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"executive" poems
Oh Generational gap, a cancer of to all mankind. The father of lack of communication between the young and the old. A difference brought about the tastes and values. The pain faced between young and aged but can’t be touched. It started by 1960’s the decades of revolutionary change. It cut across the world in values of *** religion and civil rights. The disease the emerged earned its self a name by social scientists. It then became “Generational Gap” I would love to quote a man of great thoughts, Alexis De Tocqueville, who commented that; “Among democratic nations, each generation is a new people” I have come to appreciate these words. When I walk down the streets noticing the rising incompatibility existing in our society Though I admire the old days when the old and young associated freely, working on the same farms Grandparents telling stories to their little ones; what a lovely society they had. With the invention of television and computers some families were bonded in communication While others live in agony especially the illiterate. The old desire different designs from the youth, whose trends change per living day of nakedness Young people prefer working in executive places like offices compared to the donkey farm work considered to be for the old Another cause of generational gap is decay in morals; the young people feel like they know everything and don’t like to be corrected thus taking information from old people as outdated, young people finding lots of hardships to great their elders In the field of music elders prefer oldies and more preferably educative songs, and as for the youths they delight in Hip-hop and dancehall, am sure those present here can testify to this a term with no disco dances makes us dull students. When it comes to religious issues, youth find it a burden to go to church and if they offer to go they prefer it to be in a club way. Praise and worship accompanied by jazz unlike the old days where drums are the centre of music. Cultures in this way have greatly faded away; the trend of western culture has flamed up the world. Drugs and *** are a hobby and celebrated amongst the youth, yet *** to the old was for companionship and co-creation. But when we came to medical technology we all applause in general, young or old there is easy treatment, use of scanners, and medical facilities cuts across.
0
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
GENERATIONAL GAP
Oh Generational gap, a cancer of to all mankind. The father of lack of communication between the young and the old. A difference brought about the tastes and values. The pain faced between young and aged but can’t be touched. It started by 1960’s the decades of revolutionary change. It cut across the world in values of *** religion and civil rights. The disease the emerged earned its self a name by social scientists. It then became “Generational Gap” I would love to quote a man of great thoughts, Alexis De Tocqueville, who commented that; “Among democratic nations, each generation is a new people” I have come to appreciate these words. When I walk down the streets noticing the rising incompatibility existing in our society Though I admire the old days when the old and young associated freely, working on the same farms Grandparents telling stories to their little ones; what a lovely society they had. With the invention of television and computers some families were bonded in communication While others live in agony especially the illiterate. The old desire different designs from the youth, whose trends change per living day of nakedness Young people prefer working in executive places like offices compared to the donkey farm work considered to be for the old Another cause of generational gap is decay in morals; the young people feel like they know everything and don’t like to be corrected thus taking information from old people as outdated, young people finding lots of hardships to great their elders In the field of music elders prefer oldies and more preferably educative songs, and as for the youths they delight in Hip-hop and dancehall, am sure those present here can testify to this a term with no disco dances makes us dull students. When it comes to religious issues, youth find it a burden to go to church and if they offer to go they prefer it to be in a club way. Praise and worship accompanied by jazz unlike the old days where drums are the centre of music. Cultures in this way have greatly faded away; the trend of western culture has flamed up the world. Drugs and *** are a hobby and celebrated amongst the youth, yet *** to the old was for companionship and co-creation. But when we came to medical technology we all applause in general, young or old there is easy treatment, use of scanners, and medical facilities cuts across.
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17
Volunteers, PSGs, Staffs Executive Directors And higher task allocators. People pass by Mic's were off Facade was the banner of hope. Voices all over the provinces All with the same goal Rightly urged with own reasons. Two faces were present Painted with grimace Or with broaden smiles. *The screening was stern and severe Camera rolls on with Level 2 "Next," "Give me another song" The voice sounds no roughs of plead A voice pushing rivals To their very own frontiers I was startled So this is how they do it Selection, great screenings There're expectators There're hope hurtles Dreams will sooner be pulled of.
0
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
The Voice Audition
**ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S FAMOUS CIVIL WAR CONDOLENCE LETTER TO YOUNG ***** MCCULLOUGH ABOUT DEATH, LOSS AND MEMORY** Executive Mansion, Washington, December 23, 1862. Dear ***** It is with deep grief that I learn of the death of your kind and brave Father; and, especially, that it is affecting your young heart beyond what is common in such cases. In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it. I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You can not now realize that you will ever feel better. Is not this so? And yet it is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again. To know this, which is certainly true, will make you some less miserable now. I have had experience enough to know what I say; and you need only to believe it, to feel better at once. The memory of your dear Father, instead of an agony, will yet be a sad sweet feeling in your heart, of a purer, and holier sort than you have known before. Please present my kind regards to your afflicted mother. Your sincere friend A. LINCOLN.
0
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S FAMOUS CIVIL WAR CONDOLENCE LETTER TO YOUNG ***** MCCULLOUGH ABOUT DEATH, LOSS AND MEMORY
Trump sat in his tower, supreme in every way Whatever he wanted, he only had to say The President to the press corps, of him, one day made fun I’m gonna replace you bud, when your term is done He started his campaign, they said he was a joke But he became popular with all the common folk The stuff that he spouted, was more and more absurd But the stupid morons, swallowed his every word He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus There's no such thing as climate change, everything is fine Burning coal and shale oil is perfectly divine Those lefty enviornmentalists love to yell and shout (making lots of money is what I'm all about) The Mexicans are gonna pay when I build the wall And I’ll lock you up Clinton, guaranteed next fall No one could believe it, when the count was done The blonde haired, orange faced, nitwit, actually had won He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus It’s just that he was used to, always getting his way He signed executive orders, on his very first day The Judges over ruled him, and put him in his place They threw the executive orders, right back in his face He’s having lot’s of problems, with the phoney press And though he tweets daily, it’s still causing distress If he bombed the Syrians, maybe it would make amends But all he succeeded in doing, was **** off his Russian friends He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus The FBI investigate, so he fired their chief The replacement just carried on, Trump got no relief Congress is thinking, let's put Trump against the wall Pence is in the wings, just waiting for their call He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
0
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Super Callous Fragile Rascist Sexist **** POTUS
Trump sat in his tower, supreme in every way Whatever he wanted, he only had to say The President to the press corps, of him, one day made fun I’m gonna replace you bud, when your term is done He started his campaign, they said he was a joke But he became popular with all the common folk The stuff that he spouted, was more and more absurd But the stupid morons, swallowed his every word He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus There's no such thing as climate change, everything is fine Burning coal and shale oil is perfectly divine Those lefty enviornmentalists love to yell and shout (making lots of money is what I'm all about) The Mexicans are gonna pay when I build the wall And I’ll lock you up Clinton, guaranteed next fall No one could believe it, when the count was done The blonde haired, orange faced, nitwit, actually had won He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus It’s just that he was used to, always getting his way He signed executive orders, on his very first day The Judges over ruled him, and put him in his place They threw the executive orders, right back in his face He’s having lot’s of problems, with the phoney press And though he tweets daily, it’s still causing distress If he bombed the Syrians, maybe it would make amends But all he succeeded in doing, was **** off his Russian friends He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus The FBI investigate, so he fired their chief The replacement just carried on, Trump got no relief Congress is thinking, let's put Trump against the wall Pence is in the wings, just waiting for their call He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
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44
an order is an executive order command is an executive command the universe is an executive command the universe is an executive order of command the future is an executive command the future is an executive order the galaxy is a commanding galaxy the galaxy is a commanding order the galaxy is a commanding universe time is a order of a galaxy time is a order of space time is an executive order time is an executive galaxy time is an executive space time is an executive future the future is a president order of command the future is a president order of an executive command a galaxy is a president order a galaxy is a president command a president command is a president order of command a president command is a president order
0
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
a executive order
Softly, gently, I  sipped your red cherry-lip petals patiently, silently, I grabbed your brown nip-let buds deeply, knowingly, I drowned into your blue eye-oceans The feminine body turns to be  a dates garden amidst my own barren desert ! Williamsji Maveli Email: [email protected] * KGA (UAE Chapter) Literary award for Poetry declared for Williamsji Maveli’s   “Arramviralthumbath…” The Kallettumakara Gblobal Association (KGA), UAE Chapter has announced their first poetry award for excellence to Williamsji Maveli's  third  poetry collection   titled as “Arramviralthumbath …”  (On the tip of the 6th finger,  published by H & C Books, Trichur) .The award has been declared  by Mathew David, Chairman of KGA at their Executive Committee meeting held recently in Sharjah Emirate of United Arab Emirates.  The award has  also been considered for his poetic works scattered in his recently published book named  as “Maa Salama."  ( means "With peace"  in Arabic). The poems have been gathered from different desert sketches,  focusing on his real-time life experiences ,while he was working in UAE for more than 30 years.  Williamsji, (Williams George),   former Ras Al Khaimah based Journalist and lyricist of tester-years has been nominated for a literary award for the first time for literature. The Award is being formulated by KGA  (Kallettumkara Global Association, UAE Chapter) for  outstanding contributions to literature  from the native writers  of Kallettumkara,  a village town in Trichur, Kerala in India.  The award will be presented by the KGA’s UAE Chapter on the grand occasion of their 10th anniversary, which is being scheduled to be held during September, this year, according to Mathew David, Chairman of Kallettumkara Global Association.
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Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
The Dates Garden
Softly, gently, I  sipped your red cherry-lip petals patiently, silently, I grabbed your brown nip-let buds deeply, knowingly, I drowned into your blue eye-oceans The feminine body turns to be  a dates garden amidst my own barren desert ! Williamsji Maveli Email: [email protected] * KGA (UAE Chapter) Literary award for Poetry declared for Williamsji Maveli’s   “Arramviralthumbath…” The Kallettumakara Gblobal Association (KGA), UAE Chapter has announced their first poetry award for excellence to Williamsji Maveli's  third  poetry collection   titled as “Arramviralthumbath …”  (On the tip of the 6th finger,  published by H & C Books, Trichur) .The award has been declared  by Mathew David, Chairman of KGA at their Executive Committee meeting held recently in Sharjah Emirate of United Arab Emirates.  The award has  also been considered for his poetic works scattered in his recently published book named  as “Maa Salama."  ( means "With peace"  in Arabic). The poems have been gathered from different desert sketches,  focusing on his real-time life experiences ,while he was working in UAE for more than 30 years.  Williamsji, (Williams George),   former Ras Al Khaimah based Journalist and lyricist of tester-years has been nominated for a literary award for the first time for literature. The Award is being formulated by KGA  (Kallettumkara Global Association, UAE Chapter) for  outstanding contributions to literature  from the native writers  of Kallettumkara,  a village town in Trichur, Kerala in India.  The award will be presented by the KGA’s UAE Chapter on the grand occasion of their 10th anniversary, which is being scheduled to be held during September, this year, according to Mathew David, Chairman of Kallettumkara Global Association.
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18
The old order changeth, yielding place to new -Tennyson, Idylls of the King Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp In spasms of existential death; they pass At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there If you vote they give you a sticker The ephemeral Constitution changed Like sweaty skivvies by each president Law libraries catalogued for pulp By obedient functionaries in tees If you vote they give you a sticker The faithful escorted out of the cathedral By a bored security guard on overtime The altar linens for sale at Goodwill And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V. If you vote they give you a sticker Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds And the others cheer only for the Blues As the reincarnation of Jack Chick Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps If you vote they give you a sticker Election placards on abandoned buildings Promise again prosperity for all The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz Private Academy of the Dance and Math If you vote they give you a sticker An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather If you vote they give you a sticker And blessed be the Holy AR-15 God gave to His People to defend themselves Here in the freest country in the world Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence If you vote they give you a sticker While fleets of luxury presidential jets Arc high over our public housing projects Reminding us of our prosperity Here in the richest country in the world If you vote they give you a sticker And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right But them other Jews they just ain’t no good Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither And don’t you get me started on them Baptists (We seem to have been otherwise engaged) “The old order changeth, yielding place to new” – (But neither cares at all for me or you) But if you vote they give you a sticker
0
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
Election Day: Executive Inaction with Moderate Prejudice in Fits of Absent-Mindedness
The old order changeth, yielding place to new -Tennyson, Idylls of the King Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp In spasms of existential death; they pass At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there If you vote they give you a sticker The ephemeral Constitution changed Like sweaty skivvies by each president Law libraries catalogued for pulp By obedient functionaries in tees If you vote they give you a sticker The faithful escorted out of the cathedral By a bored security guard on overtime The altar linens for sale at Goodwill And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V. If you vote they give you a sticker Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds And the others cheer only for the Blues As the reincarnation of Jack Chick Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps If you vote they give you a sticker Election placards on abandoned buildings Promise again prosperity for all The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz Private Academy of the Dance and Math If you vote they give you a sticker An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather If you vote they give you a sticker And blessed be the Holy AR-15 God gave to His People to defend themselves Here in the freest country in the world Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence If you vote they give you a sticker While fleets of luxury presidential jets Arc high over our public housing projects Reminding us of our prosperity Here in the richest country in the world If you vote they give you a sticker And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right But them other Jews they just ain’t no good Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither And don’t you get me started on them Baptists (We seem to have been otherwise engaged) “The old order changeth, yielding place to new” – (But neither cares at all for me or you) But if you vote they give you a sticker
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49
It's good to say. It's just not always true. When people say the customer's always right. For a dollar or too. Doesn't mean you're going to let disrespect rule. The way man fearful folks do. We dealing with human nature. Some people are rule. Some people are cruel. Some people call people out of their name. Then proclaim the cutomer's always right. Which isn't exactly true. Don't matter, if it's the golden spoken words of truth. Some of us live by the phase of wisdom. To be respected. You must earn respect. Or face people dissatifaction. Yes, some people, executive and managers too. States, they all about customer service. Which is a business comment. For, if their spouse, child , friend was talked negative too. Then they would change their view. For, all people deserves to be respected in all ways. Not treated wrong because you feel the need too. Cause we all make mistates somewhere through our day.
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Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
The Customer Always right.
1177 A prompt—executive Bird is the Jay— Bold as a Bailiff’s Hymn— Brittle and Brief in quality— Warrant in every line— Sitting a Bough like a Brigadier Confident and straight— Much is the mien of him in March As a Magistrate—
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3.6k
A prompt—executive Bird is the Jay—
People with money amazes you. The way they seems to concern about the peoople. Or do they? A rich executive tries to dictate your vote. As , if they trying to black mail you. With the things they say. And explain what they will do? If the candidate they support should lose. People with wealth. Amazes the poor. Who realize some of them doesn't care at all. They have their foundation. And donate to many causes. But when push comes to shove. Then you really witness their love. Cause to support their life style. They needs to find ways to survive. Many lose their money in divorces many times. And blame it upon other factors. When saving their money was all they were after. Firing a few to do it. Fit them well. But using politics as a scheme. Is a different tale. But it's the world of a millionaire businessman.
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Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
The World of A Millionaire Businessman
----------x---------x---------x----------x---------- *Our Donald J. Trump, he's the president of the United States In America and Washington DC, He's the greatest! He's got the pen, He's got the power, He's the man of the hour   And he's signing executive orders as fast as he can! He's just like superman, Woa! - By 4 am he's inked a travel ban, Kissed his wife, walked the dog and sanctioned Iran! And Donald J. Trump's done all of this before sunrise, Whew! Regards, President Donald J. Trump,  45 stars for you!* ---------x----------x----------x---------x----------
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Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
Regards, President Donald J. Trump, 45 Stars for You
how tired how tired the caged bird sings before its beautiful neck snaps between the claws of an angry fat cat drool drip drop dripping the ghoulish rubies that snake past its serpent tongue and sizzle when they touch its breast scream like a banshee a women in the throes of **** as the cats sternum breaks between the iron clap jaws of the three headed abomination cerberus guardian of the judicial powers champion of the executive law enforcer of legislative judgement slobbering grasping all encompassing maw envelopes my heart in its wretched gnashing teeth and **** my marrow from my bones with a sharpened gore covered protuberance called security i see the death of my passions in this hellish cycle - abomination birthed from the depths of an elitist mind control - a choke chain on the masses
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Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
the circle of life?
Do you still go into your "Executive Chef" voice when people ask you to describe the ingredients of your famous palleta, detailing the use of saffron to brighten the rice golden in a throaty, overly masculine voice, deepening as though it too was hue-d golden by saffron
0
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
Saffron
"Between the Judicial, Legislative and Executive branches as well as the DMV , DOD, and our failing Public Schools, it's a ******* wonder I abide by the Government at all."
0
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
Patriotism
I. Sunday mornings in Vancouver even pigeons sleep in till 10 A.M. Undaunted, I walk down Granville shortly before 8 seeking lox bagels with capers, red onions and cream cheese, two breve lattes, and a newspaper. In truth, panhandlers on the corner of Robson have far greater chance of scoring. An unexpectedly sunny February morn suffices to spur me on. I am attuned to all vibration. Breath of the awakening city exhales manna upon the shop awnings. Bagels rendered superfluous, I scarf images instead --- trolley buses, an umbrella shop, falafel stands --- delicious Canadian visual cuisine.                                  II. Vancouver is a nymph. Of that I'm sure. I hear flirtatious giggles trill from darkened alleys between hotels. Spotted her once across the street on Dunsmuir, seated on a walk bench reading a Margaret Atwood novel. Bus passed between us and she vanished. Caught a later glimpse through the window of a walk-up dim sum restaurant in Chinatown. Flew the stairs, only to find an empty table and discarded napkin smudged with candy pink lipstick. She watches me.                                                 III. Turns out there are no Sunday morning papers in Vancouver, but I locate the bagels and espresso backtracking on Helmcken. The barista smiles as I approach, sets down her Atwood novel. I leave a Toonie in gratuity. B.C. wind pushes hard on my turned back, as I rush our breakfast back to the Executive. A nymph goes roller-blading by toward False Creek. The Gastown Steam Clock whistles that it's 10 A.M. A flock of pigeons lifts in flight.
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Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
In Search of Cuppuccino
I. Sunday mornings in Vancouver even pigeons sleep in till 10 A.M. Undaunted, I walk down Granville shortly before 8 seeking lox bagels with capers, red onions and cream cheese, two breve lattes, and a newspaper. In truth, panhandlers on the corner of Robson have far greater chance of scoring. An unexpectedly sunny February morn suffices to spur me on. I am attuned to all vibration. Breath of the awakening city exhales manna upon the shop awnings. Bagels rendered superfluous, I scarf images instead --- trolley buses, an umbrella shop, falafel stands --- delicious Canadian visual cuisine.                                  II. Vancouver is a nymph. Of that I'm sure. I hear flirtatious giggles trill from darkened alleys between hotels. Spotted her once across the street on Dunsmuir, seated on a walk bench reading a Margaret Atwood novel. Bus passed between us and she vanished. Caught a later glimpse through the window of a walk-up dim sum restaurant in Chinatown. Flew the stairs, only to find an empty table and discarded napkin smudged with candy pink lipstick. She watches me.                                                 III. Turns out there are no Sunday morning papers in Vancouver, but I locate the bagels and espresso backtracking on Helmcken. The barista smiles as I approach, sets down her Atwood novel. I leave a Toonie in gratuity. B.C. wind pushes hard on my turned back, as I rush our breakfast back to the Executive. A nymph goes roller-blading by toward False Creek. The Gastown Steam Clock whistles that it's 10 A.M. A flock of pigeons lifts in flight.
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38
I dreamed of two men cold as ice in dark hats handcuffing a woman before tossing her in the back of a black barred truck with stars on the sides and a To Protect and Serve bumper sticker stuck like a punchline and a baby girl and young boy were crying standing behind the yellow lines but two has never been a number that adds up to nothing because it's only legal to pass one at a time in these dark days of executive orders you fear because you know it's all the evidence they need to make you disappear.
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Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
ICE
Journeyman Pictures Will take you on a  journey The DVB journalists Jailed and tortured They showed the military Shooting at protesters They hid on the balcony and filmed They got footage Of the Japanese journalist Who was shot by the military Another journalist Helped make An award winning Documentary About the devistating Cyclone that hit Cambodia In 2009 He was captured and jailed For years He had promised to write The girl he met From his documentary But could not because He was jailed He made his own guitar While he was Wrongfully jailed He is a good man He just wanted to show What the people were going through Now he has been released An executive from DVB media Came to talk With the Burmese officials In 2009 About having their own Official office Some of the journalists Have spoken out About how they Were tortured Things are improving Although it is a process I hope DVB succeeds And is not pestered Or persecuted by the government Any longer This poem is dedicated To the journalists Who went through Great hardships To show the injustices Of their government Who wanted to document What the people Went through After the cyclone
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Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Thank You Brave Journalists Of The Democratic Voice Of Burma (DVB)
The staff, who are stuffed full of paper, stapled, on white, are to be circulated with minutes, full of minutiae, but only the chosen staff will receive such chaff, intricate, in triplicate, and the others will have to wait for memoranda, definitely not grander, on subjection, objection and rejection for the weary and unwary. The brochure on staff conduct will be grosser, and superannuation won't be super. There will be no more staff resolutions, no revolutions, so that managers can preserve the status quo and hasten slow. Talent is banned, promotion is underhand, ass-kissing is in, no sin, and perks, no jerks, are for the executive few. ***** you.
0
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Bureaucracy Blues
If corporate Dems tell me about how 'We all do better when we all do better'... Or about how 'It's not about class, it's about coming out for Dems'... Or about how, 'No one identifies with the working class' or 'nobody wants to identify with the working poor'... I say to you, WE ARE THE WORKING POOR. Look at the stains on their clothes, listen to their words, look at the rugged callous of their hands, who amongst us can last a job loss, or wage cut, or a car blow out? None of us, cept the 1%. We are the precariat class, the proletarian class. I say to you, the working poor and homeless are the 'emarginati', the literal marginal ones, the ones at the edges of society. But who, honestly, isn't at the edge??? The Democratic gubernatorial candidate turned carpet-bagging Congressional goon, Bank of America executive turned-state-CFO Alex Sink embodies the centrist-right neoliberal dogma of 'business-rules', who cares about immigrants besides those who 'clean our hotels and do our landscaping'. Brand-imaging, quaffed corporate Dems are why the two-party system in broken. Both parties are sell-outs to capital, and they think we don't know. We know, and we remember. Neoliberal capitalism of 'Washington Consensus' imposed on the rest of humanity will fall. I just hope we wise up as a republic in the mean time.
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Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Corporate Dem Brand Image VS Emarginati
soft sweet blue bayyyybeeeeeee kitty pink nose black whiskers sandy tongue green eyes smooth fur im not playing.. im not playing... ATTACK! im not playing.. i'm cleaning.. i'm cleaning, i say! ATTACK! cuddle caress crazy cute cats, i say, CATS! what once was an autonym has now become a species nickname biskits not the kind with butter and jelly the kind with paws for feet the kind with purr eruptions boeboe, executive chef macmillyun, geometric artist professor pinenut, astrometrics physicist ridiculous or brilliant? how could you name your cuddly companion nothing more than something totally great? laser eyes can haz cheeseburgers oh.gee meme im not sure that anyone else takes the cake (fish, of course) beating the canine, every time instinct and balance not to mention wit theres not competition other than size (which they don't seem to grasp) i hope that when i die i can meow next
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Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
it's always caturday somewhere...
At 7 years old, I told my mother, "You're not my real mom. You're my Earth mom, And at night when I'm asleep, I go back to my home planet." As the years sped onwards, I conceptualized myself as a three headed alien, A Poet From Another Planet, Acutely aware of my innate differences. No explanation had I other than being extraterrestrial. Those around me, too, seemed to sense I was "other." Playground insults supported by adults who floated labels like "Lazy," "Difficult," "Rude," "Deliberately Obtuse" Over my head as if they were a crown, Signifying I was queen of kingdom "Unlike Us." No one looked deeper at the poor social skills , The rigidity, sensory difficulties, challenges with executive dysfunction. It was easier to pretend I was in control, Choosing the route of difficulty and belittlement. It was only after I nearly succeeded in killing myself That someone assembled the whole picture. My story is not unique among women Born into bodies and brains whose operating system is Autism. We are the forgotten, the alienated, and plastered with assumptions, Lost under the blind eye of those who spin tall tales of "Only straight, white little boys can possibly be autistic!" Generations of autistic women have known not a name for their difference, Bogged down under self-loathing, eating disorders, and suicides, Anything to cope with a world designed to break them For the differences everyone noticed but no one could see. Now that women are finally coming onto the scene, A subtle shift in the awareness that the clinicians, teachers, doctors Were missing a whole population of autistic people, Answers are gate kept behind assessments that are thousands of dollars And diagnosticians who've yet to see the error of their ways. Peace of mind seems to be a right only of white autistic men Who are lucky enough to have the "profile" of autism modeled after them. It took 19 years, two suicide attempts, including 10 days in a coma For someone to finally "see me," And I'm one of the lucky ones. Answers were finally mine, But understanding one's own brain should be a human right. I think we can all agree: The price of a diagnosis should not be your life.
0
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 2:39 PM UTC
The Price of Diagnosis
At 7 years old, I told my mother, "You're not my real mom. You're my Earth mom, And at night when I'm asleep, I go back to my home planet." As the years sped onwards, I conceptualized myself as a three headed alien, A Poet From Another Planet, Acutely aware of my innate differences. No explanation had I other than being extraterrestrial. Those around me, too, seemed to sense I was "other." Playground insults supported by adults who floated labels like "Lazy," "Difficult," "Rude," "Deliberately Obtuse" Over my head as if they were a crown, Signifying I was queen of kingdom "Unlike Us." No one looked deeper at the poor social skills , The rigidity, sensory difficulties, challenges with executive dysfunction. It was easier to pretend I was in control, Choosing the route of difficulty and belittlement. It was only after I nearly succeeded in killing myself That someone assembled the whole picture. My story is not unique among women Born into bodies and brains whose operating system is Autism. We are the forgotten, the alienated, and plastered with assumptions, Lost under the blind eye of those who spin tall tales of "Only straight, white little boys can possibly be autistic!" Generations of autistic women have known not a name for their difference, Bogged down under self-loathing, eating disorders, and suicides, Anything to cope with a world designed to break them For the differences everyone noticed but no one could see. Now that women are finally coming onto the scene, A subtle shift in the awareness that the clinicians, teachers, doctors Were missing a whole population of autistic people, Answers are gate kept behind assessments that are thousands of dollars And diagnosticians who've yet to see the error of their ways. Peace of mind seems to be a right only of white autistic men Who are lucky enough to have the "profile" of autism modeled after them. It took 19 years, two suicide attempts, including 10 days in a coma For someone to finally "see me," And I'm one of the lucky ones. Answers were finally mine, But understanding one's own brain should be a human right. I think we can all agree: The price of a diagnosis should not be your life.
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44
While Waiting For The Train #4 Sitting here, thinking about work and the inherent contradictions of housekeeping. Or, should I say: Sanitary Engineer, Building Maintenance. In reality, all it is is an old fashioned janitor. Or, as some of my friends say: “Old **** janitor!” Affectionately, but also with an edge. oo0oo But this isn’t what I am thinking about. No, it’s more the routine and its mindless activity. As we often say: “It’s the same old, same old”; or, “SSDD”; same **** different day.” Today for example, it was a Thursday Monday. It’s always a Monday of some kind. And Monday kind of describes the job too. oo0oo This too, is not what I am thinking. It’s more the executive decisions a janitor must make. Decisions that determine the ‘smooth’ functioning of a factory, office, or where ever. You laugh! But really, it’s true. Ever go to the bathroom and there is no toilet paper? See, I exaggerate not. Or what if there were no forks, knives, or spoons in the lunch room. Then what? Are you really going to eat that crispy green salad with mushrooms and feta cheese, smothered in ranch with your fingers? Please! oo0oo But, even these earth shaking decisions are not what I am thinking. It’s those ever present, critical questions: sweep, mop, then pull trash? Or should I pull trash, sweep and then mop? This monotonous rotation determines the rotation of the earth around the sun; the phases of the moon and when will I clean the bathrooms, causing the most inconvenience to everyone. This by the way, is most satisfying and one of the few perks of the job. Sweep, mop, pull trash; sweep, mop, pull trash. Or, pull trash, sweep, mop! It can give you grey hairs, all this responsibility and decision making. oo0oo Sitting here, now on the train home, a brilliant, not to mention uplifting, idea rampages through my tired mind. Tomorrow I am going to be rebellious- an open radical! A free thinker! Tomorrow, I have decided will be “Liberation Day”. “Janitors of the world unite!” Tomorrow there will be a revolution, as I, the **** Old Janitor will: mop, pull trash, then sweep!!! (written as~~redzone 5.14.09 - Aztec Warrior) © 2014 redzone
0
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
POEM 82
While Waiting For The Train #4 Sitting here, thinking about work and the inherent contradictions of housekeeping. Or, should I say: Sanitary Engineer, Building Maintenance. In reality, all it is is an old fashioned janitor. Or, as some of my friends say: “Old **** janitor!” Affectionately, but also with an edge. oo0oo But this isn’t what I am thinking about. No, it’s more the routine and its mindless activity. As we often say: “It’s the same old, same old”; or, “SSDD”; same **** different day.” Today for example, it was a Thursday Monday. It’s always a Monday of some kind. And Monday kind of describes the job too. oo0oo This too, is not what I am thinking. It’s more the executive decisions a janitor must make. Decisions that determine the ‘smooth’ functioning of a factory, office, or where ever. You laugh! But really, it’s true. Ever go to the bathroom and there is no toilet paper? See, I exaggerate not. Or what if there were no forks, knives, or spoons in the lunch room. Then what? Are you really going to eat that crispy green salad with mushrooms and feta cheese, smothered in ranch with your fingers? Please! oo0oo But, even these earth shaking decisions are not what I am thinking. It’s those ever present, critical questions: sweep, mop, then pull trash? Or should I pull trash, sweep and then mop? This monotonous rotation determines the rotation of the earth around the sun; the phases of the moon and when will I clean the bathrooms, causing the most inconvenience to everyone. This by the way, is most satisfying and one of the few perks of the job. Sweep, mop, pull trash; sweep, mop, pull trash. Or, pull trash, sweep, mop! It can give you grey hairs, all this responsibility and decision making. oo0oo Sitting here, now on the train home, a brilliant, not to mention uplifting, idea rampages through my tired mind. Tomorrow I am going to be rebellious- an open radical! A free thinker! Tomorrow, I have decided will be “Liberation Day”. “Janitors of the world unite!” Tomorrow there will be a revolution, as I, the **** Old Janitor will: mop, pull trash, then sweep!!! (written as~~redzone 5.14.09 - Aztec Warrior) © 2014 redzone
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93
people are always going to decide things about you. what you need to do is decide things FIRST. decide that you are not going to put up with their **** make the executive decision to be a majestic ************ remind them of the existence of zach galifianakis and that one huge hideous fish thing in the depth of the sea that eats lil ***** like you not only for breakfast but for second ******* breakfast because you're a ******* nerd and that's how you like it. decide to work your flaws into a masterpiece some artists look at mistakes in paintings do whole studies on them and then decide they're genius don't let a flaw get you down it's what makes you human it's what makes those other ******* not... decide to be decisive. decide that decisions are the same as choices and choices are what define you... they cracked you open before you were finished maturing tried to change the outcome like the ***** *** hoes that they are but you... you can choose, decide, force your way into your own skin again... finish growing up then let the ************* have a go.
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Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
someone once asked me for advice