and the blank spaces
around the adverts
I will push a new world into
this tired realm.
Here are people without
their hands chained to the
baggage of their lives.
Here are perfect people.
I wonder if they have belly buttons.
I wonder sometimes if I
have any control over them at all.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 9:10 AM UTC
Is HP now a T.V guide?
It drives me to distraction
to see these adds on the front page
when I want some poem action.
Our poets are all writing
and posting stuff to read
but the room is being taken up
by adds for crap tv.
So listen up dear spammers
this warning you should heed
shove your ****** adverts
anywhere but on my feed!!
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
if i was a meerkat i could do tv
doing lots of adverts me and family
selling little toys for a money spree
to support my kids my wife and also me
supporting coronation street in between the breaks
popping on the screen inbetween the takes
just an furry immigrant from so far away
moving here to england where i long to stay.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 4:17 PM UTC
who's afraid of
someone who downed 140cl of whiskey
going blind blah duck blah
qua qua quack for each and
every dwarf like ***** wonka tasting cyanide
saying: it's syrian blue cheese, or else middle
eastern schnapps! refreeze! refreeze the snowman!
we got a bucket-load of adverts in nappies
for charity companies; every parishioner on the ready...
gluttony regurgitated go! blow inserted into the
word blah, akin to bloat but with blah the cursor.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Another cold day, shouting getaway!
Blanket warm, rent saying getaway!
Getaway is written inside my fridge!
Covid-19 adverts against my rent and fridge.
Let me pull up, wear a mask like a robber.
Let me pull up at my office like a gangster.
Take care of yourself and your crack.
Think like a gangster, your business is your crack.
Mask yourself gangster and getaway.
My sanitizer is my pistol, my finger easy on the trigger.
I distance myself from a man like a mobster seeing police.
Life is all about getting the way forward (getaway)!
My sanitizer is my pistol, my finger easy on the trigger.
I distance myself from a man like a goon seeing police.
-Written By: The Senior Date undefined
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC
It's been a dark and ***** start to the year, and altogether
too many of my heroes are dead.
Too many of the old
villains too; those familiar monsters
are gone, replaced
by new and more appalling terrors,
as fear is rebranded for a freshly emergent demographic.
All the girls are much too young for me. Everyone
is too young for me.
When they speak, I hear
only static, like
the ghosts of extinct, pre-digital
TV screens haunting the
empty beauty of their
dead channel mouths.
In the supermarket, they've taken to
playing songs I like on their
in-store radio, wedged between
corporate jingles and adverts for
two-for-one offers on
hot dogs in jars, and I'm
so irrelevant I could cry.
I'm struggling with the world and my
own inability to find somewhere
I can be in it. I can't relax, can't
stop fighting against inertia, contentment
and any hope of peace. Maybe drugs
are the answer, but I think they'd just
make me forget the question.
I feel the cold, and I
want to sleep too much. I miss
my bad habits, but not enough
to relapse. I'm not
young enough or cute enough
to get away with
this much ******** angst.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
I.
Pringles are eaten
as gifts are slowly unclothed
might be pairs of socks
----------
II.
The Queen makes her speech
pigs in blankets passed around
crackers house trinkets
----------
III.
Adverts for sales
folks queue up hours before
for a new TV
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 10:34 AM UTC