Marketing Plan
There is no space to move. There is no choice
To be made, barricaded in the billboard
Clusters that cloister the singular voice
As it combats a hungry, zombified hoard.
They'll deafen you with their chorusing moans
As they bind your body to brand-name chains.
Then they'll cleave your muscles off of your bone
And scrape the dried flakes of blood from your veins.
The ravenous urge that drives them is a
Thirst for never-ceasing satiation,
An unquenchable to need to feed on prey
That long for freedom and deviation.
They'll devour each other too 'fore they dine—
Feast on their own int'rests to feast on mine.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Death Of The Innocent Whore
she submits to the
hold of the chains
hoping to regain her
freedom that he once
took away from her
soon, soon, she keeps
telling herself
the iron chains tighten
on her arms
soon, soon, she keeps
telling her body
gyrating to the feast
of his drunkenness
to Bacchus he cheers
till dusk
until one day a dead woman
lies dead on the floor
bathed in her own blood
she finally got
what she had long sought.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Butterfly Fx
When I move
You move with me
I feed off you
You feast on me
And what I see
You can not see
That when I move
You move with me
Where's this small
dead hand that creeps me
I am biting it to its very bone
Collapsing with everything new on me
until it gets so very old
And what I see
You can not see
That when I move
You move with me
There is this third body
spinning fast
reducing me
into a relapse
with its crippled flaps
slow motion dims
sweetly parasited
by butterfly wings
And what I see
You can not see
That when I move
You move with me
All that is old is new again
(To be) each other spies
we're condemned
Everything is everywhere
The butterfly effect
And what I see
You can not see
I will have to kill you
Before you kill me
Everything is everywhere
The butterfly effect
song performed by by Moonspell from Butterfly Effect
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Feast or Famine
Neither feast nor famine
should show its fickle face.
The wine for some
and for most just a trace.
A few bitter drops of bitter liquid
lapped up by their thirst
and why?
Because others must come first?
And who decides this unfair thing?
Must not be the one whose praises we sing.
And who shall stop this unfair thing?
Must not be any that call themselves King.
Neither feast nor famine
should ever be allowed.
And those that feast should hunger
and feed the starving crowd.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wedding Feast
Brother dear brother,I came as quickly as I could
The Digital Haze is broken,The Banished Ones r gone 4 good, gone 4 good"
Now there must b a wedding/Now there must b a feast
A feast, a feast/A smorgasbord at least
A brunch, a munch/Of cake if just a piece
Not just a vat of chitlins/Or turkey meat u c
We r what we eat/So we must eat a leaf
We'll dine under a tree/Unless it snows!
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My heart yearns for freedom
Free my heart from the chains of my unfulfilled life
My life of living with no zeal for life
My life of living with a dead soul and a distorted mind
My life of breathing with no air to my lungs
Living life with no purpose is like living no life
Going with the flow of life with your heart resisting
Is like plunging in a burning fire with your eyes opened
I’m crying out loud to you the energies of the universe
With the hope that you’ll notice the sound I make
And that you will comprehend the motive behind my cry
I urge to be freed from the unhappiness that prevails within
My heart yearns to be freed from the suppression of its strength
From being denied its power of self-expression and actualisation
My soul cries for freedom to project its actual image to the outside
It demands that the chains be destroyed to allow it the well deserved freedom
Feed my hungry heart with its energy and its food for the soul
Invite life to my heart by granting it an opportunity to be itself
Activate my heart by releasing it from its chains of freedom
These chains comprise my insecurities and my fears
Untying the chains will loosen up these negative forces
Destroying these chains will destroy these enemies of my success
And will give me freedom that I desperately long for
Freedom to my heart is freedom to my being
Allowing my heart some freedom is giving life to my soul
Allowing my heart some freedom is granting me my true life
Give my heart its freedom and breathe air into my lungs.
poem by Tsholofelo Mooketsi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Affianced
The clock strikes twelve sonorous chimes.
The witching hour of midnight is here
the best of times the worst of times.
That vampires love and humans fear.
Upon your balcony I stand and gloat,
you lie unconscious that I am near.
I feast my hungry eyes upon your throat
I cast a spell of calm to soothe your fear.
Your raven hair upon the pillow spread,
a startling contrast of light and shade.
Your lissom figure lying safe in bed
Confirms to me the choice that I have made.
Your fresh clean blood will revitalise me
and send new fire coursing through my veins.
Stop in its tracks the lethargy
and prove an anodyne for my pains.
As mist I filter through the smallest space.
To stand beside your bed and contemplate
my latest lover from the human race.
A source of life that I appreciate.
Your beauty moves me almost to pity.
For one brief moment I hesitate
but hunger overcomes my charity.
My burning need is such I cannot wait.
Your throat’s pulsating throb in the moonlight,
The warm rich blood I see that flows inside
holds me entranced so I delay the bite.
Beguiled by the perfection of your skin
You move and I can see between your breasts
a silver crucifix reflecting light.
My frustrated blood lust screams its protest
I have no choice for this I cannot fight.
Struck by your face and form you were my choice.
A draught of nectar that would satisfy,
a meal to make an emperor rejoice.
A delight for me that you would not deny.
You are protected by that blessed cross
I am frustrated but I cannot fight
It is not fair that I should suffer loss,
The cross pays no attention to my need.
But I must feed and very soon
I leave you my delicacy
So I fly out under the moon
and break my fast greedily.
Upon a tramp much coarser fare
Than was intended for my feast
His wine soaked blood cannot compare
with yours my love not in the least.
You cross protected you this night
and I was forced to turn and flee
from power that I cannot fight.
But you my sweet are meant for me.
You will forget to wear that sign
around your neck but I can wait
and when you do then you are mine
a gift that I’ll appreciate.
Your fresh young beauty calls to me
I must and will pursue my quest
and I will watch you ceaselessly.
For you I’ve chosen as the best.
Sleep well my love and stay healthy
Enjoy your life in happiness
I know that you belong to me,
Without your cross you are helpless.
You will forget to put it on
Just one small act of carelessness
Then you become mine alone
And I’ll enjoy your tenderness.
We vampires are a patient breed.
Immortality grants us this
We wait to satisfy our need
Then we bestow the fatal kiss.
The tender kiss you do not feel
Nor do you feel that single bite
That pierces you, your blood to steal.
That rapturous moment of delight.
It’s only when you start to crave
For sweet fresh blood that’s rich and red.
An urge that brings you from your grave
You realise you are undead.
You join the ranks of predators
that stalk the dark of night to feed.
There is no justice or recourse
From the half life you’re forced to lead.
Once I was young and innocent
but she seduced me with her charm
A foolish youth on pleasure bent
I knew not that she meant me harm.
No harm I mean to you my love.
Nay I but grant eternal life
A lasting life for you and me
we can enjoy as man and wife.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Curly Locks
_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,--
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream._
Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
The throb of my heart is in every line,
And the pulse of a passion as airy and glad
In its musical beat as the little Prince had!
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine!--
O I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine
Till the pink of the nail of each finger shall be
As a little pet blush in full blossom for me.
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream,--
The red of my veins, and the white of my love,
And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof.
And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream
From a service of silver, with jewels agleam,--
At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,
And twinkle my soul in the night of thine eyes!
_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine.--
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream._
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Specters
What is the architecture of a life?
Not the bricks and mortar of cells,
The branches of arteries and veins,
Sinews, muscles or bone that made you.......
The gene machine.
The big bang with which every life begins.
I am grateful to the sperm donor;
To the warm wet nest that nurtured me,
Until the time I made my first appearance.
It is the only time you have centre stage,
The star.
For me though there were no loving arms
Gentle words,
Lullaby,
Having made me, the two principles left
Exit stage right.
They sadly could not stick around,
To mess me up or be of any influence,
But they made me, gave me life
The architects if not the builders,
That was left to kinder hands.
So why are always specters at my feast?
P H Brookes Copyright 2011
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Blood
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
He gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
And I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blessing
THE MASTER He was hungry:
‘Shall we not dine,’ said He,
‘On the good fruit amongst the leaves
Of this delightful tree?’
But oh! the fig-tree bore no fruit.
‘Wither,’ He bade it, ‘to the root,
For thus deceiving me.’
The Master He was hungry.
He plucked the grains so red
Of wheat that grew beside the way,
And He was bravely fed.
‘For this,’ He said, ‘I guerdon thee,
Through all the years, a type to be
Of Christ, the Living Bread.’
The Master He was thirsty.
He raised His hand on high,
And crushed the good red grapes that grew
The nearest to the sky.
‘And as thou gavest me drink of thine,
So must I pour my blood, O Vine,
When I for man shall die.’
The Master He was passing
From men He held so dear.
The feast with bread and wine was made;
The Friday Cross was near.
‘Droop not!’ He spoke, and blessed their food:
‘The broken Body and the Blood
Sustain you year by year.’
And corn and wine thenceforth have stood
His symbols everywhere.
poem by Mary Colborne-Veel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh blood (Lyrics)
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
he gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris,
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
and I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freedom Is…
Freedom…
Freedom…
What is freedom?
It’s a footprint in the sand…
A whisper on the wind.
It’s a thought…
An emotion.
It’s a choice…
A gift.
Freedom is what freedom is.
Freedom is a pot on the stove…
The water in a glass.
It’s a smile on a mouth…
A tear on the cheek.
It’s a choice…
A gift.
Freedom is what freedom is.
Freedom is a breeze in your hair…
The heat in the air.
It’s the heart in your chest…
The veins in your arms.
It’s a choice…
A gift.
Freedom is what freedom is.
What is freedom?
Freedom is what freedom is.
poem by Stacey Stevens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whiite Paper Of A White Tiger
WHITE PAPER OF A WHITE TIGER
At my very door step
Exactly on the same time;
They serve me a square meal
Of chopped up, weighed fresh meat
Tested and vitaminised
Bucket-full of ready feast
…….no ….no…..I am not a VVIP
But, jailed for years
As a rare Bengal beast
One way, I am quite happy
That I need not have to labour
Or strain myself for a small prey
They are treating me as an ‘ex-ruler'
Loss of freedom - I do not even bother
In view of the respects
Care they offer, I feel much better
Than a loner in the forest
Sometimes, I may not be hungry at all
And have to skip a meal
On a long nap in my cellar
Quickly, they will move me
To the veterinary lab
Until they certify that nothing is wrong
Great people and their love and affection
Never allowing me to go fasting or dieting
I meet daily visitors of all sort
Joyous, sad, haves and have-not
Hanging on to the bars with awe and sympathy
As if I am at loss, punished or starved
In fact, through the dividing bars
Watchfully, I come across numerous faces
Dried up and charmless,
With no traces of happiness
And I silently, thank that I was so fortunate
For I can roar, walk majestically
Even under the terms of captivity
The poor people across, are cowed down
With invisible chains and cages
Their roaming and movements at free will
Doesn't make any sense to me
Though, in reality and at this age,
I cannot hunt a tiny rat on my own skill.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Consider It Done
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Consider it done.
Getting near a fiscal cliff,
And knowing of it.
But...
ignoring all the warnings,
Or it there to exist...
To feed an addiction to greed,
Regardless of the risks.
Well...
Consider it done.
Your feeding.
Done.
And with a greeding.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
The feast.
Consider it done.
That feast depleted,
With a wish for more to eat...
Is done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Are Demons Needing To Feed
Demons needing to feed on negativity,
Eventually devour themselves.
With the hopes that the doing of it,
Will attract those who come to empathize...
In a sacrifice that devotes the giving of their lives,
As an unconscious act that snaps backs...
For snacks to crack while munching on their missions,
To rid any sign of peace!
There are demons needing to feed,
On the presence of harmony.
They are demons seeking a need,
To lust on those sufferers...
Aiming to please the greeding of beasts.
Feeding their cravings as if at a feast.
They're demons seeking a need,
To lust on those sufferers...
Aiming to please the greeding of beasts.
Feeding their cravings as if at a feast,
To rid any sign of peace...
Wherever presented.
Demons needing to feed on negativity,
Eventually devour themselves.
With the hopes that the doing of it,
Will attract those who come to empathize...
In a sacrifice that devotes,
The giving...
Of their lives.
To follow and to be devoured.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freedom Of Choice
A victim of collision on the open sea
Nobody ever said that life was free
Sank, swam, go down with the ship
Just use your freedom of choice
Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Your freedom of choice
In ancient rome there was a pawn
Who faught alone
And watched it fall
He cast a stone
He felt secure
He felt that hed never be hurt
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!
Give into the voice
You dont want it
Seems to be the rule of thumb
Dont be tricked by what you see
You got two ways to go
Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Freedom of choice
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!
In ancient rome there was a pawn
Who faught alone
And watched it fall
He cast a stone
He felt secure
He felt that his voice would never be heard
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice!
Is what you want
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice!
Is what you want
Freedom from choice
Is what you want
Freedom from choice!
song performed by by A Perfect Circle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mountain And The Snake
a long black yellow snake with stripes
arrives hissing
looking for a prey
a rat perhaps
but there is none
not even an ant for a snack
and so the long black yellow snake with stripes of green
slides its way to a dark, moist cave
tight on its door
pushing its long slimy body
to the tip of the
cave's orifice to the end of its
intestine
it was a good tickle
and the whole body of the mountain
gives a tremble
a moan and from the slits of its sides
to the tip of its feet
and toes and trees
the whole body of the mountain
moans
happy with the long slimy body of the
snake's skin and bone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I prithee spare me gentle boy
I prithee spare me gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy,
That foolish trifle of an heart;
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy pow'r and art.
For through long custom it has known
The little secrets, and is grown
Sullen and wise, will have its will,
And like old hawks pursues that still
That makes least sport, flies only where't can kill.
Some youth that has not made his story,
Will think perchance the pain's the glory,
And mannerly sit out love's feast;
I shall be carving of the best,
Rudely call for the last course 'fore the rest.
And oh when once that course is past,
How short a time the feast doth last;
Men rise away and scarce say grace,
Or civilly once thank the face
That did invite, but seek another place.
poem by John Suckling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bad Blood
Desperate man, desperate times
Desperate heart
Once she was mine
Bad blood, cold sweat
The more I give, the less I get
She picked clean to the bone
Black ice, danger zone
Bad blood runs through her veins
Shes got bad blood
Shell never change
I held on long as I could
But that girl - bad blood
Perfect crimes, no clues
That girls just bad news
I held on long as I could
Bad girl, bad blood
She cut clean to the bone
Tight jeans, danger zone
Girls got bad blood ...
Glass heart, fools gold
Her blood is stone cold
Held on long as I could
But that girls just no good
She picked clean to the bone
Black ice, danger zone
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem about Poetry - Adam's first poem after the fall
i did not know sin meant chains
so full of them all over my physique
and i did not know the deceptive apple
could lead to this woeful state
only god now is boundless freedom
the paradise boundless freedom
rhe sky boundless freedom
the sea boundless freedom
and to enjoy all these now in chain,
boundless the hurt is the heart
injurious chain on every inch of my physique
that jolts me for their wants
every minute of the day
and to know that i will pass this chain
down to every of my offsprings
binding them down to earth
till they become just dust and bones
chained, chained, chained,
this hateful long chain the devil spawned
that laid end to end
could snake its way round the world
this hateful chain that circles the body
imprisons it, hurtful as red hot iron
how stealthily it works day by day
tightening its grip
till i am wrinkled, bent, and bedridden
till only the last breath would release me
of its curse
this chain that torture me for wordly needs
oh god, how hateful you are
to bind me in these red hot chains! ! !
note:
chain refers to the blood vessels round our body
they indeed resemble a chain
as never did adam experience hunger
until this chain exacted its wants
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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