"commercialized" poems
Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
*** fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.
I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.
Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 1:51 AM UTC
*Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows*
The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,**
I cannot sleep tonight,
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits**,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
**Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net**
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be-
And The Sun Goes
Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,
Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island
Where I washed ashore
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
What happens
____ to space______
between us
This is the
human race
Ah, Vey?
Just pray
Overly smitten
But not seeing
clearly picture-prey
He or she runs!!
Little darlings
here comes the sun*
The lime doing the time
Falling trees of coconut
Feeling- overloved
Deviant artist
splat coconut milk
No Security Cat
comfort box
So out of recession
Killer fox______
Chocolatey coconut
Cleanse my mind detox
Almond Joy concession
Rise up Face Botox
He cannot
read you
Haywire always
wired up his words
Hurried Hazelnut
coffee if you mind
Over-sugared
Increased brain
functions bitter rinds
So commercialized
The Cocoa Puffs
Going bananas
monkey ***
Lexie Vamp Vex
Mr. Ed overload
of Oz colors baboon
Going up Air Balloon
So many airheads
The Rainforest
GQ he's gone IQ
((Quarterly Neck of the woods))
Not orderly Outback
Steakhouse
Dinosaurs
******
Vicarious
No shortcut
The nervous system
The fast have a drink
furious
Cracking a coconut
Her Safe______**
6-6-6 combinations
Could crack her
Coconut oil neck her
City Girl call her
Intellectual brain
Singing
Gene Kelly
umbrella
Raining coconuts
(On Overload)
Strawberry Fields
This will be short
Yeah right forever
shortcake, not any sort
The trend of
coconut
Nearer because
of you I am
further
She was the
Brazilian Nut
With her
blind gut
((Coconut Houdini))
Island of Bali
Beauty of Judy
Somewhere so over it
rainbow
King Kong
Hairy chest banging
coconut drink slurping
Of girl talk
Strong New Jersey
Stamina
***** of Venezuela
Overload of
Prima, Donna's
Instant Karma
going to get them
Knocked them off
there feet
Where is my
John Lennon
He has the best beat
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
On dusty streets leading from market to to the edges of a resort,
elderly men with three teeth beckon you.
The commercialized exoticism sweeps you up
and you hand over pesos
in exchange for a piece of parchment with hand-scrawled symbols...
There is no Mayan alphabet.
They'll tell you that they're writing your name,
you'll take it home and display it on a shelf next to framed pictures
of you and the family in Chichen Itza,
but nothing about it is real.
We never grow up and learn not to believe,
we just learn piece by piece what's real and what's not.
Children learn about the tooth fairy,
and mermaids,
teenagers learn about soulmates,
young people learn about their dreams,
but even as adults,
there are things we still believe in.
There is no Mayan alphabet,
and yet grown, educated people
pull coins from their pocket in an attempt to connect with a culture that seems too fantastic to be a part of reality.
There is no Mayan alphabet,
but people still believe.
They believe in utopias
and countries without debt.
They believe in world peace and infinite resources,
they'll write checks to conmen
and work for checks from them, too.
They believe in honest politicians
and perfectly healthy food.
They put stock in organic remedies
and all their trust in online articles,
and every time they think they've learned the way of the world,
they'll turn around,
and learn something new.
Adults may not believe in fairy tales,
but they will believe in the Mayan alphabet.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
I had a God; he was a
good God. Keeping me safe
with money, image, and time.
Blessing me, solid;
until my waist grew as thin as my wallet.
Buying all of your time.
I want to be on t.v.,
but not just any t.v.
I want the ratings to rise
with my celebrity skin,
my trending name,
commercialized sin.
I want to be sold separately
and told that I'm desperately
giving my body to a image heavy God,
sleeping on the skeleton of Malibu,
drinking dreams with a celebrity dog.
I want to be on t.v.
I want to be every thing
and more.
I had a God; he was a good God.
Played me his songs, wrapped
in his time. Kissing me goodbye,
tel ling me to sell shirts; telling me to
keep up with the trends.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 5:55 PM UTC
They cry turmoil thru my web-pages,
pages on pages of Tribunes and Suns and Times
and Quarterly
"Free Burma!"
it's all turkey and pig-latin to me,
just "dunno!" like a dunce-capped miscreant,
inept of their vitriol
as i was not so great at geography
i got by before junior high.
Where-the-tarnished-nation is it?
"Free Burma!"
