"profits" poems - Hello Poetry

"profits" poems

It's not cute, I don't find it funny. The lack of concern for education, And your glasses aren't cute either. I'm growing quite tired of the lame leaders. Expectation to teach the future generation. The warriors, in a future of unknowing, By the ignorant, traditionalist. And I could sit here all day, Catching glints of light off your hip glasses. Peppered with egocentric, infantile remarks. So cute The lack of education So cute The lack of nutrition So cute The false profits; the obtuse teachers So cute Your hip glasses.

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Sep 5, 2014

Sep 5, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC

Blame Your Teachers (hip glasses)

It's not cute, I don't find it funny. The lack of concern for education, And your glasses aren't cute either. I'm growing quite tired of the lame leaders. Expectation to teach the future generation. The warriors, in a future of unknowing, By the ignorant, traditionalist. And I could sit here all day, Catching glints of light off your hip glasses. Peppered with egocentric, infantile remarks. So cute The lack of education So cute The lack of nutrition So cute The false profits; the obtuse teachers So cute Your hip glasses.

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Its hard to not to forget that they tortured our memory motivated by pain no motivated by love love for the living we are trying to reach the living those sensitive to nature still not desensitized by the construction of whiteness trying to reach those uninterrupted by the temporary dominance desperation pretending to be evolution hearts beating apathy to death hysterical neglect of our trauma native tint in our eyes take our minds back from the product whose profits are imperialism give them back to dancing revolution starts in the movement of the hips a cou de tat of sway no one knows what you are no matter how confident they seem dance with your eyes closed looking deep inside do not get stuck in its reflection the hysterical reflection dance like every military just surrendered into our hearts the living are with you now can you feel them in your sway

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Aug 22, 2018

Aug 22, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC

elan-bonde-gregory

hearts beating apathy to death

Its hard to not to forget that they tortured our memory motivated by pain no motivated by love love for the living we are trying to reach the living those sensitive to nature still not desensitized by the construction of whiteness trying to reach those uninterrupted by the temporary dominance desperation pretending to be evolution hearts beating apathy to death hysterical neglect of our trauma native tint in our eyes take our minds back from the product whose profits are imperialism give them back to dancing revolution starts in the movement of the hips a cou de tat of sway no one knows what you are no matter how confident they seem dance with your eyes closed looking deep inside do not get stuck in its reflection the hysterical reflection dance like every military just surrendered into our hearts the living are with you now can you feel them in your sway

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America, the land of lies America, the land of homophobia, America, the land of endless sin, America, the land where church and state are not separate, America, the land where we let a 3000 year old book dictate our laws and policies, America, the land where a man who can throw a football well makes 50 times more than a man who saves lives on a daily basis, America, the land of diabetes, heart failure, obesity, and McDonald's, America, the land where we debate whether healthcare is a right or a privilege, America, the land where company profits are more important than the well being of the human race, America, the land where we spend twice as much on healthcare than other country, America, the land where our overall health rating is 26th compared to other countries, America, the land where we claim all men are created equal, America, the land where a man can't marry another man, America, the land that promotes democracy by invading countries and forcing democracy on the people, America, the land where our education system is suffering constant budget cuts, America, the land of debt, America, the land of problems.

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Mar 28, 2013

Mar 28, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC

America, the land of lies America, the land of homophobia, America, the land of endless sin, America, the land where church and state are not separate, America, the land where we let a 3000 year old book dictate our laws and policies, America, the land where a man who can throw a football well makes 50 times more than a man who saves lives on a daily basis, America, the land of diabetes, heart failure, obesity, and McDonald's, America, the land where we debate whether healthcare is a right or a privilege, America, the land where company profits are more important than the well being of the human race, America, the land where we spend twice as much on healthcare than other country, America, the land where our overall health rating is 26th compared to other countries, America, the land where we claim all men are created equal, America, the land where a man can't marry another man, America, the land that promotes democracy by invading countries and forcing democracy on the people, America, the land where our education system is suffering constant budget cuts, America, the land of debt, America, the land of problems.

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Perhaps, We have a worldview, that has turned a bit myopic. Perhaps, We need a checkup from a doctor for Our optics, Perhaps, We need for them to write Us out a new prescription, then Perhaps, We'd see the truth in life that's written in inscription, Perhaps, the Earth is weeping somberly, but We don't care to listen, Perhaps, it warns us of Our doom when global profits are our mission Perhaps, the World is run by men, whose only drive is for themselves Perhaps, the few will **** the many, just for monetary wealth, Perhaps, We're all too blind to understand the implications, Perhaps, a future fraught with poverty and war is what We're facing Perhaps, a different train of thought, is faintly running by adjacent, Perhaps, it's one that wrests its life from the stagnation of complacence Perhaps, We're living forms of life that have been cast inside a mold Perhaps, estrangement from each other causes Our Hearts to grow cold Perhaps, all concentrated power's an illusion, We behold, Perhaps, We all could take it back, if We'd stop doing what We're told Perhaps, Our Being is unique, and isn't something predefined, Perhaps, Our priorities in life should they themselves be redefined, Perhaps, Our voices are of import, and should not be undermined, Perhaps, We all should organize, and build a world of new design Perhaps, it is the Media that keeps Us all divided, Perhaps, We should act neighborly and strive to be united, Perhaps, in living as a People, We would find Ourselves delighted, and Perhaps, We'd change the status quo, if We would only try to fight it.

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May 13, 2015

May 13, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC

iliveinyourhead

Perhaps, We have a worldview, that has turned a bit myopic. Perhaps, We need a checkup from a doctor for Our optics, Perhaps, We need for them to write Us out a new prescription, then Perhaps, We'd see the truth in life that's written in inscription, Perhaps, the Earth is weeping somberly, but We don't care to listen, Perhaps, it warns us of Our doom when global profits are our mission Perhaps, the World is run by men, whose only drive is for themselves Perhaps, the few will **** the many, just for monetary wealth, Perhaps, We're all too blind to understand the implications, Perhaps, a future fraught with poverty and war is what We're facing Perhaps, a different train of thought, is faintly running by adjacent, Perhaps, it's one that wrests its life from the stagnation of complacence Perhaps, We're living forms of life that have been cast inside a mold Perhaps, estrangement from each other causes Our Hearts to grow cold Perhaps, all concentrated power's an illusion, We behold, Perhaps, We all could take it back, if We'd stop doing what We're told Perhaps, Our Being is unique, and isn't something predefined, Perhaps, Our priorities in life should they themselves be redefined, Perhaps, Our voices are of import, and should not be undermined, Perhaps, We all should organize, and build a world of new design Perhaps, it is the Media that keeps Us all divided, Perhaps, We should act neighborly and strive to be united, Perhaps, in living as a People, We would find Ourselves delighted, and Perhaps, We'd change the status quo, if We would only try to fight it.

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A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology smashing to fragments: demonic astrology (more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though). Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit – ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience. Margaret sang her seductive refrain about weeding the garden and progress and light. Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain but instead have adopted her murderous rite. With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics (as if she had never herself been a fetus), condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us. Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain. As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side) Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide calling the shots for the coming sick century. Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races her zeal was empowered by murderous graces. She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction: “dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy” “viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction” Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy; words that turn Life into mere reproduction. She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless roundly condemned by her feminine otherness. Man’s first protection: the God-given womb which no infant should have to regard as their tomb. Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her. Long may she burn with the medical cynics this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics. Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen and the profits swell big with each nubile teen… yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen. I send her this song as a funeral wreath and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there: “To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth. May your torment increase with the children you bear.”

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Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC

Margaret Sanger’s Entry Into Hell

A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology smashing to fragments: demonic astrology (more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though). Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit – ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience. Margaret sang her seductive refrain about weeding the garden and progress and light. Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain but instead have adopted her murderous rite. With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics (as if she had never herself been a fetus), condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us. Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain. As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side) Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide calling the shots for the coming sick century. Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races her zeal was empowered by murderous graces. She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction: “dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy” “viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction” Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy; words that turn Life into mere reproduction. She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless roundly condemned by her feminine otherness. Man’s first protection: the God-given womb which no infant should have to regard as their tomb. Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her. Long may she burn with the medical cynics this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics. Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen and the profits swell big with each nubile teen… yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen. I send her this song as a funeral wreath and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there: “To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth. May your torment increase with the children you bear.”

Continue reading...

Retailers hope to net profits with the overlapping of holiday seasons. Thanksgiving is yet to be history; but, out comes the Christmas trimmings. No big surprise seeing holiday reminders arriving and filling mail box, comes with pre-season, this early blitz of commercials on tv now the net. Early arrival of holiday brings bell ringers standing between shopper's exit, a failure to repeat and repeat donations, brings looks of extreme displeasure. Each and every time you enter or exit discount, drug, and many retail stores, shoppers face not only bell ringers; but, 365 days donate at register requests. Most can't equal billion dollar give aways by Bill and Melinda Gates' circle. Most work extremely hard and donate but also choose to live on budgets. I donate and have nothing against charities; but, how much should one give? Retailers, putting shoppers on the spot, asking for donations upon check out? Never a pinch penny when it comes to sharing when there's an "actual" need, generosity is always a personal choice, I let guilt not be my companion in giving. Multiple donations to canister's of amnesiac holiday bell ringers? Wont happen! Nothing against legit charities; but, giving until you're broke, you "will" be needy.

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Nov 23, 2013

Nov 23, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC

Retailers hope to net profits with the overlapping of holiday seasons. Thanksgiving is yet to be history; but, out comes the Christmas trimmings. No big surprise seeing holiday reminders arriving and filling mail box, comes with pre-season, this early blitz of commercials on tv now the net. Early arrival of holiday brings bell ringers standing between shopper's exit, a failure to repeat and repeat donations, brings looks of extreme displeasure. Each and every time you enter or exit discount, drug, and many retail stores, shoppers face not only bell ringers; but, 365 days donate at register requests. Most can't equal billion dollar give aways by Bill and Melinda Gates' circle. Most work extremely hard and donate but also choose to live on budgets. I donate and have nothing against charities; but, how much should one give? Retailers, putting shoppers on the spot, asking for donations upon check out? Never a pinch penny when it comes to sharing when there's an "actual" need, generosity is always a personal choice, I let guilt not be my companion in giving. Multiple donations to canister's of amnesiac holiday bell ringers? Wont happen! Nothing against legit charities; but, giving until you're broke, you "will" be needy.

Continue reading...

timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix on the Earth's mass, bulldozers and axes vanishing timber habitats, lethal their mix the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes preserving and conserving, tree dwelling creatures homes from eviction, the number one priority tree felling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed tree feeling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed unabated the logger's tree felling goes on satiating greed destroyed, wooded residencies reaped wood residencies destroyed, on the Earth's mass served eviction from their homes, tree dwelling creatures timbered habitats are vanishing, the number one priority profits to be ever reaped ,bulldozers and axes lethal their mix tree felling goes on unabated, satiating the logger's greed where is the preserving and conserving?

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Jul 20, 2014

Jul 20, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Preserving and Conserving (Paradelle Poem)

timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix on the Earth's mass, bulldozers and axes vanishing timber habitats, lethal their mix the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes preserving and conserving, tree dwelling creatures homes from eviction, the number one priority tree felling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed tree feeling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed unabated the logger's tree felling goes on satiating greed destroyed, wooded residencies reaped wood residencies destroyed, on the Earth's mass served eviction from their homes, tree dwelling creatures timbered habitats are vanishing, the number one priority profits to be ever reaped ,bulldozers and axes lethal their mix tree felling goes on unabated, satiating the logger's greed where is the preserving and conserving?

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Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf. Consider The sparrows of the air of small account: Our God doth view Whether they fall or mount,-- He guards us too. Consider The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair:-- What profits all this care And all this coil? Consider The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; God gives them food:-- Much more our Father seeks To do us good.

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4.9k

Christina Rossetti

Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf. Consider The sparrows of the air of small account: Our God doth view Whether they fall or mount,-- He guards us too. Consider The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair:-- What profits all this care And all this coil? Consider The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; God gives them food:-- Much more our Father seeks To do us good.

Continue reading...

let’s split the seconds in two break apart the bark of dead trees and sail away like summer like echoes echoes we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us the waves break on our skin whispering about echoes of the wind drops like grenade pins paid for by palestinians profits into our superpowers pocket we’re echoes of endless take one of those moments in a second crush it up and breathe it in just how rolled up notes showed you hold this moment longer than you’re meant to steal time from the gods cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns like pythagoras put a purpose on me like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave it’ll warm you in moments of distress you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness sometimes the symbols aren’t right, but you blurred the borders between me and love letters and poems dreams and stories our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips i love you. - words are infinite like the journey to here the random chemical concotions or just preselected stories. and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols electrical impulses brief bits of data it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence. believing in confidence patterns need a purpose lose yourself in them easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true that you’re part to blame for the begging bin bags the bombs and the poverty the lifestyle of monotony so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly... 0.000001/=0

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Sep 11, 2013

Sep 11, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC

mathematics of spirit

let’s split the seconds in two break apart the bark of dead trees and sail away like summer like echoes echoes we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us the waves break on our skin whispering about echoes of the wind drops like grenade pins paid for by palestinians profits into our superpowers pocket we’re echoes of endless take one of those moments in a second crush it up and breathe it in just how rolled up notes showed you hold this moment longer than you’re meant to steal time from the gods cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns like pythagoras put a purpose on me like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave it’ll warm you in moments of distress you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness sometimes the symbols aren’t right, but you blurred the borders between me and love letters and poems dreams and stories our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips i love you. - words are infinite like the journey to here the random chemical concotions or just preselected stories. and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols electrical impulses brief bits of data it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence. believing in confidence patterns need a purpose lose yourself in them easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true that you’re part to blame for the begging bin bags the bombs and the poverty the lifestyle of monotony so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly... 0.000001/=0

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If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space. If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality. Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity. If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail, so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail. If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation, existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations. If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in ugly hordes on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall. If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call, If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all. If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only If Only M C Crowder @scorsby 19th November 2018

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Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 12:00 PM UTC

michael-c-crowder

If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space. If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality. Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity. If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail, so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail. If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation, existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations. If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in ugly hordes on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall. If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call, If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all. If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only If Only M C Crowder @scorsby 19th November 2018

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Black is your coffee Toasted and buttered your bread Half past seven, A quick peck on the cheek off you go to the bank one solid day you spend at the bank a loyal servant of the bank of commerce Your lover number one, the bank..always the bank... you'd be at the bank till all workers gone home you'd be at your desk checking the accounts making it balance , counting the profits recovering the loss... If there is an award for the banker of the year The outstanding achievement and the bla... bla... bla... The winner is you, without a doubt... While you're making your accounts pretty Perfecting your financial reports The dinner is getting too cold The kids are growing up so fast Your cat is getting too old Your wife is sulking too long Your house is getting too far Your family is slowly vanishing... not physically of course... the souls of love and life is disappearing little by little... Dear banker, If you happen to listen to this banker's wife blues...today Hope you'd throw the balance sheets in the basket and sit with your wife and kids in a garden, drinking a cup of English tea Eating some home made biscuits... How much bonus is more worthwhile than watching your kids growing up before your eyes... kissing your wife good night tasting the love doses... Tell me, after listening to all these? Will you still worry about your imbalance bank accounts?

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May 27, 2013

May 27, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC

Banker's Wife Blues

Black is your coffee Toasted and buttered your bread Half past seven, A quick peck on the cheek off you go to the bank one solid day you spend at the bank a loyal servant of the bank of commerce Your lover number one, the bank..always the bank... you'd be at the bank till all workers gone home you'd be at your desk checking the accounts making it balance , counting the profits recovering the loss... If there is an award for the banker of the year The outstanding achievement and the bla... bla... bla... The winner is you, without a doubt... While you're making your accounts pretty Perfecting your financial reports The dinner is getting too cold The kids are growing up so fast Your cat is getting too old Your wife is sulking too long Your house is getting too far Your family is slowly vanishing... not physically of course... the souls of love and life is disappearing little by little... Dear banker, If you happen to listen to this banker's wife blues...today Hope you'd throw the balance sheets in the basket and sit with your wife and kids in a garden, drinking a cup of English tea Eating some home made biscuits... How much bonus is more worthwhile than watching your kids growing up before your eyes... kissing your wife good night tasting the love doses... Tell me, after listening to all these? Will you still worry about your imbalance bank accounts?

Continue reading...

Islamist Extremists. Boat Capsized. Obama and Nelson Mandela. Celebrity Lies. Plane Crash. Forest Fires. Missing Girl. Handgun-buyers. Amazon Lawsuit. ANT-MAN. Low Supplies! Walmart Empty Shelves. Chinese Food Scandal. Microsoft Layoffs. Heat and Gasoline. Oil. Mad Max! Comic Book Convention Drama. Breast Lumps and Swelling. Television. Veteran's Hospitals. Israel and Gaza Fight On. Beachgoers Hit by Lightning. Baseball Drinking Songs. Sci-fi, Wi-fi, Ebola, and Libya. Ukraine. Venezuela. Marriage. Liver failure. Allen Webster. USA. RACE CARS. Global Catastrophe Down to Warming of the Earth. Dinosaurs Had Feathers. MH17. Profits. Desert Bakery. Syria. We Must be Mad. Philippines: 100 Million People on an Island. Salmonella Lawsuit. Cheeseburger Diet. Twinkies Never Going Bad. Putin, Palin, and the Tour de France. Fracking. Cats and Dogs.

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Jul 27, 2014

Jul 27, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC

Islamist Extremists. Boat Capsized. Obama and Nelson Mandela. Celebrity Lies. Plane Crash. Forest Fires. Missing Girl. Handgun-buyers. Amazon Lawsuit. ANT-MAN. Low Supplies! Walmart Empty Shelves. Chinese Food Scandal. Microsoft Layoffs. Heat and Gasoline. Oil. Mad Max! Comic Book Convention Drama. Breast Lumps and Swelling. Television. Veteran's Hospitals. Israel and Gaza Fight On. Beachgoers Hit by Lightning. Baseball Drinking Songs. Sci-fi, Wi-fi, Ebola, and Libya. Ukraine. Venezuela. Marriage. Liver failure. Allen Webster. USA. RACE CARS. Global Catastrophe Down to Warming of the Earth. Dinosaurs Had Feathers. MH17. Profits. Desert Bakery. Syria. We Must be Mad. Philippines: 100 Million People on an Island. Salmonella Lawsuit. Cheeseburger Diet. Twinkies Never Going Bad. Putin, Palin, and the Tour de France. Fracking. Cats and Dogs.

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Their lies are prompted from teleprompters and executed flaw-fully from taxpayer's helicopters. They say we're protecting foreign daughters while filtering profits to desert clad marauders. Blank faced public fear conversing religion and politics while passively electing lunatics with trigger switches. Arm the rebels they bite the hand that feeds the middle east burns while America ******* bleeds. The white, blue and red camo helmets on their heads farm fed frat boys equipped with jackets of lead. We watched Saddam crumble his statue beaten with shoes but the same war we already fought the puppets now will choose. Fight the good fight support the troops. Drone strikes by twilight **** the troops. An Army of one Sempter Fi Do or Die I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket covered in a flag you valued more than your life. Our heroes are our welfare stop blaming single mothers plastic bags tied around throats water boarding dissent, it smothers. **** the Medal of Honor I'm tearing up your portrait Obama. How many can benefit from free tuition? But we give it to those trained to slaughter. Our priority is the police state Nazis pretending to tote freedom. We sip our Americanos And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading. **By Evan Ponter @evanponter**

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Sep 17, 2014

Sep 17, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC

The Senate Takes A Vote

Their lies are prompted from teleprompters and executed flaw-fully from taxpayer's helicopters. They say we're protecting foreign daughters while filtering profits to desert clad marauders. Blank faced public fear conversing religion and politics while passively electing lunatics with trigger switches. Arm the rebels they bite the hand that feeds the middle east burns while America ******* bleeds. The white, blue and red camo helmets on their heads farm fed frat boys equipped with jackets of lead. We watched Saddam crumble his statue beaten with shoes but the same war we already fought the puppets now will choose. Fight the good fight support the troops. Drone strikes by twilight **** the troops. An Army of one Sempter Fi Do or Die I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket covered in a flag you valued more than your life. Our heroes are our welfare stop blaming single mothers plastic bags tied around throats water boarding dissent, it smothers. **** the Medal of Honor I'm tearing up your portrait Obama. How many can benefit from free tuition? But we give it to those trained to slaughter. Our priority is the police state Nazis pretending to tote freedom. We sip our Americanos And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading. **By Evan Ponter @evanponter**

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"America used to be the land of passionate, skilled Labor then it degraded into the land of exploiting that Labor and now it's simply the land of Exploitation." "Y'know, that seems pretty true; it is a stereotype that Americans just exploit whatever it is, whether it's the Japanese man's politeness when we bastardize the eating of Sushi or a legal loophole a corporation finds and uses to maximize profits with minimal morality."

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Jul 17, 2013

Jul 17, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

A Dialogue with Friends [Land of Exploitation]

"America used to be the land of passionate, skilled Labor then it degraded into the land of exploiting that Labor and now it's simply the land of Exploitation." "Y'know, that seems pretty true; it is a stereotype that Americans just exploit whatever it is, whether it's the Japanese man's politeness when we bastardize the eating of Sushi or a legal loophole a corporation finds and uses to maximize profits with minimal morality."

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Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à faire Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon épaule: ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux, Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie; C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux.’ (Bavard, baveux, à la croupe arrondie, Je te prie, au moins, ne bave pas dans la soupe). ‘Les saules trempés, et des bourgeons sur les ronces— C’est là, dans une averse, qu’on s’abrite. J’avais sept ans, elle était plus petite. Elle était toute mouillée, je lui ai donné des primevères.’ Les taches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trentehuit. ‘Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire. J’éprouvais un instant de puissance et de délire.’ Mais alors, vieux lubrique, à cet âge … ‘Monsieur, le fait est dur. Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien; Moi j’avais peur, je l’ai quittée à mi-chemin. C’est dommage.’ Mais alors, tu as ton vautour! Va t’en te décrotter les rides du visage; Tiens, ma fourchette, décrasse-toi le crâne. De quel droit payes-tu des expériences comme moi? Tiens, voilà dix sous, pour la salle-de-bains. Phlébas, le Phénicien, pendant quinze jours noyé, Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille, Et les profits et les pertes, et la cargaison d’étain: Un courant de sous-mer l’emporta très **** Le repassant aux étapes de sa vie antérieure. Figurez-vous donc, c’était un sort pénible; Cependant, ce fut jadis un bel homme, de haute taille.

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3.5k

Dans Le Restaurant

Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à faire Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon épaule: ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux, Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie; C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux.’ (Bavard, baveux, à la croupe arrondie, Je te prie, au moins, ne bave pas dans la soupe). ‘Les saules trempés, et des bourgeons sur les ronces— C’est là, dans une averse, qu’on s’abrite. J’avais sept ans, elle était plus petite. Elle était toute mouillée, je lui ai donné des primevères.’ Les taches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trentehuit. ‘Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire. J’éprouvais un instant de puissance et de délire.’ Mais alors, vieux lubrique, à cet âge … ‘Monsieur, le fait est dur. Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien; Moi j’avais peur, je l’ai quittée à mi-chemin. C’est dommage.’ Mais alors, tu as ton vautour! Va t’en te décrotter les rides du visage; Tiens, ma fourchette, décrasse-toi le crâne. De quel droit payes-tu des expériences comme moi? Tiens, voilà dix sous, pour la salle-de-bains. Phlébas, le Phénicien, pendant quinze jours noyé, Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille, Et les profits et les pertes, et la cargaison d’étain: Un courant de sous-mer l’emporta très **** Le repassant aux étapes de sa vie antérieure. Figurez-vous donc, c’était un sort pénible; Cependant, ce fut jadis un bel homme, de haute taille.

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Quell the somber hunger of the streets Redundant mornings as time repeats Agonizing parallel days Dull marching masses quick to obey A crooked court with no figure head Pulling profits to line stomachs instead Of smiting evil where it lays While we focus on not wasting away At event horizons of a creeping void And remember life can be enjoyed.

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Oct 2, 2014

Oct 2, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC

dwayne-richardson

Quell the somber hunger of the streets Redundant mornings as time repeats Agonizing parallel days Dull marching masses quick to obey A crooked court with no figure head Pulling profits to line stomachs instead Of smiting evil where it lays While we focus on not wasting away At event horizons of a creeping void And remember life can be enjoyed.

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Fever-flushed children and Broken bodies Litter hospital halls like so much Human refuse ….Wondering why their need for care is treated so tepidly by a Society which worships Profits Power and Prestige ….Waiting while they wallow in anguish as Privacy Paperwork and Payment are Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles ….Wanting to be refreshed and restored to some measure of usefulness ….But Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for Silence Acceptance and Despair Huddling for warmth and in Fear of discovery they assemble in rag-tag formation having scaled formidable fences Seeking freedom from Poverty and oppression Searching for work of any sort ….No matter how Humiliating or Hard ….No matter the Cost or Conditions Disparaged and despised they labor in hope that their children will have a chance for success instead of suffering a similar fate …..But Free to Pursue Liberty in a land where their presence is Ignored if not Denied Unkempt in camouflage One-legged and Vacant-eyed he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort displaying cardboard sign childishly scripted in one weather-worn and gnarled hand while clutching a decapitated jug in the other Forgotten Forlorn, and Discarded veteran Victimized far more by country than foe ….But Free to Pursue Happiness while Begging on street corners as Upright citizens dispense Unwelcome opinions or Pocket change with equal Self-righteousness Life Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness…. Ideals that slowly incinerate on the Altar of Capitalism ….Songs forever lost in the Cacophony now Played on the Instrument of Politics

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Sep 21, 2016

Sep 21, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC

Fiddling While Rome Burns

Fever-flushed children and Broken bodies Litter hospital halls like so much Human refuse ….Wondering why their need for care is treated so tepidly by a Society which worships Profits Power and Prestige ….Waiting while they wallow in anguish as Privacy Paperwork and Payment are Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles ….Wanting to be refreshed and restored to some measure of usefulness ….But Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for Silence Acceptance and Despair Huddling for warmth and in Fear of discovery they assemble in rag-tag formation having scaled formidable fences Seeking freedom from Poverty and oppression Searching for work of any sort ….No matter how Humiliating or Hard ….No matter the Cost or Conditions Disparaged and despised they labor in hope that their children will have a chance for success instead of suffering a similar fate …..But Free to Pursue Liberty in a land where their presence is Ignored if not Denied Unkempt in camouflage One-legged and Vacant-eyed he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort displaying cardboard sign childishly scripted in one weather-worn and gnarled hand while clutching a decapitated jug in the other Forgotten Forlorn, and Discarded veteran Victimized far more by country than foe ….But Free to Pursue Happiness while Begging on street corners as Upright citizens dispense Unwelcome opinions or Pocket change with equal Self-righteousness Life Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness…. Ideals that slowly incinerate on the Altar of Capitalism ….Songs forever lost in the Cacophony now Played on the Instrument of Politics

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Perplexed by the lack of emotion This service once the fight of the nation Little thought now that war was won Little thought to who receives the funds One nation is what was told All services were once ours to hold Now the deeds of greedy done The profits to them shall become The needy the poor will rot in the gutter Whilst a city is built like no other Care not for the want or needs The delinquency has sown its seeds No blankets in a harsh winter No shelter for the wars that splinter Gone the door where free could roam Pay your dues again or face the laws at your home Do not whinge nor whine Your lapse behavior sees you fine When its you that seeks their wares You will find a cost too much to bare When your cut or wound lays rotting Reflect your moment of desertion Remember this the choice was yours You chose to watch as they dismantled The Nations Health service and Closed the doors.

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Feb 20, 2016

Feb 20, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC

Words in the sand

Perplexed by the lack of emotion This service once the fight of the nation Little thought now that war was won Little thought to who receives the funds One nation is what was told All services were once ours to hold Now the deeds of greedy done The profits to them shall become The needy the poor will rot in the gutter Whilst a city is built like no other Care not for the want or needs The delinquency has sown its seeds No blankets in a harsh winter No shelter for the wars that splinter Gone the door where free could roam Pay your dues again or face the laws at your home Do not whinge nor whine Your lapse behavior sees you fine When its you that seeks their wares You will find a cost too much to bare When your cut or wound lays rotting Reflect your moment of desertion Remember this the choice was yours You chose to watch as they dismantled The Nations Health service and Closed the doors.

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Midnight approaches Tick tick tock Won't someone stop The Doomsday Clock From striking oil Drilling rock Thirsting soil Aftershock Deserted hourglass of sand Shifts to resource hungry hand Tyrants of time assume command Greed consumes This wasted land First come the roaches Tick tick tock The bugs can't stop The Doomsday Clock With beehive brains No voice to talk And droning minds Comprise the flock As lone wolves feast On sheep they stalk Then fear encroaches Tick tick tock Too scared to stop The Doomsday Clock As violence claims Each city block Blood drawn on streets Like sidewalk chalk When Hatred's loaded Gun is cocked Beyond reproaches Tick tick tock How could they stop The Doomsday Clock When despots trade In human stock Waging war Upon this rock As profits slaughter More livestock The end approaches Tick tick tock No hope to stop The Doomsday Clock As poisoned skies Corrode this rock With toxic lies Controlling hourglass of sand Clenched by Atlas choking hand Titans of industry command Still Chronos rules This dying land

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Sep 4, 2016

Sep 4, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC

michael-marchese

The Doomsday Clock

Midnight approaches Tick tick tock Won't someone stop The Doomsday Clock From striking oil Drilling rock Thirsting soil Aftershock Deserted hourglass of sand Shifts to resource hungry hand Tyrants of time assume command Greed consumes This wasted land First come the roaches Tick tick tock The bugs can't stop The Doomsday Clock With beehive brains No voice to talk And droning minds Comprise the flock As lone wolves feast On sheep they stalk Then fear encroaches Tick tick tock Too scared to stop The Doomsday Clock As violence claims Each city block Blood drawn on streets Like sidewalk chalk When Hatred's loaded Gun is cocked Beyond reproaches Tick tick tock How could they stop The Doomsday Clock When despots trade In human stock Waging war Upon this rock As profits slaughter More livestock The end approaches Tick tick tock No hope to stop The Doomsday Clock As poisoned skies Corrode this rock With toxic lies Controlling hourglass of sand Clenched by Atlas choking hand Titans of industry command Still Chronos rules This dying land

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i disavow my allegiance to the flag, & to the Commonwealth of the Bahamas. for we are not one people, we are not united, we do not live in love, & we are unfortunately serviced. what does the future hold for my Bahama land? with our resources not being utilized for the betterment of our people... but being sold to non-Bahama land. no profits being aimed to, or sources being owned by our Bahama man. as i lift my head to the rising of the sun in this Bahama land, i see no hope for the future, no hope in my Bahama land. no one to speak up, the youth are out of luck. the elders show no interest, we are doomed. still, we march on to the glory.. but what bright banners do we have to wave high? the means of the leaders are of no significance, & i can no longer bear the pain that i witness. how will we excel if we do not love, & unite? going forward, will we stand together for a common, loftier goal? as i lift up my head to the rising sun in my Bahama land; i see anguish, i see fear & leaders with no care. all the things i see are broad. ...but may the road that my people trod lead us to our God, that will help us on this march to save our Bahama land.

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Jun 21, 2018

Jun 21, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC

my Bahama land.

i disavow my allegiance to the flag, & to the Commonwealth of the Bahamas. for we are not one people, we are not united, we do not live in love, & we are unfortunately serviced. what does the future hold for my Bahama land? with our resources not being utilized for the betterment of our people... but being sold to non-Bahama land. no profits being aimed to, or sources being owned by our Bahama man. as i lift my head to the rising of the sun in this Bahama land, i see no hope for the future, no hope in my Bahama land. no one to speak up, the youth are out of luck. the elders show no interest, we are doomed. still, we march on to the glory.. but what bright banners do we have to wave high? the means of the leaders are of no significance, & i can no longer bear the pain that i witness. how will we excel if we do not love, & unite? going forward, will we stand together for a common, loftier goal? as i lift up my head to the rising sun in my Bahama land; i see anguish, i see fear & leaders with no care. all the things i see are broad. ...but may the road that my people trod lead us to our God, that will help us on this march to save our Bahama land.

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Step 1 get money Step 2 repeat the first never get high on your own supply that'll buy you a hearse it hurts to have to hit the corner till dawn feed death to my people but I've never been underneath a steeple I couldn't afford the time only church I know is where I lay these rhymes I'll split the Indonesia with the dude who had a seizure I believe ya but the gat don't, so to insure my profits your brains will splat don't take it personal I'm just trying to survive until the sunrise I'm not legal but the streets always advertise I advise you to stay away from my path the ballad of a Hustler cut up into halves

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May 27, 2015

May 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC

neroameealucard

The Ballad Of The Hustler

Step 1 get money Step 2 repeat the first never get high on your own supply that'll buy you a hearse it hurts to have to hit the corner till dawn feed death to my people but I've never been underneath a steeple I couldn't afford the time only church I know is where I lay these rhymes I'll split the Indonesia with the dude who had a seizure I believe ya but the gat don't, so to insure my profits your brains will splat don't take it personal I'm just trying to survive until the sunrise I'm not legal but the streets always advertise I advise you to stay away from my path the ballad of a Hustler cut up into halves

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Kickin' all the way the Live Coolio deep in ya Culo/ it's that Boy Yosef comin' with major Flavas/ with so Many Styles more than a Hair Doo Voodoo/ got ya eyes on ya know Who?/ so many ****** wanna Smoke me Cuz im the New Joint/ puttin' sparks to ya Head ****** Red/ if u thinkin' about Frontin'' Me/ ill make u Crossover like EPMD/ Rap Fanatic since i was Swimmin' in the Nut Sack the Mack Attack/ hittin' all your perspectives im takin' out all the Primitives/ in the Rap Game Shoot ya Stick try again my- Flows erected as a **** in between ***** ***** so take Chance it ya Want/ Watch the gun taunt in ya Face a sad Disgrace/ Slappin' a new taste in ya Mouth i Dropped it my Style can't be Competed you Obsoleted i'm Makin Profits the Funk Baby!!!! Many Emcees sweet as a KitKats so cut the Chit Chat/ cuz im bout to Splatter their careers into pieces Gotthem Envisionin' Doubles like Noah i Told ya the Tru Soldier Rollin' Dogia/ marchin' to the Beat with my Vocal a Tru Loco/ when i'm sippin E & J **** an Airplay pinin' Indo/ playin' suckas close like who's holdin' the most/ weight? Pushin' rhymes like weights Loots stay Connected like freight Train Crates/i Dominate from all states that's why they Call Me All-State/ but ya Ain't in Good Hands -tryna Step to the Big Man keep u heated galore like Afghanistan gettin' in that *** like Sand/ so take Stand and a Bow cuz im the Prowl/ for that Number One Slot ya rhymes loose as Jar Jelly **** what the critics tell me "Mr Big Stuff" girls call me "Heavy D" From then shaft that lays between me the Funk Baby!!!

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Oct 8, 2016

Oct 8, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC

Ru7hl355_Gangsta

The 70s Funk Baby

Kickin' all the way the Live Coolio deep in ya Culo/ it's that Boy Yosef comin' with major Flavas/ with so Many Styles more than a Hair Doo Voodoo/ got ya eyes on ya know Who?/ so many ****** wanna Smoke me Cuz im the New Joint/ puttin' sparks to ya Head ****** Red/ if u thinkin' about Frontin'' Me/ ill make u Crossover like EPMD/ Rap Fanatic since i was Swimmin' in the Nut Sack the Mack Attack/ hittin' all your perspectives im takin' out all the Primitives/ in the Rap Game Shoot ya Stick try again my- Flows erected as a **** in between ***** ***** so take Chance it ya Want/ Watch the gun taunt in ya Face a sad Disgrace/ Slappin' a new taste in ya Mouth i Dropped it my Style can't be Competed you Obsoleted i'm Makin Profits the Funk Baby!!!! Many Emcees sweet as a KitKats so cut the Chit Chat/ cuz im bout to Splatter their careers into pieces Gotthem Envisionin' Doubles like Noah i Told ya the Tru Soldier Rollin' Dogia/ marchin' to the Beat with my Vocal a Tru Loco/ when i'm sippin E & J **** an Airplay pinin' Indo/ playin' suckas close like who's holdin' the most/ weight? Pushin' rhymes like weights Loots stay Connected like freight Train Crates/i Dominate from all states that's why they Call Me All-State/ but ya Ain't in Good Hands -tryna Step to the Big Man keep u heated galore like Afghanistan gettin' in that *** like Sand/ so take Stand and a Bow cuz im the Prowl/ for that Number One Slot ya rhymes loose as Jar Jelly **** what the critics tell me "Mr Big Stuff" girls call me "Heavy D" From then shaft that lays between me the Funk Baby!!!

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