"exploiters" poems
Smiling liars, Laughing tyrants, Suppliers
Of the drug that keeps us spinning
The web of deceit for our precious
Exploiters of production, masters of destruction,
They can always spare a little time,
To turn their noses down at you.
Understanding Uncle Samson,
Receding hairlines never seemed so cruel.
Steady diets, Miracle migrants,
Poised and ready
To deliver the solution to you.
Glorified Ignorance, Celebrated Apathy,
The mixture slowly brought to brew
Industrialized dreams streamed directly,
Born of seduction and designed for consumption
Your ideas no longer belong to you.
The Answer is hidden, at the end
Of a sentence
The link to extinction will surely
Be mentioned
As hope rests
While peace detests
Those souls
Were they well intentioned?
Chemically altered, biology falters,
Murdering the sacred sphere
Who to trust?
The reason we must
Purge the demigods with spears
Beyond the philosophies
Man believes the falsities
The angry mob taught him
To enslave himself with
Fear
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC
ever heard of the tax collectors?
yes, the ones from the Bible.
the ones frowned upon just by hearing their names.
the stories of St. Matthew, Zacchaeus. both tax collectors and both redeemed. they are just few of the collective.
there were many tax collectors who had changed and followed the steps of Christ,
but not all.
since all of them are man, man is inclined to temptation and temptation is inclined to sin.
the remaining exploiters were not saved but condemned to roam hell for eternity.
but as they are wicked, they are also cunning.
they bribed the devil with their stolen riches for their freedom, to which the devil agreed,
but with certain conditions.
they are free to roam the earth, but they must bring back every soul who is indebted in any kind, in any way, to the devil.
now, the tax collectors walk the earth,
with little coins in their pockets,
invisible yet heard,
intangible yet felt,
looking for their payment to the devil.
but in times they are clumsy, they trip and spill their coins.
so, if you're lucky, you'll hear the tinkling sound of coins,
yet nobody will be there, and no coins will be rolling on the ground,
but beware
because it's time to pay your debts.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
My rusty chains yelp and squawk
Shrill, yet somehow on the verge of becoming monotonous
So far, weary from humdrum-ly swaying
Presently induced alone by Nature’s bitter, raw sighs
Bound to this
Bastille of a rotting exterior
Eventually decrepit, at first, from use
Now merely deteriorating as of neglect
Once-stimulating summers fade
Into seemingly sempiternal November evenings
Dejected and funereal
Echoing the nostalgic meandering trumpets that once coiled
The lengths of my now cadaverous frame—
Their blue blossoms left timid and etiolated
Reflecting the ghostly, lilac hues of an insomniacs raccoon-like eyes
And brittle, wispy veins begin to dilapidate
I yearn
For a sudden rekindling
Reminiscing
About memories only I can keep alive
For the exploiters I was dependent on,
Like the withered azure trumpets used upon a time, have bloomed
Yet I still stoically anticipate their return
I pine for their sun-kissed skin graced in airy cottons
Their thrilled shrieks drowning those of my (less electric) fraying chains
Recollections of their highs juxtaposed with my low
My faith, my only zeal
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
don't ever think you're the best
until you've climbed a mountain
don't even waste my time
until you've drunk from my fountain
my rhythm, my rhyme
my legend, my crime
innocent as the moon is bold
magnificent as the sea is cold
you cry, you beg
you may even scream
the words pour out of your mouth
like steamy fog
it lingers, it loiters
for corrupted exploiters
tears weep and they crash
out poison and trash
and you have the nerve
to just push me away
through the black and the white
thick and thin shades of gray
you might hear my words
you teach what i preach
but just remember
my voice may be tender
and yours will subside
i'm your last contender
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
In the one hand, that of the exploiters, an invidiously assimilative desire for the trappings of royalty. In the other a lust for a universally applicable goodness, that we all might share in the profusely prolific profundity.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
In the one hand, that of the exploiters, an invidiously assimilative desire for the trappings of royalty. In the other a lust for a universally applicable goodness, that we all might share in the profusely prolific profundity.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC
Drones strike down on innocent Arabs
Capitalist exploiters enslave poor Asians
Never before has there been so much international unity
Against a common enemy:
Justice.
Humanity desperate and starved
Rights and legalities ignored by power-hungry Israelis
funded by Americans
who know not of what is really happening.
Trillions in circulation, a global economy
Rich getting unbelievably richer, without a doubt
but the poor stay poor
and in their misery they dare to demand more
Politicians.
Global warming, eminent catastrophe
Foundation of capitalism cracking and crumbling
Where, now, will humanity turn?
Towards the new, and away from the old.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
The dark cloud of that day still hovers over us like a stubborn ghost,
A dark moment, sad and excruciatingly tormenting,
Democracy was plunged under a huge and portentous threat,
Just like the lives of each and every miner in solidarity,
Every miner that felt they had been uproariously ***** and beyond measure,
Lives being disparaged and sacrificed for money,
Some fat ugly capitalist politician proclaimed them criminals,
To impress his blood ******* immigrant masters,
The brutish British multinational super exploiters,
The stinking atrocious colonizers who stole our land and our humanity,
And as criminals they should be treated,
Declared the egocentric mercenary politician,
Indeed, as criminals they were treated,
And as criminals of apartheid, they fell,
Heavy machine guns roared,
And the whole environment smelt heavy of burnt gunpowder and blood,
The whole place depicted a war zone,
With bodies lying everywhere,
And the police force claiming victory,
The dead, really dead,
And the living, really leaving,
This is the Marikana story,
A story that has neither beginning nor ending,
A story that is told with very sad and shocking connotations,
A story that is neither a cause nor an effect,
A story of a high disregard for human life,
A story of split unions,
A story of greedy and hyper-selfish politicians,
A story of police brutality,
But above all, a story of innocent lives lost like garbage,
And fingers not pointing at no one,
The Marikana story.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
Kind of the same passion as the last priest hung
by the guts of the last capitalist only a touch less
ruthless & surely with a bare-breasted damsel
waving a black flag so high,
kind of a storming of the Tower by the raging mob
of whom a few have fallen 'neath the clubs & guns
of security but like warrior ants crossing a flowing stream
merely give themselves for the all to gain entrance,
kind of a pillaging of said tower with luxury furnishings
all sashaying upon gaudy, liquid thighs, gold this & gold
that all crowbarred & levered just right on out of there
to turn up all in bits & pieces at the 42nd St. Pawn Store,
kind of loading of the treadmill with those false narrative
propagandists for an old-fashioned milling of the poor
folks flour, grinding of the pulp, & a pounding of the fiber
for a deserved clothing of the cold & fragile,
kind of a revolution of justice, elemental & deeply satisfying,
of an ideal revenge, a reckoning, a pitiless, near merciless settling
of accounts with the poisoners, the exploiters, the fork-tongued
liars, the cheats, the merchants of a slow, silent death,
kind of a joyous, rapturous end-of-the-war drinking & embracing
moment of pure contentment & sense that actually all is well
in the world & that good does eventually overcome & that the
meek shall inherit one day & that come what may in the end
there will be an ecstatic blossoming roar of sweet & ultimate
victory.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:13 PM UTC
(
•
)
( freedom )
^^ /\ ^^ /\ ^^
We are so weary
• ( weary )
• •
Come away Child /
/
/ Little lovers walkin on
--------
Past the corner wars and Treason
Thru the madness of the masses
Them believin all the lyin
Words of the well protected
Psychopaths and greedy ********
Loyal followers of the powerful
Killers of the weak and humble
Religious fanatics and manipulators
Emotional rapists and ****** exploiters
And all the lazy patriotic perverts
/// // ///
Children gather unto purity
On polluted beaches by the poisoned waters
Under the spell of capitalism
And the **** pig -like prison of celebrity
toward the healing One soul meditators
In the god- like aura of the saintly
And the caress of the truly lovely
Out of the **** hole high school drama
Rising on the wind from the sacred mountain
And the scent of the herbal cauldron
Stirred by the magic maidens in the mystic hills
//// ////
This is the Song that never Begins
and hence it's the Song that never Ends
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
O!Kid
Be the lioness
In the world of wolves
.
Be the mother
In the world of orphans
.
Be the warrior
In the world of exploiters
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 11:59 PM UTC