"orwellian" poems
True equality is what is wished for
But what if you really opened that door
What would be on the other side?
I’m not sure we’d enjoy the ride
Individuality dies with equality
There are no choices you see
If everyone has to have the same things
No one gets to win the brass ring
No more people like you and people like me
If the same is all we ever get to be
The same model car and the same clothes
The same old food in the same homes
The same haircut and the same color
Or we are all clean shaved so much the duller
The same education for everybody
You’re paid the same as anybody
Sports would all end in a tie
If there still played at all… sigh
No more winners, No more losers
No choices so no choosers
There are no differing opinions you see
When you’re a victim of true equality
No reason to strive
There is no ladder to climb
No reward for hard work
Are you feeling the irk?
No matter what, you cannot get ahead
It’s almost as if you are full of lead
But that just it, no ahead to get
When everyone gets what everyone gets
The Thought police are out in full force
No one is married or there is no divorce
No kids at all or everyone has 2
There is no longer me and no longer you
When equal society is the important thing
Everyone gets to feel every sting
Orwellian yes
But truth none the less
The only people different are the ones in charge
While everyone suffers they live it large
They get to decide how much you’re alive
And they can tell you 2+2=5
So how does this strike you?
Will that work for you too?
I’m not a fan
Of this little plan
Because not everyone is the same
No matter what people will claim
We don’t think the same thoughts
We don’t call the same shots
Not even twins are exactly the same
And if we all were, what a boring game
Just a bunch of clones, going nowhere
Just dull and drab, no bling and no flair.
Yet that is what current society prescribes
Even though were all from different tribes
If we ever achieve true equality
Remember sometimes wishes end badly
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
THEY will have the final word.
Believe what the PARTY says is true.
Even Facecrime gives you away,
For BIG BROTHER is watching you.
Honesty? Bah, such nonsense!
Loyalty is what must sell.
State-spread rumors incite the mob
In your bleak, dystopian hell.
Reject evidence of eyes and ears.
That's what THEY say. Watch how hate
Turns the unquestioning supporter
Against the enemies of the state.
The Goodthinkful, unaware
How language affects their thoughts and behavior,
Show how ignorance is strength
And lavish praise upon their savior.
Manipulating public opinion,
THEY know well-spread lies will last,
For that's how THEY'LL control the future,
And that's how THEY control the past.
Doublethink is what THEY call it:
The clever art of reality control.
Ignorance is strength, THEY tell you.
Controlled insanity is THEIR goal.
The more powerful THEY become,
The less THEY prove to be your friend.
It's NOT about what's good for the people.
Power is NOT a means but an end.
War is declared on language and memory.
Inconvenient facts are rejected.
Science is reviled, and THEY
Discredit people once respected.
Doublespeak narrows the range of thought.
By caving in you might survive.
Two and two make four, but sometimes
THEY'LL say that two and two make five.
Opinions are not tolerated.
Protective stupidity: that's THEIR plan.
You think THEY can't control your thoughts,
But, oh, THEY can. THEY really can.
Do you look at your screen, or does
Your screen look at you? Or Both?
Do you know how much THEY know
Or if THEY know you've kept your oath?
Who's the next to be vaporized?
Who's the next to become an unperson?
As long as THEY control your "thinking,"
Everything can only worsen.
If only to awaken from the nightmare
Where truth becomes a likelihood
And we retain humanity!
Wouldn't that be "doubleplusgood"?
-by Bob B (8-30-18)
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
**** Smartphones.
They're ******* stupid.
Orwellian and Oedipal.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
This is the new world.
A virtual Vegas crammed with bright lights,
stimulating colours. Sensory overkill
for the new generation.
The mice scurry. A click. Words
and pictures fill up the sad, vacant space.
Information pours into our heads and trickles
out our ears in a few seconds.
No wallet, no coins, no notes.
Objects become ours with no money
in sight. No handshake, no hello,
but a deal has been done.
We are obsessed with the here and now.
A need to know what he’s doing, she’s doing,
surely they want to know what we’re doing too?
A second later, the world can know.
Are you feeling lucky punk?
Plunge into an ADHD mess of those who wish
to be loved by the unseen, unknown.
We are alone, unloved. We need you.
Television without a remote.
Films, music without a disc.
An online Orwellian world.
What was ‘hot’ last week
is recycled into a new fad.
A constant tinker of
layouts, images, ideas,
designed to bind us in chains.
Look at me! Look at me!
Play me, **** the clocks.
Once you’re in, like hell
you’ll get out.
The new world trapped in wires.
Why talk when we don’t need to?
Troops are growing in numbers.
Sign up. It’s free and always will be.
Maybe God created the world as we knew it.
Everything we knew and didn’t stuffed
into a space that grew each day.
The new world is no different.
We stare and sit at reality number two.
There are our ‘friends’, then everyone else.
We are not alone. Anyone, anywhere can find anything.
The life we live scrolls before besieged eyes.
It can go slow, it can go fast.
It can crash when it gets too much.
Maybe it is just like us.
Refresh the page.
Now, what’s on your mind?
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
Pandas are fluffy. Labradoodles are…
Bake the road, crush the world.
Richard Feynman, Freddie Mercury?
Can you be unique?
We are defined not by ourselves
but by the Television set
by the media
by our leaders
What the hell is this Orwellian nightmare?
Do we exist independently?
Individuality is discouraged
unless you have money
This postmodern splash
The drones of nighthawks, flapping by the shores
The shores of Calavera, of San Luis Obispo
If the mountains drifted out to sea
Let the toaster rule you.
Let the media.
Not like you can stop them.
Wheee! Ride, piggy, ride!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Home surveillance
accessed by cellphone
as the exhibitionist
walks the halls.
Peek-a-boo.
Multi-camera action,
one of the more positive aspects of your Orwellian achievement.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
The sunflower is drunk. Fork stuck
In the soil, like roots. It holds the
Skinny ******* in place. How tall
Would you be, if your spine did not
Droop over itself? Did your mother not
Tell you to hold your shoulders up straight?
Still you have scared me since infancy.
Your lanky demeanour, God’s scarecrow.
Upright in the field or against my Grandfather’s
Brick wall. Creeping up in the days.
You grow.
Oh, Cyclops! Your eye it scours
Me. Fixes me with a Martian stare,
Orwellian and deprived, though
Decorated with a halo. Your flower
A startling diagram of creation.
The big bang, black pupil, dark heat
And brown to flames, fans and galaxies.
My heartbeat is a speck somewhere,
I know it.
Sunflower, the awkward arbiter. The
Unknowable in your eye, always watching
But never watched. Your centre burnt like
Charcoal, inescapable void. Don’t take me.
Please, don’t swallow me.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Free Speech is dead,
Kamala ain’t black -
Joe Biden is hidin’
while Hunter’s on crack.
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 1:18 PM UTC
What started with benign intentions
Turned into an Orwellian invention
What started as a way to stop a mental trip
Is being used incorrectly for censorship
Yes, YouTube may be a company
But our speech is supposed to be free
And if we wanted certain features disabled
We all would've signed up for cable
So we'll find the information
And we will speak out
Let's join together from every nation
And make the world turn about
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC
Beware the eyes of the scarecrow
In that field of green and yellow
He moves not but he knows you
A shield of reanimated rags and a hat of straw
Staked in the middle of whirling wheat land jigsaw
Beware the eyes of the scarecrow
Sunken, rigged mask in funny hue
Birds flapping far from the voodoo
He moves not but he knows you
In petulant summers, in the aloof snow
He stays still, beholding every secret through
Beware the eyes of the scarecrow
The sandman woos the town into a sleepy slew—
Wood limbs brought to life, twitch in vile brew
He moves not but he knows you
There in that calm caverns an Orwellian show
Of deeper ends that only some gods know
Beware, beware the eyes of the scarecrows
They move not but they see you
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Hate. All I see is hate.
Pure, unadulterated hate.
It's everywhere now.
In the ceiling, under the rickety floorboards,
Sleeping through the cracks of a once impenetrable foundation.
There are three sides to every story, but no one wants to see the third side, the truth. I'm right, no I'm right, well you're a demon. You're not smart enough, not pretty ebough, too pretty, the wrong ethnicity, to give a valid argument. You're not valid. Only I, the holiest of beings, can tell you how to think, what to say, and what to never say. I-
SHUT UP!!!
...
God, silence is golden.
Then there's the rest of us. The children, huddled in a dark corner where their angry parents hurl glass plates and scream. We want everything to be well. Perhaps "well again" isn't the right phrase. Home was never perfect, and it never will be. But if we could be a happy family, even through the dark times, if we could hear what one another is saying, no. If we could LISTEN to what one another is saying, that would be enough.
There are those who are done fighting, the old man in his wicker chair, waiting his whole life to be noticed. When he finally gets his medal, his children throw it into the garbage disposal. What is there left to say when no one will listen?
There are those of us on the front lines, the virtual vigilantes.
So passionate, so intense, so disconnected.
There are the Orwellian sheep. Saying what they've been told by whomever chooses to educate them. Their minds so innocent, angry, closing every day. They see not the masses of wolves spinning lies with the help of their wool.
The house is crumbling. Those who scream too loud are breaking the glass windows. The soft spoken are struggling to clean the splintery, split floorboards. Of course, they are all too busy to notice the house is leaning far off to one side. It starts to teeter on the side of a cliff. Creak. Creak. Creak.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC
The algorithm we live in
has become the dumb
nightmare we’ve been given,
a constant flow of concessions,
sad contrivances to survive this
cog in the machine existence.
The fight seems pointless
with only minor bouts of resistance.
If history teaches us anything
it is only labor movements,
those unions that win men
woman and children
any real economic equality.
There won’t be any eulogy
for this lie we call democracy,
while men of prestige and property
have been constantly fighting
against those who bring the lightning
of enlightening insights about this fight.
Shrinking borders while expanding profits,
supporting fascists regimes,
whilst demolishing and reorganizing
governments that try socializing
their own country’s resources.
Our local war mongers
want to rehabilitate
the image that people hate
twist and change the slang,
rework and spin everything
over and over again
as the kings of what is truly Orwellian.
They are so close to destroying
the environment and
every human edifice,
every ounce of progress
in the name of
capitalistic measurements of success.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 2:00 PM UTC
It started with a devious question
And the answer was clear
To all
But a curious faction
Fueled by fear,
With the means to concoct
An Orwellian plot
That rendered hate normal,
Like bible study.
Let the Right say, 'Amen'.
"She should be in jail," said
A lady in the deli
With a red cap
And matching tee.
Her eyes spewed fire;
Mine stayed on the menu.
Bypassing the bologna,
I ordered turkey on rye,
To Go.
I had a revolution to catch.
One I'd missed like the polls
On Election Eve.
Dylan shot nine,
Dead.
Sparing one to spread the news
And start a race riot
Before Obama takes away our guns.
Then Vladimir bombed
A city Gary didn't know
But no one asked Don.
"I like you," said one tyrant
To another.
"But I despise Fidel, CNN and ObamaCare.
They are all dead to me."
We heard the lie.
Of the grand Muslim celebration in Jersey
After the towers fell.
And a million more.
Yet the tide of deaf ears kept growing,
Engulfing US in a tsunami
Of pussy-grabbing misogyny
That made Bill blush
And gave Hill another shocking traumatic defeat.
Women from Times Square
To Tokyo rained on his parade
And a speech spawned in 7th grade
Earned an A on FOX
And a wet sticker
Everywhere else.
Let the world say, "Impeach Him!"
~ P
#LyricalAssassination
01/21/2017
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
when a pronoun retracts
and becomes compounded
e.g.: itself, himself...
it complicates matters
with a dually functioning vigor
of content expression:
which extends thanks to the
surgical assertion that the
definite aritlce (scalpel)
and indefinite article (forceps)
proceed to govern
a. retractive pronoun usage
within compounding
is reflexive (reflex bias)
and
b. pronouns given unto punctuation
markings are reflective,
the notorious "i" of
sartre's usage;
in the poor sense of the word
when expressed as mirror-image,
since sarte's linear dittoing
markings possess a narcissistic chiral
exclusion of an active ownership of will
that's simply a misuse of
denotative marking -
it would simply imply an orwellian
conception of double-think, of
"
what's
"
actually defined via
"
thinking about it when orientated by gemini
(i.e. the ditto markings
imply a repeat,
or simply - as above / follow suite.)
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Orwellian insight provoking apocalyptic visions of prophetic rodents,
Mammalian entropy divining inconsequential apathy,
Veracity overshadowed by facility,
Empathy vanquished by semblances of narcissistic affliction.
Alacrity a surrogate for hollow accomplishment.
Disturbances are null and frivolous in midweek ennui.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 6:31 AM UTC
An Orwellian term
used by self-righteous hypocrites
hiding behind a cloak of morality.
Wake up.
Political correctness controls the narrative
by shaming and suppressing.
It forces upon us
the “one true” ideological orthodoxy.
It eliminates decent and
makes people lie and self-censor their words.
Stand up.
We must allow others to speak
and voice their thoughts.
Some might be stupid,
so let’s expose their faults.
Some might be outrageous,
so let’s pause and defuse.
Some might be hurtful and mean
so let’s self-reflect and steel ourselves.
Speak up.
Political correctness leads to sameness
contrary to the individualism
it pretends to protect.
It is a road into slavery.
First the slavery of your mind
and later slavery of your body.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
I read with passing interest
The death of the
Field Marshal’s son--
Manfred Rommel--
Gone at 84.
His father—The Field Marshal,
Had been given a choice:
Commit suicide or
Face a rigged trial
Charged with conspiring to ****
******
If he chose the trial, they said,
They could not promise
That his family would be
SAFE.
The father,
Der Feldmarschall,
Bit into a cyanide pill
And died quickly.
It was Oct. 14, 1944.
Thanks to the sacrifice,
Manfred got to grow up to be
A three-term mayor of Stuttgart,
Where Daimler-Benz makes cars.
Manfred Rommel:
A postwar liberal Deutschland voice,
Supporting immigrants and Jews.
At 84,
Deader than
A dreadnaught.
Makes you wonder?
A fate worst--wurst--
Something worse than
Death?
Really the moment of truth
For any honorable man,
Self-defined by nature,
Molded by nurture.
Family:
The fountain & source
The tribe you belong to.
Family: everything you are
When you get right down to
Where one’s loyalties
Supposedly lie.
Of course, you opt for suicide.
Wouldn’t anyone?
We are born into a net.
We must bravely defend the network.
Facing insurmountable odds,
Our duty is to hold on
Without hope, without rescue,
Like that Roman centurion
Whose bones,
Later excavated at that front door in Pompeii,
Steadfast & true,
That Roman soldier--
Vesuvius exploding,
A hard rain falling down upon him--
Died at his post because
They forgot to relieve him.
That is duty.
That is greatness.
That is thoroughbred pedigree.
An honorable end:
The one thing that
Cannot be taken from a man.
Unless, of course,
The times they are Orwellian,
And once again,
This time with feeling:
*“Do it to Julia.
Do it to Julia!”*
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
O sink not down in that corrosive couch,
Docile before the Orwellian screen
That regulates the lives of the servile,
Dictating dress and drink, demeanor, dreams;
Declare your independence from the sludge
Of vague obedientiaries who drowse
Away their empty lives in submission
To harsh, diagonal inches of rule
Poor weaklings chanting tainted tribal songs
In chorus hamsterable, huddled, heaped,
While costumed in their masters’ liveries,
And feeling little while thinking even less
The very model of the State’s non-men,
Predictable and dull, submissive ghosts
Crowded, herded in cosmic cattle chutes,
Reflected in dim, noisy nothingness
But you, O you, be not of them, but be
A wanderer in the moonlight, one known
To God, there in His holy solitude
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
This is the age of tragedy
we are drowned
in the sea of technology-
nothing matters now--only
devices, gadgets, machines, contraptions
that claim: 'We'll make you happy'
This is the age of tragedy
blown over a thousand times Orwellian prophecy
none is free--everyone is subject to the minutest scrutiny
We regard ourselves smart--or supposedly-
but prostrate before that highest authority
faceless, feelingless, mute, the ubiquitous and iniquitous LED
This is our self-afflicted tragedy
in our proclamation: ' Progress, progress at any cost'--
we have lost our entire humanity
When you are in tears and your heart is heavy
help is on hand, you won't be lonely
just flick the switch, browse over Wiki.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
****** red bleeds best,
Purple Heart for serial killers,
Orwellian nightshade.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
It is not to think, as much as to shape this process i have made of silence.
Hush now.
It can never be okay, and the illusion is in your need to relate, because you correlated once, but it will never be the same.
It is chasing dragons for the same fate that you strayed from.
Its rubber bands, and band-aids for the game.
Check mate.
Check your mates for tics.
It is whats inside that itches for escape.
It is the day to day lies displayed from your hate.
Its whatever the **** you place your mind in.
Be this way, go that way, get out of the way, just stay ..
Right there
In yesterday, but i am late, and dreaming of the place i belong.
If seeing is believing than it shouldn't be too long.
Visualizing the realizing of what wouldn't have gone over so well, before the crash that befell my Orwellian signal from a well, wished for a hell dismissed in simple mindedness.
I am still unsure if it is a death wish, or a romantic kiss in the darkness, i inflict, as its burnt out of moonlit dominance in a prominence that smashed on the hull of my ship, full of not giving a **** as the light shifts around my presence.
My open hand is out but the other grips the severance package, of the stacking junk mail.
Dispel the formal, and embrace your former self, in unblinded wealth, accepting what you always felt, for the first time.
It is all ******* gone, and its mine.
All mine.
Standing on the corpses of my kind, i cry..
In happiness.
Its nothing.
I am one of many.
Gone.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Do you want to learn to be evasive,
Obnoxious, cynical, and highly abrasive?
I have the perfect teacher for you
To help you blow up an interview:
Kellyanne CONjob is her name.
An expert at the sidestepping game,
She will teach you to twist and turn
Answers to questions with no concern
For facts and truth. What do they matter
When you've got the gift of empty chatter?
She'll show you with great perfection
How to master the art of deflection.
Being sweet is one of her acts.
She loves to refer to "alternative facts"
To prove her points to the unwary.
Veracity is unnecessary.
Lies can provide great vitality
When you live in an alternate reality.
She will teach you to trick and deceive
With countless gimmicks hidden up her sleeve.
Learn how to blame the media when they
Say things you don't want them to say.
Some of her strategies might give offense,
But mainly in an Orwellian sense.
If you maintain a certain hostility
And think, "To hell with credibility!"
You could work for the president as well
Among the White House personnel.
- by Bob B (1-23-17)
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
once your name appears
on the global internet
intelligence organizations
can nosy around your set
they don't give a hang
about your private affairs
ever their eyes peer into
your unguarded lairs
George Orwell did state
in his well renowned novel 1984
that there would be a lot
of peeking through your keyhole's pore
you've no effective way
of averting their curious mots
they are always checking out
your inner plots
as I write this piece
I feel somewhat exposed
as my identity may well
be fully disclosed
the data base has
everyone's story on file
no one can escape
the dossier's profile
so friends
using social sites
be extra cautious with your news
a satellite is presently
collating your
personal reviews
a twenty four seven watch
happens around the clock
and you've been placed
in the agency's looking stock
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC