"consumerist" poems
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
It is the 30th day of the months in Kenya
State and corporate capitalist have now paid their workers
Wages or salaries or stipends or emoluments all being remunerations
While the rural bourgeoisie and urban bourgeoisie have also paid ex-gratia
To relatives come over-aged workers who have declined retiring
For the fear of looming starvation if at all they go home, where they were born,
Nonetheless; proceed they receive will do nothing whatsoever
As it will be stifled by the monster of desperate consumerism;
So fat and gullible in this tiger of land in the region called Kenya;
The terror peddling rent, courtesy of ruthlessness of the landlord
Bills of electric power in their full monopolistic gear
Bills of water devoid of quality, indifferent dysentery monger
Wages for maid who keep on usurping the food of my child; milk
Bills for gas, all of it redolent of comprador bourgeoisie in fashion,
Hotel and bar bill - a surreptious one, as the bar girl only knows
Airtime and renewal, TV channels and other screen capitalistic ploys
Family trip to local resort in a feat of foolish consumerist venture,
Money to the old mother at home and, sometimes depraved but patient father
ARV’s money to my *** aids stricken sister at the village, my aunt also
Tuition fees for my son at the kindergarten, who goes to schools but learns nothing
fees balance which my wife has to pay at the tailor to ransom out her dress,
M-Pesa and M-Swari loan repayment, this only for Kenyan 30th dayers
They know the agony of dealing with Kenyan mega-capitalist safaricom ltd.
This consumerism and **** consumerism,
It is the menacing bane of the Kenyan poor
It is the avaricious tube which siphons back
The hard earned money from pockets of the poor
Back to despotic account of the pitiless world pigshotry.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Wake Up Wretched World,
I assert my Indigenous heritage
I self identify
With the ancestors of my continent
Identity afraid to articulate
Culture, unknowingly belonging to me
Cycle of shame now shattered
Product of love, hatred, lust, and desire
europeans plundering my mother Latin America
In chaos and violence, my skin's pigment
Has been engineered through the mestizaje
Of my Indigenous forefathers
How could I not forget my lineage
When the historical legacy of modernization
Has been to massacre the consciousness
Of where my people really come from
Erasing indigenous pride
Making Paisano and Indio
Synonymous with poverty and alienation
Insulting the humbleness
State of hunger you've left us in
Original lineage within me disturbed
So you push me to ambiguity and embarrassment
Not white, not indigenous?
Pure indigenous brothers and sisters silenced
Not an exploitable consumerist market, not in your campaigns
Not benefactors of your philanthropic development tactics
Bodies too costly to abuse, no reason to bring them
Into the neoliberal multinational corporate circuit
Constantly driving them off productive land
Because they choose to assert their identity
Live in collective communes, not owing you nothing
Waiting for them to make barren lands productive
So you can take those lands too
Not capturing an obscure history, these are not colonial times
This is the legacy of the european presence entering mother Latin America
21st century still defiling Indigenous cultures to civilize and modernize
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
remember to always follow your dreams.
starting this conditioning early instills the message so deep
that you're never quite aware, that in order to follow
your dreams you must first remain asleep
this is how they've created generation after generation
of obedient, self absorbed, consumerist sheep
where nothing is more precious to yourself then
the possessions that we keep
conforming to what's cool
owning the newest technology
and never looking cheap
join the hottest trends, stay in the loop
you're rising high on the social ladder
a fall from here is awfully steep
the fear of this fall turns you into a materialistic creep
these social constructs we all need to together break
or no one in our western society will ever truly be awake
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks
Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl
The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
I bid you all a fond farewell
As these bones turn to dust in capitalist shackles.
No more will my voice be silenced
By gender roles and repression.
My foremothers gave me my rights nearly a century ago
And you still act like it’s pocket change.
No more.
I will rise above this consumerist nation
And be heard.
Feminism means equality, not women over men.
Don’t take offense when I lock my car doors.
You’ve proven yourselves untrustworthy.
“Not all men.”
But enough men.
I am not backing down; I am not giving in.
I am breaking free of conformity,
Barely comfortable in the skin you told me was imperfect.
Flip-flopping your beliefs; I am never good enough for you.
But I will always be good enough for myself.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
**** your consumerist
"holiday."
There is nothing special about
today.
I might be bitter,
about being alone.
Again.
but, I don't see the point.
Cheap little cards,
****** candy.
Why?
For love?
No.
For money?
Yes.
Valentines day is not
for you
and your
sweet heart.
It is for
the corporations.
Selling their confections,
their cards,
their lingerie.
Bet it doesn't feel special
anymore,
Does it?
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Does it sting you if I tell you, you're a ****** a thief, and a liar by association?
Sure you've been convicted and you wear your prison tags with pride
This is not a tale, this is not for your entertainment, I'm talking about you!
Wearing your abercrombie and fitch, am I interrupting the call on your iphone!
Sure what you buy has been cleansed to hide the stench of blood and sweat
Do you know where it's made? Do you care about those who made it?
Think you got it bad? Wait until you see factory workers cry!
They can't because their tears dehydrate their malnourished bodies
Your thinking its alright to be at ease, better think twice
Panic, your self-preservation is not safe, your body's agency will soon give way
Living in ghettos, urban centers, metropolises, seeking comfort among congestion
Depositories for the excesses of humanity, fresh produce scarce, drugs plenty
Commercial, social, fashion districts hiding alley ways and misery
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
How I feel when you say
That
To me it hurts so much
Bloodsuckingly good intentions
I pull out all of the foreign angsts of past lives
You are forgiven
But not forever
Because you'll die
No greed left in your bones
Maybe some sarcasm, definitely irony
But none of that consumerist ****
Nothing you had
Not people either
Your life's worth... nothing
My anger wasn't ********
No
It was sane
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
i listen to Dubstep music and sip tea
i am the Post-Mark
Pondering Gender politics and finishing my tea
i am non violent, a pacifist
But don't put it past me that i won't clench a fist
With righteous grist
If you make me feel alone in my considerations temporarily
i'm not a weak soul am hardy folk
Hardly lost faith when i realised God was a joke
Like a big fat egg yolk splattered all over paper
Christmas hogging 3 months of calendar
A Consumerist campaign, but tell me i'm the miser
Police tend to pass me in the streets, i think smart
Skin colour ain't the first part
One of the mainly white audience at the Public Enemy show
The system as it stands fears me though
If you stop and searched my heart you'd **** me though
i Listen to Deep House and sip Lucozade
Lost deep in this house
i've never worked hard at a job
So **** lucky at birth to have wealth
But that's my parents money (and I'm not in any way responsible for slavery)
Kanye West with his Confederate Flag ****
"I'ts mine now, what you gonna do?"
Little did we know that we were the 'New Slaves'
Contemporary thinker, i read the game cover to cover
After all they taught me from birth how to study
i'm too uninterested in ticking boxes to earn money
To satisy the transferable skills that you want from me
I'll Enjoy a nights alcoholism instead of getting high and writing an essay
Am I getting too wordy?
i'm trying to spit now, can i? can I?
The gender politics on my mind at inappropriate times
i told the guy at the door i wasn't thinking about race
Most people are thinking about 'the race'
White Middle Class kid picked up a mic and tried to rap again...
I listen to Hip Hop and drink water
Hardly faded I'm perfectly sober
I'm energised naturally, words seem to strengthen me
I am the grassroots, I have been wrongly righted
My Parent's deserve this so want me to sit tight
But I'm jumping right into the middle of hip hop (and feminism)
And theres nothing you can do about it.
[For All My ****** and All My *******
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
Parliament's headquarters--Back alley for smokes n' such.
Politicians deliberating on the bread and the butter
While the starving go hungry and the Truth begins to suffer.
Never point to the signs on the wall
12 steps, Denial before the fall.
Consumerist, zombie shuffle back to the car, the market's full up.
Look for the polyethylene creamer. Metallic coated groceries
For the plastic (PORTIS issued) consumer.
"Coke is it" they would say as they take the morning grind (black/two sugar.)
Racists make the sea of Policy makers and warmongers,
Bathing in other's poverty, hunger and pain;
Fearing death before the climb, G-d before the fall
Slashing at the necks of basilisks until they turn to stone.
Blind and petrified to the core,
I swear God, Parliament will smoke no more.
Comes along the Harbinger, you've got one new message.
Message one, There is no god, only me. I'm your Hypocrisy.
Cry to an empty thought, kid the kidders, sin among sinners.
Shamble back to Parliament's sanctuary, the legislators are in,
Let Smokes n' Such begin.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
It's hard to understand
A Rockstar with a drug problem
A Literary type with wine tasting ability
A business man keen on social sense
A Lover craving spiritual connection and growth
Layers of fallen leaves in autumn
Piles of gold and red and orange
Football fan with a blue jersey
Homeless but with a vigil eye
For those who try to hard
An addict to anyone who loves
Caring to much to touch
Love that comes unbound
All too quick and all too much
I am all I write above
Some of it lies.... to myself
A dove with a heavy heart
singing in my mind
Flying for a shelter of like-minded doves.
But who am I this time?
Rockstar, Lush, Lover, Addict, Salesperson
I am a writer, or so I think...
Especially when I drink
I am all those things
I am assertion
Of life with many layers
Like other living beings
Like tree rings
Something you don't see
till lacerations
Cut the skin, cut the bark
Personality bleeds out
That's why I run to the closest person
Not the best
And I doubt it'll work out
She doesn't understand
I'm a Rockstar, Lush, Lover, Addict, Salesperson
Consumerist soul raging against itself
Artist running faucets of stealth
Hiding behind words
And guitar chords
She doesn't understand what I am.
A dove with a heavy heart
singing in my mind
Flying for a shelter of like-minded doves.
An addict to anyone who loves
Caring to much to touch
Love that comes unbound
All too quick and all too much
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
Although I hate how wrong this ridiculous sense of common we have for everything is,
Sometimes I just wish we were these two ignorant people
That think the world is wrong but we can't change it
And work hard just to buy a bigger TV
Sometimes I just wish we could live a mediocre life together
And never mind to all the things that happens around
Since our favorite show is reprising saturday night
I wish we could fight every day to decide who's going to supermarket
And what color should be our new car
And fight over and over again about if we should buy a dog or not
And stay up late playing scrabble with our boring married friends
Sometimes I just wish we were these two empty consumerist people
That complain about everything and fight everyday about nothing
But are so so happy
Together.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 5:19 AM UTC
in a city of shifting faces
we become forgetful about life in different places
succumbed to a world within a world.
construction and history
poverty and misogyny;
the city is lost within me and i am lost within the city
we all suffer the internal blackholes of everyday life
in a city of anonymous faces,
we take no notice
succumbed to a world within a world where only our world matters
and we wonder what's for lunch whilst thousands live homeless and the irony of wondering why so many go hungry
in a city of greed
consumers consumed by consumerist propaganda
all the shifting faces we walk past on a daily basis
bigots, fascists, racists
and we are wrapped up
too engulfed by our own lives to care about others
but selflessness is only selfless if not done for self, but i was told
"no good deed goes unpunished"
but we should do good anyway
because in a city of shifting faces
be the face-shifter who stops turning pages and pauses --
take in the scenery
and be alive for every moment;
it is okay to be a passer-by in a city of nameless strangers
but never in your own life
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Society wants to keep bending us over and have their way,
Like cracks in the living room,
throwing Molotov's at the windows,
let it burn,
we must not only take back our america,
But we must stab the man where it really hurts,
Aiming Mack 11's At park benches,
the news feeding us consumerist garbage and false Submissions,
tumbling Over cars just for fun of independence,
We Must Fight
Random Acts of getting the messege out,
too much desperation will bring too much doubt,
No brotherhood,
Just the enlightenment Of seeing them Fall is all,
so **** your arrangement,
**** your penny pitching,
And **** your cold world,
We Gotta do whats right for our world,
Do whats right for our people,
Do what the great people that made america what it is today Would have wanted us to do.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
she never intended to spit out buildings
or spew smoke into the atmosphere
she didn't dream of rush hour
she could've had so much power
light years away
she stays hidden in dismay
every time, disappointed
her telescope pointed
at more earthly disarray
and the galaxies surrounding her
could never compare
to the earth that she dreamed to become
the earth we will never see
the stardust that was ready to
seep through her pores
but we blocked off her skin
we cut off her wings
and stars can't shine if they're covered
(the most difficult thing to do is simplify your life and detach yourself from the consumerist, industrialized society we've become.
to identify with a place,
you must love the land.
and to love the land,
you must connect with it.
fall in love with the natural, simple beauty of your country
and of countries and cultures around the world.
nature's a gift and many of us never end up unwrapping it)
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
I will never be like you
Consumerist pride and corporate lies
Drowned in greed
Watching the less fortunate bleed
Selfishness, prideful bliss
I will never submit
I will never be like you
Drop the act
Before its to late
Destroying humanity
Drivin by your vanity
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
On row DH30A102
Buddha is seated,
meditating.
Underneath him
in dust covered boxes
a dozen more
radiate enlightenment,
waiting to be shipped out and sold
for 29.99 at your local store.
'Surely the fatman
will give our house
a unique Zen feel to it.'
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
No thanks
,I'm actually not
In the mood to slug on
;To slip on someone elses shift
,Perpetuate a cyclical consumerist paradigm
.The product is stale and sickening ,I'll stick to my own
.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
If Santa saw us now,
His copious joy might melt
And stain his white palace black.
Oh, if the jolly fat man saw us now,
Our black bells ringing scarlet,
The white snow-globe flakes flowing ******
And the consumerist *******
Selling love for slick green and silver;
Oh, if he saw these rabid dogs,
Chewing flesh and spitting bone
for an iPhone,
His joy would end right there.
If Santa came down off his throne,
And saw our minty venom saturating sacks
Staining toys meant for joy,
His steel boots rusty from snow;
Oh, with this glance he takes upon us,
Witnessing a competition of hate,
He’d scribble his two lists black,
And his red joviality would pierce homes,
With death,
And holiday.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
Today, we bear witness to a post-industrial, consumerist wasteland, under whose all-encompassing totality is subsumed the autonomy of the willing subject, who becomes but an interchangeable gear-wheel in a global machine of production, distribution, and consumption. Individuality is paradoxically mass manufactured, as personal identity is increasingly governed in the public and private spheres by the accumulation, consumption of, and aggregation of preferences relative to commodities. Possessions become both indicators of social standing, and pieces of the psychological anatomy of the individual. Advertising lends itself handily to these ends, playing on the insecurities of the consumer. Products are often advertised as embodying desirable qualities, supposedly lacking in the target buyer: "If you want to be more feminine, wear this perfume;" "If you want to be more masculine, drink this beer;" "If you want to be more elegant, wear these clothes," etc. Perhaps more troubling, however, is the rate of success of these tactics. In light of this, the questions emerge: are our lives a fabrication? Beneath these tangled webs of associations, who are we really, and if we weren't told who to be from such an early age, who might we become?
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
*Discouraged, I silently wait-
Anticipate the cultivation
of a new surrogate
slowly weighing down
the corporate weights
Generations have died
We need not new worshipers-
Though we preach and preach
of new ways of life
The articulation of a stealthy
misguided population
Rooted deviously within our realm
Subliminal dis-figuration
is cognitively calloused
Deeply punctured inside
the root of our thickly stems-
This, the way of the world
The capital effect
Leaves one hungry, starving-
and dastardly thirsting for more
A consumerist mind-set
Correlates abruptly
with this generation of
"non-thoughtful thinkers"
Consumption of supply
Regurgitating of demand
Are we senseless-
Or just sensible
in cultivating this disheveled war
on our possessions
possessing the rights of man?
Are we grasping at this
misconceived dream
That we can live long and dream
the dreams we feel we're destined
to achieve?
We are the result of the
reality we create and strive
to be
Don't be a commercial-
Be your own documentary
© 2014 Christina Jackson*
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Visions of mystics that I surely didn't see,
But genuine was the mother of an ancient love—
Funny to think of it all marred in equal parts spiritualism and consumerist ********
And all of them ignorant to the Kansas City memories they conjure.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC