"outsourced" poems
it seems we live in times
when helping hands extend only reluctantly
to those in dire need who had to leave
the ruins of their devastated homes
not waiting for more bombs to fall
to those who had to save their lives
from the barbaric rule of self-styled prophets
and those whose simple love of education
was met with inane terror and oppression
why is it that so many people
are afraid of them and think
these desperate refugees are perpetrators
not the victims
why is it that the nations most responsible
for chaos and destruction in these countries
far from their own safe shores
are the least willing to accommodate
those they have driven from their homes
good Samaritans have become scarce
only a few today share their possessions
with those who are in greater need
our humanity has been outsourced
to NGOs and sundry other institutions
to whom we donate so they feed
the hungry poor and the displaced
it makes one wonder whether shameless greed
has indeed
and without any saving grace
become the only goal of our race
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
If you want to find out about someone’s character you ask them how do they gauge truth, or how do they know something is true?
Most will say because so and so said so, some variant of outsourced knowledge. Some "Religion." Some "Scientist." Some "Dr." Some "Guru." Some "Parent." Some "Mother." Some "Father." Some "Thought triggered by someone else." Some “Theory.”
Rare people will say they don’t know, they’re a bit more evolved because they see the conditioning. They see the confusion.
The rarer people will say they know because they’ve observed for themselves, not blindly, but with purity enough to observe correctly.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
I give zero ***** anymore.
I have no more ***** to give.
I'm totally absolutely incontrovertibly
fresh out of *****
My supply of *****
is completely out -- see??
[cupboard door swings open
Only to reveal
a fuckless cupboard]
Even the **** Store is out of *****
I called them just now,
The guy on the phone said he was
Fresh out --
He told me:
*The production and manufacturing
Of ***** has been outsourced
To Shenzhen China,
And the workers are striking
Because they are getting paid
Fifteen cents an hour to produce
6 ***** a second --
Which is inhumane and just wrong.*
I asked him why they didn't pay better --
He said, **** if I know! Like I said,
I'm fresh out of ***** to give
So who gives a ****
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
Poverty,
food in the reclamation yard.
Life's tough,
it's hard to be full of energy when
the meter is empty and all you see
are the toffs who scoff at society.
Poverty,
cardboard caskets in the cemetery.
There's a niche between the have and the have nots,
the place they throw away food and it rots,
bread, bread but not for the dead and the mould
we can give to the weary and old,
it's share and share and **** them, they don't count
and we don't care.
Circumstance gives a fat chance and the fat cats get the fat other than that all is well for the poor and the needy who dwell in the dark because the meter is empty.
Poverty,
in the park, on the bench, what a stench,
why don't they bathe, why don't they shave, why don't they save the pittance they get or better yet why give them a pittance, give them ****** all?
Poverty,
call for ticket number forty three, your benefits have changed please come to booth B.
We are being outsourced to be the dampcourse in some old Etonian duck pond, all expenses paid by another raid on the 'workshy' who in any case will get by
because we're all in this together dontya know.
Poverty
is just a name they use to defuse the ticking bomb,
castigate the poor, exonerate the rich,
build another workhouse and life's not such a *****
We know differently, we who live poverty, we who see inequality but we still and will
**** for a dime.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
In line with recent policy
we are outsourcing
our poetry services
in a bid to increase efficiency
This will make savings
and improve the service
just as it always does.
Daffodils
Out a walk
saw some flowers
there were loads of them
they were quite pretty
APPROVED
Dulce et Decorum Est
War's *******
and it's no fun
being gassed
APPROVED
To a Mouse
Sorry for wrecking your house, mouse
but we've all got problems
APPROVED
The Raven
I miss my bird
APPROVED
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
It's rounding three-forty in the morning
And my reason for sleep is tugging at me like
Gravity to everything
Or a late-night host absolutely convinced
His guest is wittier than himself
And pulling the curtains as if to say "I've failed you"
Really, the only continuity here is the drumming purr,
Outsourced by the shuffling footsteps opposite my door
Of which I am deathly afraid
If they knew what I really did in here
And at this time of night?
Can't even think about it
"Probably ************ they would chortle
Shaking their heads in disappointment over my
Weakness of mind and overall
Failure to hide the sound of skin
But there are better things to do, are being done
Like paper poetry, terrible fortune cookie words
Stitched blindly so to sound nice
To feign significance
But there are better things to do
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
You walk into a supermarket
The one with the
Fake
No wait! This sounds better!
Faux
British name
And look at the candy display
For Christmas
With the Styrofoam snow
You see the big
Self-important sign for
Raisinets, which is sold for thirty pesos
And say to yourself,
“Sounds god!
I mean good!”
You get your wallet and pay
Dismissing cheaper alternatives
That are equally tasty
And not reading the back of your Raisinets
To see where it’s manufacturing
Was outsourced
Without blinking
Without questions
Without batting an eyelash
Without thinking it’s unreasonable
Without realizing Raisinets
Is just chocolate-covered raisins
The kind you buy at some
Random movie counter
(A value of fourteen pesos a bag)
Given a classier name
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 9:24 AM UTC
Existential views
Church bell blues
Christian old news
Messiah complex
Respectful specs
Saviour syndrome old tech
Love in the heart of the wild
A sky cannot be outsourced or out styled
It has millions of vistas and views
I will never be old news
We are the sky
We will never die
Or sink into religious why's
Who is Daniel Hooks?
Neither a robber or a crook
Just a man who looks
Into the depths
like the mind who crept into a unfinished novel
I keep your secrets in my hovel.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Dreams provide the building blocks for nightmares
Working with outsourced puppeteers,
Freelance shiit talkers
And unlicensed engineers
Incorporating in-house failures,
Stacked to the rafters,
To orchestrate such fears
A passion project with plenty of volunteers
But after 40 some years
Missteps and heartbreak are full blown careers
With daily bonus checks awarded for tears
©2024
Jul 3, 2024
Jul 3, 2024 at 4:26 PM UTC
I wish I could be a book
I could send myself to you
in envelops and postcards
over a laconic lifetime
rungs of ladder climbed
waded through like the push
of legs in the water, over sand
chewing on the words you sent.
We, are a family now,
some privileged in the boundaries
of grandiloquent bags and pouches,
some forgotten in the drawers
before relocations,
versions of a person’s state of mind
over time, we make history books
capturing people in the making
of an indistinct next moment
sometimes we carry our own praises
outsourced by the wits of our writers
like love they did find not in the other
but their own selves, blind still.
Does your reader pause too?
basks in the glory of an empty wall
staring at nothing in particular?
I wish we had will and means
to write ourselves on ourselves
so that we could reach other and do that.
Instead like our creators, we are
dilapidated ruins of yellow bodies,
left to live and die on dirt and air
once they are gone, aren’t you scared
of death?
Seeking Reply
Letter A
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
┈┏━╮╭━┈╭━-━-━--━╮
┈┃┏┗┛┓┃╭ⓞⓘⓝⓚ┃
┈╰┓▋▋┏╯╯╰━-━--━━╯
╭━┻╮╲┗━━━━╮╭╮┈
Fata Morgana !
Crunch the numbers and look at the data. I’m like:
Measurable outcomes for pleasurable incomes—
incorporate outsourced inhuman resources in-house. I’m like:
indicators for vindicators.
It’s all about the data, mama—
so man up, sit down, and move forward
like hard apps on software, like ram on a gigabyte. I’m all:
sit up, move down, man forward;
benchmarks as milestones, stone benches as mile-markers
measuring the change-talk: obstetric metrics
played out for pregnant pauses.
It’s about throwing out the carry-on
It’s about unpacking the lost luggage
It’s about documenting best practices of undressed actresses
until the data-driver fails the breathalyzer.
The data tells a story: memes of mastery cast in plastery.
DUCK the FATA (morgana) !
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Punching before the sun comes up, 9 hours on an assembly line. Feet that ache from standing up all day. Two kids and a wife to feed. Thirty years in one spot, going through a hundred pairs of shoes. Then your job is deported instead of those who took it from you, now what do you do? Up a power pole in the wind and freezing rain, keeping the lights on so children stay warm and dry. Union blue runs through your blood, until your job gets outsourced too. Things that made America great, make it great no more. Most who built the country have went from blue collar to being poor. American pride has been forgotten, for real hard work is to a rich mans shame. Sometimes you just want to forget the title, and find another working name.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
Each morning
close to ten.
I get a call from Egypt,
or India.
Exotic places, that I will never see.
Flooding with people I will never meet.
But Ahmed calls everyday.
When the phone rings, and I see the number.
I want to sing him a song.
Picture message him masterpieces.
Text him epics.
In a sea of instant hang-ups,
and hot-headed drunks.
Poverty stricken parents,
and last straw leaps.
In the ocean of anger and grief,
I want to be the voice that reads poetry.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 4:21 PM UTC
I wish…
for bygone days
when folks put families first
Not jobs
Not climbing a corporate ladder
Not competing with the Jones
for bigger homes, better cars, smarter kids.
I wish…
for sublime satisfaction
thru the experience of God’s creation
Not from computers & video games
Nor TV & movies
smart phones or social media.
I wish…
that people did not suffer
When their jobs become obsolete
outsourced, redesigned, or restructured.
When they are pressed into conflicts
in their cities, states, or countries
For the sake of another’s perceived privilege
or personal gain.
But the Genie is out of the bottle…
Set free by wasted wishes
Carelessly contrived
Without lasting purpose or value
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
I outsourced
my inner turmoil
to this medium,
all the conflict
of trying to fit
and not fit
maybe dangling
between two *****
that I can’t give.
Rhyming and non,
never posting anon
because even though
I know that
I don’t belong
when I am gone
I want someone
to know me.
My identity
is complex,
crossing
ideas that
are counter
to themselves.
So, I identify
as the poetry guy
dying to stay alive.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC
I'll stand around with a sign
that says, "free the rights"
when America turns to
the United States of America Corporation:
Where the trees, mountains,
and even coral morph into dollar signs.
As supplies last morality is quantified
into algorithms and sold in vacuum sealed
plastic while the president rules
all cellphones must be attached
to the brain because it's affordable for
taxpayers. Direct connect, instant
success, calls to any mind, anywhere, even
up on the cloud. mother and the pope are
on line two while politicians will only
be 5 minutes away with the 100 percent
satisfaction guaranteed customer
service team, on the clock
24 hours and seven days a week,
while the black suites and white hair
earn credit for troubleshooting and calling
everyone unpatriotic because no one wants
to be outsourced to the next course of war.
Meanwhile, being a scientist is
secular progressive and doesn't meet
requirements for the 3 year warranty
but guarantees rush delivery, overnight twenty-four
hour shipping right into hell because
the business of women created from
mens' ribs didn't seem like viable coverage.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
Uncle Vanya and Lady Godiva
Uncle Vanya came strolling down the road
Wishing he had made something of his life
His young friend Anne loquaciously agreed
And with remarkable vehemence urged him
to endeavour to remediate his perceived inadequacies in the
many precedent matters that burdened him…
Don Quixote suggested that worries were giants
Cassandra said, “There is only one page left”
Nick Adams whispered, “Shh! You’ll scare the fish!”
Ambrose Silk asked the way to the world’s end
And young Lady Godiva, sans chemise
Outsourced her image on souvenir tees
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
while his children sleep, the father spins three bowls onto the kitchen table and waits for each to still. he circles the table as a shell shocked circus dog. from a box he is scooping handfuls of dry cereal into the bowls when he is informed by a memory how it’s happened that the milk is gone. gone since the morning before last because a fourth bowl was needed. his three children can now be heard upstairs shoving each other under the run of the shower. minutes later three boys wrapped in towels watch as their father gags himself into convulsions on the love seat. of the three, it’s my towel mother removes to swipe the sick from his mouth. I get my father a glass of water. something I’ve done before.
looking back, I can see the empty bowls. ahead, the outsourced eating.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
-
Posit
—
_a forging of youths
into un—potential works
of future creativity
so they may
negatively contribute
to_ human _foundations
for generations to come
-
outsourced
to become forgeries
of their parents
by allowing them to be
~programmed~
by-way-of
software updates
from developers with
foreign interests_
?
you should know
by now how these things
will usually end up—
having watched enough
television to recognize
the ancient ruins of
tomorrow...
.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 6:21 AM UTC
People exchange looks
Swiped like credit
Adrenaline limps edited
To look like Like
It gnaws
It crushes candy
Pixelated abyss twist twirl leap
Strawblurry tasty taste me taste me
It gnaws
It packages insanely
This that those them
It gnaws
A fate
Us
Them
-Hate-
Keeps it going
Uncut uncut
See the seams unsleeped
Stitch forever and always
Eyes rise in the east
Sweatshoply ran zombified slum slam
He is fat
He is jovial
He laughs he laughs
He has them sow sow
Make make
Makers of joy ploy
Slaked boy fingers foaming at
Mouths unfed calloused heart grips it
Dread
Roofs collapsing
******* sing ******
******* sing
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
I try to push it away,
the angst in my heart and my overwhelming desire to run-
run far away from whatever makes it hurt so much to be alive
and the only thing that makes it worth living
is being outsourced and ostracized
and I can't seem to shut out all the negativity that comes with it.
In the dead of the night as the sun rests easy on my side of the world
it is working twice as hard somewhere else
and the moon continues to remind me of that.
Resting is never in the plans for the sun and the moon
and the ocean and the sands
because the sun always rises and sets
and the seas always reaches out for you to touch it
and I think that's what we both have in common..
always wanting to be felt and seen and touched
just admired and appreciated
for these tides make the world a better place
and these hands make your world a better place
I don't mean to be bigoted when saying that-
It's just the light in my life was dim
before you went and changed me
and yours was scolding with heat
so no one would ever want to try and change it
but hands heavy, and fingers that have written about darker days
I took the chance and changed you anyways
and now our days spent together are filled with light.
We are no longer two dimly lit rooms-
because there is me and there is you
and together we make mountains
glow upon the sunrise
and darkness seems just like a distant memory.
My hands press these keys so vividly
like Beethoven and his symphonies
and moonlight drifts through the air
like a silhouette and we dance with our bodies intertwined-
because I am yours and you are mine
and this darkness doesn't exist much anymore
only on days when the mind that writes these words
can't think of ways to write the inner demons away
but I know when that time comes
and I want to drown in the seas that once saved me
I will remember you are here with me
and we can float together to make oceans
of what we have been through and just swim.
Just swim until we know we are at our destination
because we are no longer two dimly lit rooms-
we are spotlights and sunrise-
the florescent shine in your eyes
when you're awaken by a brand new day.
We will eventually burn out-
but worry not because when the time comes
we can change together.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Icelandic diets and tiny woman in big cars - oriental twins stand next to bad graffiti - sick children in the exclusion zone
- the end of the family tree
- the branch snaps
two holes have appeared at opposite ends of the earth
they have give weapons to all those over 15 and told them to protect the city
God has been outsourced to a call centre in India
his Facebook page keeps crashing
emails go unanswered
my book was called "the eternal twitch of the nervous millennium"
the death of the happy polar bear, 1983 - 2016
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC
No worries in being unemployed
Working for the Lord with continuous praise and joy
The Lord Boss perks always being under God’s care
He is the Lord for all to share
No worry in a job being outsourced
The Lord being the superior one with the only force
Yet the spirituality is a feeling beyond compare
I don’t mind working overtime
Because I am involved with the Lord’s blessings combined
God’s power that will stay with me
It is something my fellow Christians shall see
I don’t have to think on man’s corporate name
Because God is the one with the name and is fame
My health care under God’s complete control
If I get sick I will be the witness of look and behold
My Boss being the Lord and not man himself
Man thinks only about himself
God is not like everybody else
My Boss being the Lord knows how to teach and extend knowledge
The voice of Heaven in have you heard
Opportunity being a privilege
Promotion in fairness served only by the Lord
The value of compensation needing no charge in praising our Lord
Just stand back and watch as God helps to preserver
He is the protection when the enemy wants to come near
A Heavenly Boss I appreciate, and as a servant I will always participate.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
Virtue’s dairy-maids take a bow;
Such maids, the farm can well-endow
To milk that multi-culti cow.
Paste some banner upon your page . . .
You belong to a nicer age
An age where conflict is suppressed
And truth can never be addressed . . .
Malign diversity enforced
Upon the masses—who resist;
Their own prosperity outsourced:
Maintaining aliens in their midst.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC