I am still the girl at forty
who loves the shadow
that never left her
James Barrie knew more than me:
sometimes a shadow needs soap,
or sewing, according to Wendy
I learned to appreciate the change
because so much of this body,
softer, speckled, and true
still works and runs its cogs
regardless
I lose control
where the wheels turn
too quickly,
Charlie Chaplin
We share the joke
of frenzied 'Modern Times'
"A day without laughter
is a day wasted"
I agree
My shadow and I
have learned to dance
on the assembly line
In young Victor Frankensteins' dreams,
he'd create a man by scientific means.
Since those days, we've come so far
in the wake of Frank Junior's shining star.
Senior's ambitious plan to make a mate
didn't really turn out so great.
The bride looked the monster down and up,
hissed, then gagged, and then threw up.
Junior would, this method, greatly refine,
turning out monsters by assembly line.
The smoke trails from my ears
my brain working overtime
absorbing thoughts
producing phrases
an assembly line of words
manufactured, produced and published by me
Is man but a workhorse
to be slowly ground to death
To slice his limbs to ribbons
on a slaughterhouse machine
To breathe in sewer muck and mire
or hurl on tractor-trailers never-ending tires
To toil in anonymity on a thankless assembly line
or inhale the toxic fumes of an Appalachian coal mine…
Young man, learn a skilled trade or train for a profession
Life does not have to be misery and depression
Fluorescent lights hummed
a monotone drone,
In the background,
the resonant chimes and dings
of the cash register sing.
A lone moth fluttered
past my empty dome
Light, purposeless,
similar to myself.
Glassy eyes wandered back,
staring deep into the infinite
assembly line I could not help
but lose myself in.
Neon nectars beckoned me
like a sugary siren,
I was a drunken sailor
to their decadent call.
I lost and found myself,
aisle after aisle
Until a warmth, a glow,
near divine, graced me.
A fresh soft pretzel
beckoned me to my very soul,
Golden yeast skin
cheddar cheese veins,
The savior I needed
to feel at ease again.
thoughts, willy-nilly, drift out of mind
restless in the muddle of entanglements
things
twisted
like my garden watering hose that weeps the earth to life
a bold green pushed to fruition
twisted
like winding highways that overtake you with litter
scraps of fast food for gulls in cherished feeding
twisted
like student summer factory work that manufactures
cursing
when assembly line work disassembles purpose
twisted
like landfill debris of mangled cellphones
tech faith that ushers us to connective clutter
twisted
like barely concealed malice
an ugliness unfolding worthy of trash TV
twisted
like war's celebratory cruelty, the tyrant's glee
in threatening a seeded nuclear future
still
in the midst of blaze and fumes, caress what's most
vulnerable
affirm the grit of human living
and hold out hope
like a candle hovering just outside a keyhole
Poem composed April 13, 2023
We go through life like a car
Brand new off the assembly line
Shining chrome, bright paint
With new tires full of tread
As we grow older we need oil changes
And checking our fluid levels
Checking our tire pressure
And our battery strength
Over the years we may get scratches and dents
Or have debilitating crashes
Putting us in the body shop for repair
Then we come back again shiny and new
Once again cruising on the road of life.
Until we can't do anymore and have to go to the junk yard of the sky.
submitted 4/10/2023
Bones of love that were ground
Spinning between worlds
Only seeing through memory
Locked into seriousness by a perception
Playful spirit awaiting realms to explore
Whimsical freedom can be found and made
A spirit a fae a beautiful shape
How would a jester do in a courtroom
A bee in an assembly line
Doing as they wish
Aligning or finding alignment
Spindling chalice
A crystal tree spanning
A nymph peering, tapping, murmuring
Scattered fruits
Can change to peaches or apples
Rest is not death, but stillness cripples playful joy
Amen
but we should be able to go back
review with now mature eyes
those infinite mangers
where we were dumped
at the end of the treadmill
in the drying area
of the assembly line.
we should be able to see
what expressions our matrices had
if they were happy and smiled
or kept a stern manner
an absent look
serious and frowning.
because the gods
were always extruders
injecting flesh, bones and fluids
in our humanoid molds
and we being just the elusive fruits
generated in series by the macabre verb
from a divine pack of sociopaths
deciding to engender us
to play to make it hurt.
Remember when only
assembly-line workers
were alienated?
Now if you're not
you're excommunicated
Embodied
By David J Walker
As if I were a Ford or Chevy
Or an Old’s 88
Classified by year and make and
Model, registered and taxed and
Licensed with the local government
A product of an assembly line from the
American Big 3 proudly adorned with
Airplane like fins and flashy chrome bumpers
Popular in my generation
Parts interchangeable with the few
That are still truly original but more likely
Remanufactured to my specific
Specifications
Some admire the stressed and aged look
That comes naturally with the milage
Others like us restored down to the
Last detail
Keeping us in a garage, taking us
Out on sunny weekends, showing us off
At nostalgia shows playing the music we
Can sing to.
I used to name my cars as if they had a soul
I remember them now as I pass a junkyards
And wrecking yard where they disassembled,
Used parts sold and the rest smashed into a
Coffin like metallic wafer, the sent off to the
Recycler.
Intelligent Design
When there is evidence of intelligence,
there is an intelligent mind
From an intelligent mind comes thought
and purposeful design
Everything we see has been made,
has a purpose for it's existence
An intelligent mind accepts it
without any resistance.
Who is there who would say
a beautiful house had no maker?
That a wedding cake had no purpose
and there was no baker?
An automobile needs a designer,
engineer and an assembly line
A watch needs a watchmaker to exist,
to mark the passing time.
Why is it then with so much
evidence of design in nature
That an intelligent mind cannot comprehend
that we too have a maker?
Original write 2016
re-posted August 16,2020
John Derek Hamilton
Humans are a social species, the men
in white coats, whom we have been
taught to trust, persuade us. Mr. President
mills about, run-of-the-mill
if you will, running the mill of the party,
the gathering. The women, like bushels
in their bustles, bustle about, foofing
their ruffles as trivialities are exchanged,
like bites
of cake that no one wants to admit
are too small. Mrs. First Lady extinguishes
the fire with a fire extinguisher of perfume,
atomized droplets
settling on chiffon like the Pilgrims
at Plymouth Rock. The men, neatly
assembled like compact
cars fresh off the assembly line,
assemble the women, corralling them
as a herd, unleashing
the lasso when one of them makes
herself heard.
Crystal Waters
Crystal waters
And foreign rain
Bring
Fluffy clouds of
wool and tweed
Cashmere, engineered
Cotton fields of fiber, seed and flappy lobe
Supplying fabric, textured textile
Thread and string
Spun into spheres
Layered and interwoven
Seamed, stitched and hemmed
A sheet, a leaf , a membrane
Chained captives
Held in bondage
Man-made machine
Black bodies on an assembly line
Harvesting white crop
Their sweat hide their tears
Rag cover their frame and cadaver
Mere androids
Their soul caged in
The whip , their law and discipline
Sighs of weary hands and tired feet
A mercy plea
The church of suffering
Shall render no more
Madame and monsieur ,dignity restored
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
08/24/19
On which side of the authority line
do you fall…
The pulpit,
The assembly line,
The suite down the hall
Who makes the decisions,
do you stand—do you kneel
Is it giving or receiving,
do you take—do you steal
How many horizons,
do your dreams fall behind
Are they distant—uncertain,
not in view to remind
Where your memories lie,
are your promises kept
Is the past now your future
—will the present forget
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)
(Abbreviated)
Are Promises Kept
Where your memories lie,
are your promises kept
Is the past now your future
—will the present forget
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)
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