Notice the elephant in the room
like a whale named *****
attempting to escape
brothers of all of ours
engulfed in war
some ocean somewhere someone is dying;
notice that elephant in our laptops
ivory and blue tooth and iphones
telling me, showing us
to care
i do / want to
we should and we must
yes
"Free Burma!"
will i need to donate a dollar,
two, three? will i receive
a correspondence
of a child i am saving
a face of a country
i'm ignorant to...
will it's big sad puppy eyes be
commercialized?
i am no less as educated for not
following the strife of thousands
my own is as heavy here as an orca's leap
"Free Burma!"
what cage, bear or mouse trap
have they gotten themselves
and ourselves into?
if it's anything like Yayo or Martha
business
i have a better "good thing" to do
but if it is
like famines in Africa,
Mendelson, or Tibetan Monks
on strike with kung-fu skills
i will join U2,
(and if she's aware) with Oprah power
activate!
(fist to fist)
"i will be a well of spring-water!"
and she a holy cow, a worshipped saint
"Free Burma!!"
free water
free of fear
free everyone, i pray,
under this sky
wipe away all tears
free you of your worries
free of all chains
free of mines
free of lies and borderlines.
Free to be
together
free to live and choose to see
A planet a place
A peace
"Free Burma!"
Freedom
as one
community.
For you, for me.
Home.
Free...
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
This world
Is not the world our grandparents lived in
We are less connected with the natural world
Separated by televisions and computers
People who spend their lives online
Distracted by flashy adverstisements
Bombarded by commercials
Telling you why you aren't good enough
Or your life isn't easy enough
And how they can make you look better
Feel better
Be smarter
Have an easier time getting places
And doing things with less effort
We forget that how we look
Feel
And our intelligence
Might just be good enough
For you and the people around you
We need to take a break from all the consumerism
And reconnect with ourselves
And each other
To become human again
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
*call me twisted,
but i’ve always admired a certain degree of controversy.
complexity is a dangerous beauty, like a hurricane -
admired from afar,
deadly up close.
my biggest fear was always photocopiers.
monotonous carbon copies, binge feeding
on Christmas music
and cold commercialized coffee.
simplicity was schematic,
intricacy was ******
with a quivering hand and downcast eyes,
i clothed myself in these layers.
gift-wrapped, with a ‘danger’ sign as a gift card,
i became an enigma to myself.
diamond rings came with dark clouds,
locks and keys gave way to gun shots and bullet wounds.
fairytales were never meant for the 3-d world.
none of us are “fated” for a happy ending.
riding off into the sunset only comes with
hard work and hard lessons.
yes, i may still be an overthinker.
i may still have more thoughts than i have time
to put them in.
mundane things are still transfigured into
tainted, disfigured imitations
of insecurity, agonising and mental mutilation.
but it does not have to be this way.
pick up a pair of 2-d glasses.
you don’t have to see the world in technicolor.
sometimes monochrome lenses
do tinge the world
in shades of nostalgia, clarity, and hope.
peel off those layers.
you may cry, but cry of catharsis.
it may sting, but salt always does.
wear simplicity as your sail,
rose-tinted with trust and a silent knowing.
you may realise that what you were always looking for
was always right beside you.*
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
the length, in months, he stays,
the act of age he portrays
you've hurt so many lovers,
and yet you take one other.
the same age i felt with you
the age before i was legally able
to be stable, or atleast the thought of my own--
place, time, and space.
i've watched, without you knowing
and i've known that she had it coming...
you get deathly sick,
move out,
and act like your gone,
to see if she can really have one, two,
...wait...
only one chance,
because at 17 , you lost the first factor
and now she is 25 and knows better
moved on and written you a letter
stating what i told you long ago
that maybe at 17 you should have stayed alone.
funny a simple prime number
can have such significance
where as my story with seventeen
was a magazine
an age where i first heard about graduated licensing
when i decided that maybe i wasnt ready to date
because at 28, i realize now that 17 for you is a mistake
where mine is memories i made.
this number was the bus i rode
to and from school at even the same age,
i felt i turned a page
as the poetry i wrote and read; the pictures i took
that now line books
lined, blank, and randomly
decorate pages
handwriting was really interesting then--
but beautiful now
to see that one thing has come true
...i found love...
with a man, That i met Before you
and found me once you left
seeing regression
to the age i felt...
the highway in my home town that also leads--
to my home beach...
and all the way to a place of fancy in Savannah
and a commercialized vacation destination,
in the opposite direction
but knowing my memory is still alive, thriving...
keeps the idea of this prime number
alive atleast,
and for the weak, subtract ten
try to grow up doing the math
that i was back then, before all the computers and cheat sheets.
when standardized testing placed me in the highest bracket
i would have graduated atleast a year faster.
also, my memories deal more happiness
knowing that they last with this...
a little rhyme and time
and now that i am in the prime,
im past that length of time in months
with the man i love
and have **** near doubled the capacity--
have bought a little man a simple legacy
that his mommy and daddy
have a say in the matter
but when he's 17, he'll under stand the latter.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
We never obliged ourselves with any sort of passion or alignment with natures splendor, we just flip-flop'd about like disenfranchized plastic pieces of footwear; Fleetingly and disparingly as we float adrift through a toxic sea of consumerism, entranced with the notion of celebrity, swirling and whirling around until we undoubtabley wash ashore onto the pristine beaches of someones elses uncorrupted, isolated and darkly pigmented subconscious. Ready and willing to establish order in the magnitude of exploitation and apathy. As we scream freedom from tryanny, TV to TV, a bunch of muted and silenced over commercialized under adulterated humans trickle fed lies through screens. Everyone knows but who is speaking up, As Miley Circus flies across the manufactured dream a handful of youth stand up and puke as they throw there hands up like the ones before them and say "this isn't my scene!"
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
outer banks #1
down to the outer banks
where the water
and the dunes
reflect the wild east coast
we had to drive
to where its not commercialized
where the sand is actually
really occupied
ya gotta a dig a hole burn some coal
just to even eat a fish
grab a spear for a crab where the
shallow waters clear
ya gotta go, you gotta roll where
the old wind blow
ya gotta go, you gotta roll where
the old wind blow
watch your back girl
butter flies flyin outta your skirt
fly off the waves like dirt
were hidden out in the sand dune land
protected from patrol
by mountain sand
while the elders passed a joint
laughin, not carin and
so i soak it in
soak soak soak it in
cause you gotta roll, you gotta go
where the old wind blow
crabbin and a surfin
unknown land
im just campin out
and followin my dad
and camper dave
he's my other dad
we got the seafood
the surfers wish they had
so you gotta roll, you gotta go with the flow
where the ocean is remote
dont need no boat
its the best **** feeling
id ever had
cause ran around
the old wind blow
u gotta go where the old wind blow
so you gotta roll, you gotta go where
the old wind blow
you gotta gooo oh
where the old wind blow
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
Isn't it nice to rhyme
When words strike as divine
Made to fit the part
Unlike free verse aristofarts
Who would **** your mother
Like beatnik Stepbrother
And sleep through their clocks
For nocturnal jabberwocks
If ever was a Good man.
Benny swung with the times, man.
But Jazz rolled from the hits
Of white British misfits.
When South Bronx fell through crack
The sky and hood went black
Poets sold missing car parts
For Busta Rhymes to bust a start.
Poetry had to lose an art.
Rhyming tossed like the ****
Who ****** Lord Tennyson's ****
Which tugged at Victoria's smock.
It's easy to criticize
An age demystified
But now personifies
Poetry commercialized
And the old aging misfit
Tries to gather the spit
With a mouth so dry.
But not a poet in the sky
Will sanction the crime
To help his verse opine
Against the words-of-a-kind
That English bespoke to rhyme.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
I take a quick journey on up the road
Things I see make emotions explode
A lofty green meadow is what I seek
Congested construction is what I meet
Six lanes roads blast a once fluttering forest
Middle class homes rise as mountains at best
Standing in playplace of childhood
Woodland games of youth, ever so good
No, not anymore, now industrialized
They say we must be commercialized
No! I say, what will the critters do
They say who needs em, **** fools
How long will it be 'for luscious green's gone
Replaced by business, the new icon
No trees no bushes no grass
Just some corporate ***
Dec 25, 2009
Dec 25, 2009 at 8:39 PM UTC
purple arms still roaming
the cracking streets
unscented
vomiting
the next heartbreak
into your porcelain sink
rinsing the probability
of understanding humanity
down the sewage system
filtering
commercialized affection
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
my body a home best lived in.
babe, my body is a home best lived in.
worn and weathered,
it sways,
dancing in the wind storms,
bowing at snow flakes that pile on,
I shudder, I moan,
like me this house is living,
it breathes hot air in the summer months,
takes purchase of the rain,
it takes whats given,
you mend,
I leak,
I shatter,
my boards squeak, protesting your arrival,
but you aren't put off by the walls i raise,
you fix my windows wipe the mist that streams,
you serenade me with your sorrows,
you lament I cave,
you know my crooks,
youve etched the crannies,
you drop the glass,
you carve out space,
you box up my insides,
making it a more convient display,
Is that what this is? Is that what Ive become?
A convenience store home,
in which you hope to barter,
with a smile or a touch with a slip of kindness,
an I.O.U. of commercialized grace,
If my love was a stream, you'd bottle it up and send it to another factory to be, another product,
of a good conquest,
I'm just another good conquest,
what have you gained?
o my... what have I lost?
what do I have left of me?
have you seen my broken pieces?
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
The space between the stars and the earth
with creatures that never adapted to flight
left looking out into the ever expansive skies
all mystified, but still quite contrite
We made machines to take us to the air
and then commercialized the thought
all the dreams of wings and wonder
is still dreamer talk all said for naught
still I stare at the star stained stratosphere
hoping one day that we might meet
With the stars surrounding my eyes
And the clouds planted at our feet
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 1:51 AM UTC
“Our government teaches the whole people by its example. If the government becomes the lawbreaker, it breeds contempt for law; it invites every man to become a law unto himself; it invites anarchy.”- Louis D. Brandeis.
Beware of the uncivilized nation
Where mighty green reigns wildly,
And morals are for the most part ignored,
Corporations won't hesitate to betray you.
Waging a war means increased wages,
Take care, the army will shoot you.
A woman's work is worth less,
"Aliens"are manipulated for cheap labor.
Give the wealthy power
Over the poverty of the weak.
*Why are we so prone to
commercialized, cultural conditioning*?
Debt takes away all freedom.
Keep us in debt
To keep us under your control.
Modern day slavery,
Crown Capitalism the king and master.
Get it, Master Card?
Supported by a fickle impostor
Dressed in robes known as democracy.
The cruel system is designed to
Prolong and maintain already existing problems,
Often exacerbating them,
Even creating new conflicts.
The schools uphold the system,
Student is code for automaton.
Criminal is code for prison's big business.
Through it all, pillage the planet,
Divide, conquer, then destroy everything in your wake,
As if it's the main mission of some diabolical plan.
*I don't blame the new student in my class,
Long years ago, who didn't stand up
During the pledge of allegiance.*
Originally written 3/29/11
Revised 10/17/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
We have lost
the reason
for the season
The pain of
over spending
Beyond our means
The pain of
giving
more time then
We have
The pain of
not
Giving at all
The pain of
Not giving
What we
Are willing
to spare
The pain of
Frustrated Complaining
about the crowds
parking spaces
the hassles of it all
The pain of
the reason for the season
is lost
to commercialized
It’s only about
Getting Stuff
More stuff
You have never
experienced a
Carmen
Christmas
Until you have been
To my house
My family remembers
And their child
Remember
Christmas
Now
Getting older and sick
my pain is
more physical
I need
A total knee replacement
I pack on ice to numb the pain
So many pain pills shots
I have a list to do
As long as Santa’s
I’m pulling all nighters
To get it all done
Cleaning cooking
baking baskets of treats
I don’t complain
It’s not my style
Pride perhaps
I do it out of pure love
The family will be here Christmas
For a few days
Waiting on them
Feeding them
Caring for their every need
I want them to remember
the love of giving
Think what Jesus gave us
His life our salvation
What are we giving
him on his Birthday
My knee COPD
all my other ailments
Are nothing
I pray Lord
Let me give them
One more year
As I fight back the pain
With tears
no one must see
My “teenage” Grandson
asked me
What I wanted for
Christmas
YOU
I told him
I DO NOT NEED ANYTHING
Yet
He earned money
Walk to the store
To buy me
a gift
He knows
I will love
I am planting seeds
Of
Generosity Goodness Kindness
Most importantly
LOVE
Merry Christmas
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 5:41 AM UTC
In realms of cyberspace, I fly
searching out treasures in disguise
skirting advertised merchandise
the ordinary, the overemphasized
to anatomize the marginalized
values overlooked otherwise
on the dusty, neglected, virtual aisles
of small sites not over-commercialized
or google ranked and over-publicized
some unexpected payoffs materialize
glittering swag, patiences prize
“Oh, my God - Look!” I vocalize
My girlfriends can’t believe their eyes
“You can find anything,” they surmise.
Oct 20, 2023
Oct 20, 2023 at 7:30 AM UTC
More often than not my machinations are little more than fragmented ruminations and disjointed alliterations
Occasionally preoccupied by rhyme, reason, or cravings for another season
Color and light dancing against the doodles left dog-eared among the daily drudgery crowding my deliberations
Purposefully thinking my thoughts more thoughtfully in these days of superficiality and commercialized faux reality
Deliberate silences budgeted between listless noise. On days when everyone's vying for vocal real estate & everyone's talking with nothing to say.. I take a fast from my voice.
I withdraw from myself, deep within my mind.. I attempt to reconcile with that girl I was -forgive myself for letting her leave again. How can I come back to her after what we've been? I've lied to her too many times for her to let me back in.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published
the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,
procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.
the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards
cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests
The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC