The tearful human machines in the unscrupulous capitalist factory
The bourgeoisie weary ordeal human skeletons entangle in the cast iron wheels.
The profiteer squeezes their testicle and ovum.
Crush their Marrow less bones, Wisdom and Courage et cetera.
The output of thousands major products as same as by-products (ammunition) send for the market?
The Non-stop black smoke with soot from the factory's chimney top,
Poor fellows' dreams blow into the helpless sky and pollute;
The pure nature too quiet as an Owl of this cruel Monopoly.
And the stinking Sweatshop seems to be long-lived in this tyranny World.
I dedicate this poem to the humbug Mushroom Organizations that yelp of human rights.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Threadbare man cries in the third world
They do experiments, acrobats and miracles et cetera.
Their radars never catch a slight picture of him.
Even they see never bother of zero figures.
The bourgeoisie organizations bloom like mushrooms
and boast their welfare services.
The soft-hearted and soggy earth never refused to hide
the exodus and their poor skeletons.
To my poet friend Charles Chaim Wax
(not seen in the site a long time.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who We Are
80 % of your waste products are sent to the third world countries,
And like more breasts and more fat on the human body!
But the mirror reflects who we are on this earth.
You've developed ahead of us but your waste products are not recycled! !
But instead, they are exported to the third world countries;
And the poor of the poorest has to battle through them to survive,
Because they have no alternative!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monopoly
Like dictators
Monopoly is harmful for the masses
Since it tends to
Increase the market price
Of products and services
More and more
That’s why
The governments should
Encourage new investment
In the sector
The commercial banks
Have a crucial role to play
To stop monopoly
If there is no entrepreneur
Willing to invest in the field
The government should encourage
Foreign investment
To solve the problem
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Perfume Factory
The poor sooty chimney cleaner who shouts from a top;
' Oh! These trampled flowers cry irksomely
But the inhuman machines never stop the rotation
And crush the soft petals vigorously.
My vigilance is in vain as I am totally helpless
And the proprietor is useless.'
To my poet friend Duncan.Wyllie
* [ Where it goes the human fragrance? ]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Skeletons In The Closet
Woah-oh, woah-oh
Skeletons in my closet
Woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons in my shoes
Skeletons I can only see
I said woah-oh, woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons I can lose
Skeletons in my basement
Loitering on my streets
Wearing my best pajamas
Sandwiched between my sheets
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones, icy bones
Ooh, I see bones
Say say bones - say boys don't you see them bones?
Rattle them bones at midnight
Shaking my bed, no sleep
I find fingers in my coat pocket
Skeletons from the deep
I said woah-oh, woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones, s-see bones
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones
Say boys don't you see them bones?
No?
Heart bones, leg bones, ankle bones, arm bones,
finger bones, dogie bones, head bones
Skeletons in my closet
They even know when I'm in my closet
It's my.. my closet
Not your closet
My closet
You can have it though
Alice we want you
Alice
Alice
A-Alice
What?
Whaddya want
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I like to be
A black puppy on the road to heaven
but scared of rabies.
A Well-to-do lady will take me
on her way bounds home.
If I am a pebble at a riverside
or a pearl in a deep sea.
Remove my heavy garments
and be naked at a peak of a mountain
before I jump.
A new born child as a God son
in a quiet isolated nunnery.
An unburned candle in a poorest hut.
A pencil sketch drawing of a blind shepherd
and a sorrowful song of a dumb lass.
A soot on a chimney of an exploitation human factory.
I want to go back to my village old thatch school
and learn with my kind teachers again
the meaning of life.
Sleep besides my poor mom
and I promise her this time
to be a man and help each other.
A safety pin of a hand grenade
and explode in the pockets of war mongers.
(If all the war victimized widows requested only.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily of human lives, but of the products of human labor.
quote by George Orwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Hell Or To Connacht
To Hell or to Connacht was Cromwells's war cry
To poor Irish tenant farmers his cruel words did apply
Cromwell was a war criminal the facts never lie
To Hell or to Connacht were his words or die.
When Cromwell handed over the command of the Royalist Troops to Henry Ireton the results were the same
In human history their treatment of poor Irish people is a human shame
In their conquests of Ireland thousands of people died
Any form of human rights of them was denied.
Poor Irish tenant farmers were put on the road
To Connacht or to die of no fixed abode
Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton were far worse than cruel
They were despotic leaders who abused their rule.
Anyone who knows of history surely do know
Of the atrocities of the Crown forces in Ireland three and a half centuries ago
Cromwell and Ireton were horrible men
They must have been born in the Devil's den.
Some look on past history as over and gone
But in Ireland to Hell or to Connacht those words do live on
And thousands on walking to Connacht died of hunger and cold
The poor and forgotten their life stories untold.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poem I Most Love
THE POEM I MOST LOVE
The poem I most love
Was written to me by my dreams
Long before I was born
It did not know its name
But came from somewhere else deep inside
The beyond of God-
I do not know its name
I can only feel and hear it again and again
When the music of some other time
Some other life I lived once and have lost
Returns to me.
The poem I most love
Is the life which has been
And will never come again
Seeing it and hearing it
I know we human beings are dreams and dreams again always dreams
And never ever to be finally at peace and true
But longing and longing for what we were and not were
What we lived and did not live
What we will never be again
And always are.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The bill would ban human cloning, and any attempts at human cloning, for both reproductive purposes and medical research. Also forbidden is the importing of cloned embryos or products made from them.
quote by Ken Calvert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lot of sponsors over the years have left us. They've all come back. But they chose to leave us for a while because of stories we have done about them or their products or their friend's products or whatever.
quote by Morley Safer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Human Nature Blues
The human nature
Is to still from another person
The human nature
Is to swear at each other
The human nature
Is to talk non stop
The human nature
Is to kill
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Dwarves of Tao-Chou
In the land of Tao-chou
Many of the people are dwarfs;
The tallest of them never grow to more than three feet.
They were sold in the market as dwarf slaves and yearly sent to Court;
Described as “an offering of natural products from the land of Tao-chou.”
A strange “offering of natural products “; I never heard of one yet
That parted men from those they loved, never to meet again!
Old men—weeping for their grandsons; mothers for their children!
One day—Yang Ch’ëng came to govern the land;
He refused to send up dwarf slaves in spite of incessant mandates.
He replied to the Emperor “Your servant finds in the Six Canonical Books
‘In offering products, one must offer what is there, and not what isn’t there’
On the waters and lands of Tao-chou, among all the things that live
I only find dwarfish people; no dwarfish slaves.”
The Emperor’s heart was deeply moved and he sealed and sent a scroll
“The yearly tribute of dwarfish slaves is henceforth annulled.’’
The people of Tao-chou,
Old ones and young ones, how great their joy!
Father with son and brother with brother henceforward kept together;
From that day for ever more they lived as free men.
The people of Tao-chou
Still enjoy this gift.
And even now when they speak of the Governor
Tears start to their eyes.
And lest their children and their children’s children should forget the Governor’s name,
When boys are born the syllable “Yang” is often used in their forename.
Demo Crazy. We are fools..
What is hardship, when it has the degree,
What is that degree, which we have to agree,
I say that I work hard and suffer,
you may say that you feel better,
someone say that their life is a misery,
sufferers keep quiet and it is Irony.
Those who are homeless and penniless,
left on the road sides to be vagrants.
These vagrants have no idea,
that they have the right to plea,
thousands on the first world and
millions on the third world, but
churning stomachs prevent them
from executing their rights.
How docile they are,
to suffer in silence,
They are better than a silent lamb,
for they endure their entire life.
As long as we follow Adam Smith,
As long as we believe in demo crazy,
As long as we are ignorant of pain,
That our fellow human go through,
this world may belong to the rich and powerful,
Let us make sure every man on street,
has the right to live his life humanly.
Let us be the human to understand
this sickness of ignorance.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Verwoerd is Black
This poem is pregnant
with the black bloodshed of 1976.
This poem is constipated
with slavery of the poor.
This poem is the titanic of people’s hopes
sinking in the freezing ocean of democracy.
This poem is the enemy of the state,
‘cause, this poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
This poem is a hook that fishes
odd deeds buried behind black faces.
This poem is a mirror
that reflects odd unknown images
of stinking rich black men.
This poem is the voice of the angry dead.
This poem is a hammer to nail
in the brain of greedy politicians.
This poem is a database
of all black leaders.
This poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
This poem is for you
black man who spits
at the sight of a white man.
This poem is for you
white man who owns a savaged land
full of secret mass graves.
This poem is for you
black and white who hug and kiss
to please Madiba.
This poem is for you
the poor, who sing:
freedom has finally come.
This poem is for you, who know no truth,
‘cause, this poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
This poem is for you
my brother & sister who have lost taste
of your mother-tongue
in the multiracial Model C schools.
This poem is for you
black mama, who has configured her black being
‘cause black is barbaric.
This poem is the anger of hunger.
This poem is for the unemployed voters
who find solace in booze, sex & crime.
This poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
poem by Mpho Ramaano
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Subsequent to the original Quicken, the whole idea that we, as a consumer products company, could actually make business products, that was a whole revolution in our thinking.
quote by Scott Cook
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In other words, unlike some people with new theories, we will go out, we'll go into a school and we get products and the products are evaluated, whether it's by teachers or others. The scores are quantified and then we compare performances.
quote by Robert Sternberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every time we bring someone in we ensure that they are a strategic thinker, but even more important that they understand that if the products aren't successful and the products don't sell that there won't be anything to strategize about.
quote by David Rose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You may write a poem for me
For a start of the day
Write a poem for me
I am weary I am unhappy
I make no sense at all
After the learning and
The knowing, I learn
The senselessness of it all,
This is not my world
This is not the world
We all yearn to live
I quit I stop this thing
It is your turn now
To believe to be awed
To be human to be alive
Make me a poem
The best poem you can
Read it to me, let me
Hear your voice,
You who also ask, you
Who also want to be dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Against Their Human Rights
How many times have I heard them say
it’s against his human rights
when a killer goes to court?
Hey, but what about the victim
and his or her family.
Don’t they have human rights too?
Is it only the killers who have human rights?
It really makes you wonder.
They commit a crime against
someone innocent in our society.
Then you get some idiot
starts shouting their punishment
is against their human rights.
Now what would happen if that idiot
lost a family member to some killer?
Would they still be shouting
and waving banners about his human rights?
I sincerely doubt it;
they’d probably say like a lot of us
that the killer has no human rights.
They forfeited them the day
they took someone’s life.
We may forgive them
for what they do,
but they must still take the punishment
the Courts of the land hand down.
13 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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