"manufactures" poems
Concrete full of blood
Skies, smoke-filled clouds
Poison, don't you see
INDUCING VOMITING
Of every freedom you hold
Incubators, landfills
For
Food deserts
Soul Scavengers
Bullet and knife showers
Parentless parents
Starving children
Hotbeds for addiction
Metropolises
Harvesting humans like ants
Where democracy manufactures
Oppressed consumers out of the masses
Majority starving for death
Poison, don't you see
INDUCING VOMITING
Of every freedom you hold
Those borders you revere
Hijacking your body and mind
Legislating no burning of the flag
Where they clean their blood-drenched hands on
Can you tell what side your on
When you agree, they hold a different nationality
When can there be actual solidarity?
Profets of freedom, alienating OUR power to be
When in doctrine, legislature, and policy
Hierarchizing who deserves to be free
In contempt, not compliance
In pain, not numb
Reactive, not inactive
Burning, boiling, shivering
Out of injustice
Poison, don't you see
INDUCING VOMITING
Of every freedom you hold
How can you keep suffering,
When you face the truth
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Any slave that escape bring him back and torcher him.
Strange, but mostly true were slave masters mentality.
So it's amazing, we still, have these slave matters today.
Oh, I forgot, we call them business owners of professional teams.
Who?
Have dictated to their slaves?
I'm sorry players.
What required of them?
When the national anthem is played?
Oh, yes it's America.
And we have the first amendment as freedom of speech.
You BETTER stand during the playing of the national theme.
No choice!
Yes, your master has spoken.
You better listen?
Wait!
Do the players realize the power they posse?
Unions, years ago brought manufactures of product to a halt to settle deals.
Players, especially the National Football League African Americans can HALT any season from being played?
Power in numbers.
Who?
Would be hurt?
The masters of the slaves.
They business owners.
Many locked into deals with a various organization to make a profit.
Cities, the economy will suffer.
All those tax breaks that cities cheaply gave to get the team.
All those soda, food businesses that make money during athletic seasons.
Sure, you lose some fans than many are like fair weather friends.
When winning, they there.
When suffering you can't begin to see them.
In modern time, the slaves have the power.
Oh, my fault, the players has the strength.
And forget about threats from THIS president.
Years, ago.
He played the owner of a franchise in a sub-par league.P
Probably, still holding a grudge cause we see many present owners gathering up to him.
And, what if?
The NBA players throw ALL their support to their fellow group.
Heck, imagine the thunderstorm of losses.
Only ones safe is the baseball owners.
The odds of these players supporting them is slim.
And that based mainly on the racial hue.
So just think of the power that players got in the NFL/NBA?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
*I’m a healer; not a feeler,
a traveler with loss of passion.
Pipe dreams are clear when day is gone,
then I spawn stories you can’t imagine.
I’m a wanderer; but I am not lost,
burn the human manufactures.
The sky is bleeding poor man’s gold,
drowning lunatic dream-catchers.
I’m a winter child; but my heart is fire,
it's a roaring black hole of ancient lullabies.
Follow the zebra through the midnight woods,
I saw glimpse of amnesia in its eyes.*
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
I wonder what makes up the landlord’s heart
For it is merciless, capricious and poisonous in fibre
It manufactures terror like a Chinese toy factory
For only to be administered where none is needed,
Most selfish and mightily crafty in primal setup
It is the heart of the landlord all over world
It derives pleasure from agony of the tenants
It is maximally sadistic to no match of creation,
It derives joy from harms like rent hike
And terrible evils as lien on beggar’s property
Where misfortune of tenant brews such all
The wine of the land is the blood of the poor
Cursed be the womb which sired the landlord
And yes be it the milieu that nurtured him
For they gave the world a gnome of generations
Feeding on human sweat like vampire of vampires.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
**** four tires and no engine,
im having troubles explaining the medicine
if i break down it wont even matter, im already broke
when i heard her speak i had to remember why god spoke
its when you learn from your brother is when you teach to cope
interesting views that come off as sarcasm smoked dope
we all are naturals until were shown whats talent
manufactures with a pin point,
nothing feels balanced,
get so angry and now my face looks childish,
**** boat shoes or a wave cap
hotter then a pocket snack,
im trying to will smith bring gettin jiggy back
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
The Great Falls,
was a massive
clone of ice;
yet still
her waters
poured forth
in roaring waves
over the ebb
of the river.
Sliding into
a frozen crevasse,
down an icy bar,
I land wet,
chilled and numb
from the duration
of the decent
and the soul
piercing cold.
On the landing,
the carcasses
of industrial waste
were encased
in a frozen loam.
The giant
mill wheel
locked in place,
entombed
in a glacier
of ice.
It made
good sense
to found
this city
on an
industrious
bluff.
The Great Falls
spun the wheels
that powered
vast manufactures.
Shoots
and trams
shot flumes
of water
down
every
street.
Everyman
was a master
of his
cottage industry,
forging bullets
constructing
locomotives,
spinning
the finest silk
from the
most exotic
foreign worms.
But the machines
shut down.
The handiwork
of learned men,
entrepreneurs,
urban planners,
engineers
and artisans
now encased
in frozen rust.
Barely a tool
could be used
to produce
a product
or plumb
a line.
A simple
hand tool
could not
be lifted
without
betraying
its purpose.
A society
of useful
manufactures
frozen shut;
dissolving
into bankrupt
liquidation;
so I left
my home
on Chianci Street
and caught the first
Paterson Plank coach
to the Hoboken Ferry.
I would be in
Manhattoes
by nightfall.
The morning travels
consumed thoughts
of future prospects.
The
silk mill
forever
closed.
The industry
of my home
city,
dead.
This weaver
of fine silk
had lost
his loom.
For William Carlos Williams
From: Vesuvia, 1997
Music Selection:
Yo-Yo Ma & Silk Road Ensemble,
Arabian Waltz
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
"A life lived for art is never
a life wasted,"
that's what Macklemore
and Ryan Lewis
told us.
Those of us in recovery
need this to be true.
Those of us?
--all of us--
because we are all artists,
placing pieces of our broken
lives into a mosaic,
a cathedral floor frieze,
something we build
to walk on, a
snapshot of past agonies
and beautiful memories
that lifts us out of
the ***** Earth.
A true artist manufactures
their own hope.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
assembly point
first floor
second floor
P
$1.00
per hour
third floor
others
panelbeaters paint division
spies heckler automotive
no thoroughfare
flooring centre - "fashion for your floor"
kitchen things
relocation sale
plumbing laser - "totally dependable"
Stop!
convictions end careers
science
/three
/fire
/wardens
/tally
/board
design + garden landscapes
All violators will be towed at owners expense
(doorway in constant use)
National mortgage and agency
(coy of nz ltd)
"manufactures of quality soft furnishings"
inward goods ->
ABSOLUTELY
nothing to be left outside of
"floor"
at all times
(community probation service)
"salsa moves New Zealand"
Ice cold pacific fish shop
Inward
outward
goods
(Clearance 3.1 metres)
<-chapel office->
hot pies fish and chips burgers milkshakes ice cream fried chicken
STOP
(funeral services limited)
full system fabrications: - "free quotes!"
hand painted / illuminated
The art of refinishing;
Leaders in worldwide approval 
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
I do not write my poems,
My poems write me
these boundaries of my body these fingertip extremities are not quills and this liquid velvet this lifeless blood is not raven-colored ink, rather my skin is pages and pages of palpable pulp,
deacrinated tentacle tree branches and fiberless roots convulse and my metal mind seizes sadness and manufactures paper out of the trees growing inside of me
Titanium oxide is extracted from my black eyes while wax drips off of my eyelashes into liquid pools of ebony
My mistake of a mind imprisons abjection and mass-produces ink out of the elements of my soul’s curtain-drawn windows
words and words and words and words fill the spaces between the pores where my hair follicles protrude
Diction dilemmas dip their quills into my eyelids and peirce my forehead until I am scarred by POETRY
Asphyxiating abnormalities write themselves into existence and reproduce in my skull, the fissures of my brain are their nests
Seven hundred million two dimensional letters float into my blood and disperse and and feed on these crimson channels and converge to form three dimensional words to form still increasingly multidimensional sentences and stanzas and POEMS until I am a library of impossible holes in existence, an impossible amount of existence.
I do not write my poems into existence
My poems are my existence.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
Sarah and Solomon married at Foxglove in verdant Taranaki…a magical time for everybody at that beautiful, beautiful occasion.
Dear old Grandpa Verne Bell passed from this mortal coil and went on to the next with his typical strong eyed fortitude and open curiosity.
Major earthquake shatters the top of the South island and is felt with trepidation from one end of the country to the other.
Trump hauls votes from the impossible and manufactures an improbable US Presidency…. Much to the embarrassment, alarm and discomfort of the majority of the thinking American population.
Oceans continue to rise and atmospheric temperatures climb…..and nobody really cares enough to try to do anything much about it.
Russia and China flex their military muscle and snub their sabre rattling noses at the West.
Interest rates and the price of gas started to escalate upward again.
Friends and relatives have been rocked by ill health, hardship and misfortune.
Key calls “Enough” and passes the Prime Ministerial gauntlet to a (thankfully), very capable Bill English.
Janet and Marshal both reach out and find new jobs, fresh horizons & new avenues to explore.
Syria slides into chaos and anarchy with absolutely no regard for it’s ordinary, civilian population languishing in the dreadful ruins of East Aleppo.
The Hectors dolphin numbers dwindle to 87 living animals, surviving globally.
But….We, friends, live in a peaceful oasis…forgotten at the very end of the earth.
We live in a land of plenty and opportunity, a land of rare green beauty where individuality is prized and freedom valued.
May we pause for a moment this Christmas…and appreciate just how ****** fortunate we all actually are?
MERRY CHRISTMAS FRIENDS
M.
Hamilton, New Zealand
20 December 2016
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
chocolate manufactures
all over the world
are about to launch
a new product
called
chocolate mega plus
to transport this bar of chocolate
you'll need a double decker bus
it's a once in a lifetime
purchase
that you'll have to make
because there is a lasting quality
to the size of this bar of chocolate
cocoa and sugar
treats are so nice
and this product
is guaranteed
to satisfy
your chocolate vice
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
While they sleep
A production factory manufactures
Realms of imagination-walls of candy and floors of chocolate
Sugar plum dragons battle anaconda licorice ropes
Learn from the mind of a child-creativity is God's largest gift to all. Embrace it.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Got a job as a *********** Tester" for a company that manufactures stun guns and tasers. Spend 8 hours a day going, "YOWW-ZA!"
01-20-2016
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
I will say it and type it 100 times a day
Only the signal from the brain makes us sick or well. Our perception puts effectors into action and creates enzymes and other chemicals to **** germs or literally make us sick. This covid is all over the internet again. Disease and sickness are manufactured by the mind, just as it manufactures dopamine and other chemicals that make us feel better. If you tell a child cancer runs in the family, then that child will probably get cancer if they believe it. For leaders not to tell the truth, it shows the AMA and big pharma are calling the shots.
Mar 21, 2022
Mar 21, 2022 at 12:10 AM UTC
Firm goose bumps healing me
Cementing my assembled continents after inner war
On ****** refineries, life is flowing
Pushing lifeless cells into ruination
Roots painting a large red carpet
For the train of my inner facets, so as it passes…
Green halos, milky bones, pearly teeth, gentle grass
Above ruins of the burnt ex persona
The glowing, tabula rasa, the heard, and the silent
The sun and his murky reflection rejoined
Riding my coffin as a horse, with a smirk in the backseat
Journeying through the doors of this joke
O lie, O life, you are joking, it is more than comical
It adumbrates every sort of epilogues you are selling
If not, you are just another joker’s spicy laugh
Dancing on ever-morphing layers
Halls and rooms of you; so narrow and spacious at once
Like woods seen from below, by a whirling dervish
Outer worlds adduce extraterrestrial cheer here
It is echoing, vertiginous ping pong for walls
It manufactures a shallow pink view
Covering this old skin, numerous and so colorful, but bruised
It lands with you on this devine shell
Without a greeting, not even an omen leads
Masked, you hypnotise me with a yellow smile
While you rob me with dark; reddish hands
In my mom’s womb, you try to abduct me
Without bowing for the creator and his living planets
Stop! Ruth, O clemency, this mother is a creature
Her signature is Earth, and she has diamonds, thine and mine
She is a quarry of senses; blue and twisted
She is a shy and deadly entity, just like us
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
*Im happy.
All my worries have been embraced and turned to paper.
Im not experienced but i know how to live without emotional strain.
Its not only him who makes me ecstatic, its me doing all that completes me.
I want it all at times but i let the moment come.
Its easier that way.
but i'm not as strong as everyone thinks i am.
i put on a show so nobody will know.
when i find time to be alone, my weaknesses appear from beyond the darkness.
ready to attack all that manufactures me.
and then i break, crumble and fall,
i fall to an abyss
and theres no climbing out until I'm no longer alone.
so i try, to always keep buried in my ambitions.
because no matter what happens above ground
i appreciate my meaning to live.*
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Why do we allow
these shallow
stubborn ********
to acquire annual annuities
on slick sick
investments;
Like oil refinement
or weapons,
such detriments
to our social health
and our environment.
Will we be able
to restrain
this barbaric disposition
that manufactures
guns and
environmental disasters
with our false bravado?
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
Within this write, there are things I want to share.
More effectively, I want to express my ideas on things- both good and unfair.
Furthermore, this is for me; I'm not writing in hopes that you care.
It's so filled with miscommunication; if you think so, I don't believe malevolence was the aim
No ****** needed; we weren't meant to be more- this is recent knowledge I've come to gain
We were galaxies- within both of us are constellations we're given the responsibility to contain
Both of us seem electric and maybe that's why it had to be emotional warfare
Or perhaps the currents burned us out and now we're emotionally impaired
A temporary Romeo whose mind manufactures illusions of a ride to imminent fame
Met this Juliet whose spirit had aged and set goals of recognition to obtain
Each tortured artistically, with the unpleasant disposition to over-explain
Somehow, despite the floods of words, coherent expressions were rare
You felt unnecessarily taxed while I felt time with you costed me a steep fare
I'm intimately drained after all the internal details I was pressured to share
Ideas of romantic success were forced by naivety to be entertained
Unhealthily encouraged by all the tiny kisses hesitantly exchanged
Journey by my side to where lust dwells- my innocence used to live there
The angels we once were have been tainted by wasted passions we declared
Leaving us merciless, as ours were never the sensitivities to be spared
There was no shortage of moments in which I doubted any of it was sane
With this write, I hope to prevent the ride from being taken in vain
In this write, I hope at least a few of my conflicted thoughts are made plain..
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
Today is the fourth of July
A nation in celebration
Of principals that were lies
We are the mass manufactures
Of misery throughout the world
Comfy in our kitchens
While bystanders wear
Modern warfare
Our children think it’s a video game
Head shots that got them lots
Of points to rank up online
Bombs only hit enemies
So that’s fine
And you can be a digital war hero
But reality troubles me
Families wear mortar crimson colored death
Bullets break more than skin
Take more than just our kin
Take away the right to breath
The right to believe
There will ever be a better world
I lose myself in the insanity
My hand hits the computer screen
From trying to reach out and stop the screams
The blood still flows
The rubble still grows
Like a sick slick rose red garden
Planted with dead bodies
My faith in the great America
Does not exist
So happy fourth of ******* July
You can keep that worthless ****
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
In my dreams, we get coffee. I don't like coffee. I tolerate it for you, even in sleep. you drive us somewhere, we joke in nonsense words in this swimming, changing sweven. each time I reach for you, long, languid, far away from you, my hand misses. I can't see your eyes behind your sunglasses.
In my dreams you lift me, swing me round, tip my chin up, my lips parted ready to receive. romantic, amatory, intoxicating as my mind manufactures what your scent is remembered to be. your curls rumpled beneath my fingers, your lips crushed to mine.
In my dreams, your fingers glide over my skin. I still can't see your eyes. obscured, hidden, far away from me. those voids I could get lost in, soft like trodden soil in a forest of forgotten name, the deep warmth that I would tear the sky open to see, in my dreams they are shrouded.
In my dreams, we are luminous, candescent, besotted with each other. in love with the coffee made of toleration, the car I can't recognize, the jokes spoken in garbled nonsense that will be forgotten as sleep slides from me, as your image slips into the ether.
In my dreams, I can't see your eyes.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
Because sooner or later, someone always returns to the houses. No one can yet know whether it is the betrayed husband, or the bohemian lover who holds a grudge, the diva lady who tries to hide her own girlish confusion by pretending to be a superficial, hysterical canary. So many questions and answers, to which we can rarely find proper, logical answers. -
The self-destruction that is so envied by many in the intoxication of LSD or ecstasy, in the usual psycho-warfare, when the manipulation is no more than a transparent and definable chess game played by two competing parties, there are wild jerks who just like that fight with stone axes , and they fight, just like their hairy-backed ancestors did a million and one millennia ago.
The gravity of the Universe sooner or later pulls everyone along and pulls them down. Because everyone is locked in a lowly cage of minimums and pitiful deadlines, so that they can languish for a lifetime between the prison walls of careers. There will be no one to take a direct interest in the life of each person!
"Just tell me, my friend? Do you still have humanity left in your heart?!" - Lét manufactures and distributes hijacked, lousy end products, as if everyone can be recycled and replaced at the same time. Curses and actions that want to curse have become a daily headache because of indifference and lack he already measured us by the kilo, like straw puppet wrecks, and that's precisely why you can't look into the depths of crooked mirrors with impunity, because he is ashamed of himself whose grotesquely distorted reflection is wolf-eyed Apocryphal codes...
Aug 25, 2024
Aug 25, 2024 at 10:08 PM UTC
snip off all trigger fingers soon after birth
and I am sure the manufactures will find a new way
so we can **** each other without it being up close and personal
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC