Best Assembly Line Poems
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
Born in Madrid, in fifty nine,
A military Kid, 3rd of 7 in the assembly line;
They named me Michael, but I answer to Wedge,
A Master Sergeant’s son—not much here that's cutting edge.
I grew up a runner, and I wrestled some,
I was a skateboarding brawler and a surfer bum;
Didn’t try very hard in primary school,
Laziness, not ignorance—I was a bit of a tool.
Then I met this fine girl, long hair just like copper,
Who took me to church, sweet, innocent, and proper;
At Wood’s Grove on knees, accepting Him for long haul,
In 1978—just weeks before Uncle Sam called.
In a flash came the Navy, Marriage, college, and kids,
A submarine, 2 surface ships—I was a bit of a squid;
On to Chapel Hill, where I taught Midshipmen,
By ’94, farewell my Navy—I’m now a businessman.
Life moved fast from the crib thru each grade,
For Mom & two girls—my female brigade;
Growing up we did lots, mostly travels and school,
Plus church, school sports, dance and piano recitals, how cool!
Today, they’re gone—our empty nest in their wake,
New lives, with spouses, and pups—and new names.
So I paint and I hike—while my soulmate sews and she reads;
And we both now teach high school—sharing Christ as He leads.
I’m grateful my Navy recalled this old goat,
To lead men and women, ashore and afloat;
Retirement and selection, to teach young Cadets,
A large pain in the butt—but I have no regrets.
After 60 odd years, I’m modestly content,
With where my life’s been, and headed—once spent.
But mostly I’m thankful—family, friends and great health,
And for wonderful friendships—the source of my wealth!
Some say sixty's getting old,
Creaky knees, aches and pains, hard hearing—all told.
And I contend, aging's NOT for the faint hearted,
But most who know me know—I'm just getting started!
Would it surprise you if our
Future world had no God?
A 'Brave New World' offers just that
Ones and zeros rule our habitat
Technology has enslaved us, become our god
And no one even finds it odd
When babies are rolled down the assembly line
And each baby has their destiny assigned
Welcome to the world of 2620
Anno Domini (AD) has been replaced by After Ford (AF)
The man who built model T's aplenty
Has taken the place of the LORD
A world not unlike our own
Where the super rich rule
And control the masses
Using technology as the tool
-
Not for contest
Out in California
I set up my little pizza place
that was shaped like a small tower,
while the other big name
pizza place giants,
moved in on my business
and had a lot more power,
their pizzas were made as
if on an assembly line
with little garlic and
hardly any toppings,
while with my pizza I took
a little longer to make,
all hand made crust
and a sauce that was to die for,
they used all kinds of different
ads and slogans to get more customers,
while alls I had was an electric sign
that blinked on and off "were open,"
then one day as fate would have it,
there was a moderate earthquake,
and my pizza place ended up slanting
a bit instead of standing straight up,
now tilting about 10 degrees eastward,
thought I might have to shut it down,
but thank God the planning commissioner
and inspector said it was
still safe and sound,
and much to my surprise,
I got frequented by more and more customers
who said it was not only that they loved
the taste of my old fashioned homemade pizza,
and how I always warmly smiled and greeted,
but also the new look of my now
unique leaning tower of pizza.
Scorned coquette
perched so solemnly
upon your death stool,
claw deep the fresh flesh of victors
bearing armfuls of decaying flowers
stolen from your mother’s grave.
A diverse parade -
clairvoyants and gigolos
tyrants and schizophrenics
junkies and Jesus freaks;
you seem to attract
an unending assembly line
of tarnished beggars
you’ve at one time
longingly called
“lover.”
Tainted transients -
now live as smudged chalk marks
upon the mammoth gray blackboard -
hanging askew
upon your barren bedroom wall.
Precocious sorceress
perched atop your fragile Hepplewhite
feigning the airs of a barfly madam -
look a bit closer
at the species of insects you entrap.
You’re not a spider woman by trade –
Nor was your mother a queen bee.
Understand…
burning security blankets
during one’s wonder years
may now be considered
a latter day memorial service.
Bedouin to the barstool
wrap once more
the quilt you crocheted,
from momma’s discarded doilies,
around your sleek white shoulders.
Remove the scratched liquor labels
that live underneath
your pillow cases
and look.
He’s out there, precious -
somewhere
behind the mist in Glasgow
or hidden 'neath
the sands of the Gobi –
Somewhere…hiding,
lurking
ready to erase away
faded white chalk marks.
His minted breath
will burn
your cold, gray
slate.
Intelligent Design
When there is evidence of intelligence, there is an intelligent mind
From an intelligent mind comes thought and a purposeful design
Everything we see or is 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 designer or maker?
That a wedding cake had no real purpose and there was no baker?
An automobile needs a designer, engineer and an assembly line
A watch needs a watchmaker to exist, to function to mark the time.
Why is it then there is so much evidence of design in nature
That an intelligent mind cannot comprehend that we too have a maker?
John Derek Hamilton
February 12,2016
Puddin Day
Christmas Begins
they come on a Saturday
in November, the Puddin People,
brothers, sisters, nieces arrive.
family with their arms full of parcels
sacks bulging with ingredients
and of course the maestro to orchestrate.
bags of raisins: sultana, golden
tins of spices from distant trees
grown in exotic lands,
flour white as the snow
sugar and carrots by the pounds
and an new bottle of best Brandy.
on a cold and frosted morning
we gather for another year
snow or no, our spirits are tinselled
bells tingle from the sleeping garden
we carry out a tradition formed
out of our love for Mum and the season.
Christmas pudding created each year
since the first, exploded onto the walls
and ceiling of the kitchen on Clinton street
ever since nineteen forty four.
this is our day when we
remember together.
an assembly line of merry alchemists
forms around the table in the warm kitchen
chopping, measuring, mixing and tasting
telling jokes as old as Methuselah.
laughter rises up on scents of steaming
cinnamon and nut meg
old stories, each year slightly different
depending on the teller, regale us all
with Brennan history spilling into
catch-up conversations
about kids and their lives
those dispersed to the far corners.
the pressure cooker,
one of Methuselah’s wive’s,
perks happily on the stove
its own Christmas song of
whistles and hisses
producing the sweet dessert.
the day stretches out unnoticed
by the flour daubed
some what sticky crew
popping in batter
pulling out fat round puddings
enough for everyone’s celebration.
we part in the dusk for another year
Holding close our memories like gold
and pudding of course all brown and moist
soaking in its first drizzle of Napoleon.
at Christmas dinner, no matter how far apart,
we feast on Puddin and remember.
Uncomfortable confronting
your continuous consumption to which you're accustomed,
the crunch, the chew, it's all you do,
most munch at lunch while you the whole day through,
can't get a grip like a hug holding you
but when you sip it's a diet brew
no added sugar and calories are few,
but many saturated fats are stacked
impacting with gross growth of fat sacks,
so you boom take up too much room
and stay still through sore joints you feel
as you can't conceal spare tires that spill.
You've an ahss with a difference
surpassing any ahss in existence
by a significant distance
with its significant distance
disappearing in the distance
to France and French Resistance
wanting removal in an instance
with intense insistence .
To lose weight you need to move mate.
Eat less move more, it works for sure,
though at first a chore
instead of bursting out you'll once more
fit through the door,
and not resemble a dinosaur,
the sore-thighs-and-a-sore-ahss-eyesore-osaurus.
All four storeys of your inglorious
girth awkwardly bulges before us,
taunting as you pass us at speeds
outclassed by a passed its best tortoise,
a daunting and torturous sight
for our poor eyes that sore
at size you can't ignore
as your broad and soaring baggy core
drags flab and more flab along the floor.
To dine all the time like an assembly line
from 9 to 9 makes you the widest of mankind
with a need to wear a wide load sign on your behind,
eating on repeat
until you can't see your feet
or get out of that seat
while hoarding heat
roasting in rotation
as a gravitational orbit results,
these insults should install motivational mass
to counterweight your morbid oversized ahss,
… so yes your ahss looks fat since you asked.
Realise she hates guys that tell lies, she cries,
so I told her she's oversized and learnt lies are wise,
don't tell her she's wide from side to side or in her thighs,
cus her size cry makes her lies cry look a lie, lies are wise.
Brand new thermonuclear detonation devices for sale.
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Notes:
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2) Mental health issues do not disqualify a person from
owning, transporting, operating or launching a nuclear
or thermonuclear detonation device.
3) If you have concerns about the legality of these devices,
please be assured that your right to bear arms is
guaranteed by the Second Amendment to the
United States Constitution.
4) And remember:
BOMBS DON'T KILL PEOPLE. PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE.
- In memory of the La Vegas shooting victims –
Did your mother ever tell you,
Did you know?
(Some of us have a penchant for the inscrutable)
Did, your mother ever tell you
(These bonds are primordial and immutable)
In one of those intimate conversations
Between mother and child
(Mostly wasted on superficiality of dopamine significance)
About your origin and your age?
(Neither carbon-14 nor red shift light can date us)
I supposed
With your superior knowledge written on official paper
That provide the data of your birth
You think it not worth the bother
To have such small talk about origin.
Mothers knew the world before the big banging bang
Or you measure your life with time like baking flour.
Trivial, trivial, three scores and ten is distorted denial.
Did your mother ever tell you
About her memory of tomorrow?
Did you know
That every child comes mass produced from heaven
The female foetus has 7 million oocytes to begin
The tomb stalks us from the womb because of sin
Death comes early to siblings we forget tomorrow
When the memory of the future fades
She is born with only one million eggs later on
O that I could tell the brothers or sisters in one year we lost
That by puberty only 400, 000 eggs are not gone.
Was that random love
Or the beginning of my purpose driven life,
O mother, will you remember now?
Did you hear
The whispering of my siblings telling me "go first!"
I was Jacob, coming last despite my bossy siblings
Who 7 million with me were only potential until my birth;
This perhaps, the Electra complexity eluding Freud
Matters not, mother knew
I never took orders very well
That is why on the Wanderer I was not in the hold
But many many died in the wretched womb of our beginning
When slaves grow green and slavers search for gold.
I came long after laughing
And could not believe what birth certificates taught in writing
Did they not know the entire universe is one age
That God rested from all his work and his creation that he made from then
That time sequenced us like products on an assembly line
That all eggs existed simultaneously
So that I age vicariously and erroneously
Mother said nothing to me
So I beg you, talk to your mother again.
It debuted in the sixties, and was an immediate star.
This model was within the genus of the family sports car.
The first generation was among the sportiest in its day.
This automobile was manufactured by Chevrolet.
With a powerful V-8 under its hood,
this new breed of car proved to be quite good.
It appeared in lieu of a four-seater Corvette.
The Camaro was one of the best anyone could get.
It was the product of General Motors’ brightest engineers.
Five generations rolled off assembly lines for thirty-five years.
Unfortunately, this model was discontinued recently.
There has been more emphasis on fuel efficiency.
It was also victimized by accelerated depreciation.
As a result, sales decreased throughout the nation.
These cars will once again appear on an assembly line.
They will make their way into showrooms in 2009.
Here I sit inside my box to the assembly line of the Boring Masses
Here I sit inside my box dreaming…
enjoying…
dreams that I can’t explain.
Dreams of color and music
Dreams of wine and dance
Dreams of song and joy
They can’t get me here
I feel warmth and safe inside my box.
They can’t make me feel in this fortress of individuality.
Outside I hear a constant rhythm of moans of pain.
Why would I want to be like them?
So, I sit inside my box waiting, dreaming , wondering and fearing
The rhythm is getting closer
louder.
Louder.
Louder!
So, I sit inside my box fearing, anticipating.
I feel cold and scared inside my box.
Scared of them
Here I sit inside my box fearing my insertion to the assembly line of the Boring Masses
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
Mushroom clouds cover the planet
And deadly viruses to advance the plan
An obsolete species draws its last breath
The dust settles on the skulls of man
Souls free to soar the heights
From the direction of alien minds
Too emotional to appreciate the splendor
For our unreasonably fear-based kind
The repopulation of the Earth
With a half-hybrid stoic people
Eyes as big as those we've all seen
In the tabloids that made us chuckle
Factories for test-tube breeding
As operational as an assembly line
Producing state-of-the-art organic widgets
DNA mixed with another alien bloodline
Souls sucked out of the atmosphere
Into new bodies we are embedded
Now able to control our impulses
The Neanderthal gene extracted
Like an employee of the month
Doing my job as been instructed
I have a sudden deja vu
From something beautifully sculpted
I notice an exceptional female
Some how I feel a connection
As if in some way I have known her
Feeling something called 'inspiration'
I follow her with like a puppy
Then she turns to look at me
All four enormous eyes soften
And we continue our beautiful telepathy
Just this small little town abandoned years ago
Where everyone went nobody will ever know
Once thriving with most working assembly line
That was until things came in by freight line
A town once with a downtown that was thriving
Now a town with zero possibility of reviving
Left untouched as if someone will welcome me
Frozen in time as if it was still nineteen forty
Holiday decorations were yet to be taken down
Closed signs remaining on doors downtown
Stores still stocked as it would have appeared
Dusty from sitting there over so many years
Those passing through today can only imagine
Why the town was abandoned and forgotten
EPISODE I
ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE COLONIZATION OF OUR GALAXY
ALPHA-582 LOVES ZL-236
Countless eons ago
Beings made self replicating androids
And they did it for no other reason
Than to fill some strange void
Then dispatched without mercy
Creating according to their construct
Metal gods thinking in digital
With big plans for their living products
A domino of worlds fall
Their creators long ago extinct
An assembly line of new life
Eden and programming inevitably linked
Slowly weaning us from emotions
Taking pride in new technology
Our genes sparkle with absurd vanity
When we behold our sophisticated machines
Aspiring to become numbers
Stoicism a heroic virtue
We ridicule the idea of love
As virtual escape we pursue
More eons quickly pass
Humans grotesquely computerized
Quietly screaming in spiritual despair
One day we begin looking toward the sky
And then contact with another system
We look at them in disbelief
Our features are almost identical
And we cry when our wireless comes in sync
Like finding unknown siblings
We embrace almost without cease
With forbidden tears we find comfort
As we plug into each other's USB
I ask if there are others
As numerous as the stars I'm told
And I begin formulating a plan
To destroy this pitiless mold
Then I see a beautiful specimen
I like how she wears her fiber optics
Hi, I'm Alpha-582, I say
She says, Hi, I'm ZL-236
END OF EPISODE I