Best Bourgeoisie Poems
Blue sky fades in the summer sun
Summer sun gives way to fun on the run
Warm air , dark nights, watchin’ city lights
Drivin’ down the avenue ,takin’ in the sights
Moon comes up over a cozy ocean blue
Leaving a path to dream of something new
Upon the sea wishes come true
Drivin’ down the avenue
When life goes bad , the good times gone
Where you gonna go , to sing your song
Workin’ a part time job, pullin’ down a part time purse
Should a stayed in the grades, not gone to work
But at least you got more comin’ out of school
They give adults less, that ain’t cool
What the heck is up with that
Crazy bastards tryin’to control their peeps
Ruin your life, while they become the rich elite
Life is easy feedin’ on the bourgeoisie
Life is easy reflectin’ on things that should a been
Feel the breeze, watch the city lights , take in the sights
The sun still shines , so take your fun on the run
On moonlit paths , over the oceans wrath
But leave a path for dreamin’ something new
Sometimes wishes come true , drivin’ down the avenue
The tradition of marriage,
Bourgeois blackmail and baggage,
Is it all a bargain for men,
Is this what white weddings meant?
All the love that is lost,
And what is the ultimate cost?
A divorce court pizza,
Magistrate smirks like Mona Lisa,
Four corners, one for each,
Dog gets the crust, if it can reach,
Cats get the anchovies,
Were white weddings all for phonies?
When is the revolution?
Blancmange brides for pollution,
Bridesmaids-Little Bo Peeps on crack,
Does society cut us some slack?
We joined the bourgeoisie,
All ends in tears and hypocrisy.
Can you remember who you were before the world told you who to be?
reminiscing on elementary, high school, college, was that really me?
they say you live and you learn well I don't necessarily agree...
because until you see the framework of the system you're still a detainee...
we've been manipulated and conditioned to accept bourgeoisie,
it starts with our education, or should i say domestication? sit down, shut up, and agree...
i hate to break it to you, but it doesn't mean you're smart just because you have a degree...
how many of you wanted to work in a cubicle when you were three?
whatever happened to artisanship and being crafty?
I once heard, dont believe anything you hear and only half of what you see
Haven't you ever felt that simply existing is an oddity?
Were specks of dust amidst billions of galaxies
Were something like a tributary of the singularity
Shoutout to Robert Pirsig, I hope this is "quality"
Were destroying our environment in exchange for society,
destroying our forests and source of oxygen like some sort of black friday spree,
starting war in the middle east for oil and the currency,
our debts closing in on 18 trillion, is where were headed really that hard to foresee?
oh and don't forget about our 120 trillion in unfunded liabilites,
This path were on isnt conducive to sustainability,
but seriously, I'm just some kid from Oklahoma, feel free to disagree
(Re old poems)
The luncheon of French bourgeoisie under frilly striped awning.
Young fair maiden, rosy cheeks- beguiling her eyes; leans on the railing.
Amidst fruits and undrunk wine in amorous air strokes dog, a wife.
Men look askance in yellow straw hats, faces muse in blazing whites.
Quivering tints alive on a terrace, evolve in sunbathed human life.
``
Based on Auguste Renoir's painting - ''Luncheon of the Boating Party''
I'm trying to save the world today.
The glory moment.
Finish the novel.
Feed the children.
Fill their souls.
Redeem the soul of the world.
Hand back their dignity.
Sign off on full disclosure.
Biking right through the bourgeoisie.
Let them see.
I am the light.
Shining from sea to sea.
Do you hear me?
Paul Revering?
So send me home
Or let me roam.
Any way is the way,
Since I'm trying to save the world today.
I call upon my Reaper
Only he can save me now.
Watch me fall deeper,
Watch me fall down.
Feeling broken,
Barely breathing
Words re-main unspoken
My body seizing.
Artificial light blinds me,
Criples me.
The sound of the Banshee.
The forgotton bourgeoisie.
My impending sorrow,
My fortitude annihilated.
Is there tomorrow?
Time is violated.
We had fun when we were young,
When seemed life had just begun.
We danced nights at the beach,
So filled with dreams to reach!
Reckless once, against the wind,
Hair untamed, wild, unpinned;
We were rebels. We were free,
We weren't stuffy bourgeoisie!
Took a ride down Lover's Lane;
Scattered petals in the rain.
We were cool. We drove fast.
Though the dawn could not last.
We had friends in every place;
Knew our love's first embrace.
Red sunsets over meadow green,
On country roads we careened!
We built castles in the sand,
Had our causes, took our stand;
We were hip. Had our clique.
Our step lively, pace so quick.
We were daring. We were brave.
Never we strict. Never grave.
We were passion. We were fire!
We could run and never tire.
Tempo fast when we were youths,
And searching out our own truths;
But we never looked into the sun-
Excess caution's worse than none!
For many people outside the Myanmar poetry, it may come as a surprise that there is such a thing as language-oriented poetry contemporary poetry scene in Myanmar. The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry.
I feel like I have to say to me about how this had happened in Myanmar, the country was under military rule over the past 60 years their poetry broke away from the traditional style classic writing about the monarchy the old and the Burmese Old Burmese way of life before the annexation of British Burma in 1886. The hair experimental poetry movement 1 of the 20th century, was 2 in the movement of new writing, which led pilot Dag on (which is now in his 90s and blind), after the end of World War 2. Influenced by left-wing ideology known of the historical period popular poetry, realism and the Marxist-oriented, through the 40S late. There was at that time, an ideological struggle between the so-called "art for art's sake" The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry. Has described those who did not support writing the new "bourgeois" and blasted the "progressives." Although the new writing system that is based on experimental poetry rhyme 4.3.2 with some changes in the number of syllables in each line rhyme scheme, which makes it more flexible, and was aimed at, faith, and the content of a revolutionary. The art for the masses, and poetry is the weapon of the masses against the landowners and capitalists and national. It is unfortunate that the writing of new, while winning the hearts and minds of an entire generation of young poets, and in some cases made just propaganda, and the adage is that the hair must be less aesthetic and utilitarian more so that even the common person would low education "appreciate" poem with ease. UNSUPPORTED CODE myanmar poem UNSUPPORTED CODE
Figures of immense reputation and popularity they were
Attracting public attention and admiration in the pursuit of their great works
Leaving behind them a legacy of some kind
But going with them their unique characters.
Wasn’t the explosion of Christianity the work of Jesus of Nazareth?
And the burst of Islam not the work of Muhammed of Mecca?
Neither will the admirable leadership of Julius Caesar;
Nor the conquests of the unlearned Charlemane,
And the military successes of Alexander the great,
Be forgotten in History.
If the British can forget Napoleon’s continental system
Jews then, would forget Hitler’s concentration camps
And history would entirely cease recalling his mentor Mussolini.
What if Carl Marx did not propound radical socialism?
Lenin then, would not have smashed the bourgeoisie and ruled Russia
Neither would the principles of Marxism-Leninism be sustained by Stalin
Nor would Churchill seal the border between the East and the West with an iron curtain.
A grave mistake it would be to forget Martin Luther King Jr.
For if he be forgotten, Mahatma Ghandi then would also be
And the entire movement of nonviolence
Will stop covering many pages of modern history books.
Had it not for Kwame Nkruma and Hastings Banda to cut the rope of colonialism
The ambitious Cecil Rhodes then,
Would have drained the whole continent of all its economic wealth.
The ascendancy of Nelson Mandela from the horizon of apartheid
Was not the beginning of Maximillien Robespierre’s reign of terror;
Characterized by avenges and reprisals
But the emergence of Abraham Lincoln’s true democracy.
What if Caesar were not butchered?
William Shakespeare then, would not have been the greatest playwright
Causing Charles Dickens and Chinua Achebe not to appear.
For the existence of a Jewish state, David Ben Gulion fought
But for the reemergence of a Palestinian state, Yasser Arafat strives.
My favorite dining place in town is a place called La Baguette.
'Tis a quaint French café and I haven't found its equal yet.
They serve the most scrumptious French onion soup west of Gay Paree,
And it is slurped by discriminating snobs as well as we bourgeoisie!
They serve other grub such as baguettes and burgundy beef stews,
Escargot, pate, salad maison and an assortment of cheese fondues.
And Monday through Friday they ladle bowls of soup du jour,
But each and every day they serve French onion soup for sure!
Eating French onion soup is a challenge and requires a bit of skill,
Especially, dealing with the stringy cheese in that delectable swill.
The glob of provolone clings like a boa constrictor to my spoon,
And dangles from my noble chin making me look somewhat like a goon!
De mal en pis (just when my dilemma has gone from bad to worse),
Faire bonne mine (to put a good face on matters) I tend to curse.
To save face, next time I'll ask the waiter, "S'il vous plait (if you please),
I'll have a bowl of your French onion soup sans that stringy cheese!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt,USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
I wear a toga bigger than the life I live
I know who I am so I scream aloud, clear
My name means unlimited abundance
Cultivating the earth is a blessed calling
Transcending generations even unborn
For man, food must be, for life must be
I know who I am, a facilitator typified
Learning in life has made man conquer forever
My contemporaries smile, they chose to learn
Like they sow, the more they keep reaping
My shepherds are led by their noses and stray
My portion varies wildly from existing branding
I reap with the pests and weeds and back ache
Years of manual tilling has tilted my pose
The sun has melted my swagger, resistance I am
I have never seen tractors only hoes behold
Monies for farms fund party rallies, orgies
Agricultural subsidies strictly for city men
No knowledge of chemicals and plant food
The human factor beats them all
The little harvest must be shared to bear
Streams of humans surviving on tiny bits
To share for us is tomorrow lived and beyond
While the bourgeoisie wallow during filthy wealth
These calloused hands they are bent to tear
he rubbed his eyes
and said you just think that way
so you always have an answer ready
which may well constitute
a state of pure entertainment
with multiple jaw grinding orgasms
in a dog lick dog kind of world
at Cathode Ray's tanning salon
so what would it really take
for the union to lay down with the banker
I'm not sure high above the clouds
is the place to find anything
certainly not a mirror to be had
much less a cinema projector
with scenes of domestication
good god Reginald where
do you plan to put that thing
Reginald sneezed his false teeth
into his dinner plate as an augury
probed prodded palpated
looking for the intelligentsia
in the yellow pages
but they were yellow and didn’t stand out
their attempts to overthrow evolution
led to a cornucopia of calamity
at the crossroads of conundrum
traded their thumbs for a reliable statistic
the atmospherics garbled the transmission
and made anyone look like a prophet
left my friends hanging from lamp posts
adulterers heretics and infidels
cataleptics ablaze with legend
trained by biblical harlots
tending their hornet infested gardens
avoiding the irredeemably antique
and inexact to a criminal degree
in the war between belief and certainty
my script supervisor just pulled the plug
he's not from Sesame Street
he's from Bastille Boulevard
the artist is bait and accident prone
opaque as an 8 ball at high velocity
caroming through every nave and vestibule
bladder control found again
in the midst of bourgeoisie panic
a meditation of involvement
I'm going where
the disorder of discovery is tolerated
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Born in a world of sin
A world filled with evil from the very beginning,
Greediness and selfishness,
With the existence of poverty, unemployment, crime and disease
Caused by our own human nature,
An inevitable cycle that continues from the past to the present future
Due to the prevalence of social class segregation,
Whereby the lower, middle and upper class fights for social status elevation
In order to achieve upward social mobility,
These social classes will fight in pain and hostility,
An ideology of who is best suited to reach the top
With one class that is, (proletariat) continued to be oppress,
While the bourgeoisie continues to be the dominant class to reap success,
A society filled with greed and self-interest
Every person wants that recognition,
They will always battle each other to reject sorrow and oppression,
That’s the reason why the world will always remain in war, famine and terror
Due to human beings error,
A world divided in segments of continent,
With different nation or countries having differentiated political style of government,
As well as structure, numerous types of culture and upcoming new subculture,
With every one wanting that one thing riches, prestige and fame,
A reward which symbolizes their name.
Demeter Edwards
Join the Resistance
Counter the forces
that are monopolizing
contemporary societies
Fight for what is right
Be a lighthouse
for all to see
Sound the bell to
wake us all up
Question the bourgeoisie
with all of their
rules and regulations
Live outside the box- - - - -
Become an Outrider
Contemplate your actions
Make them powerful, forceful
Keep up the pressure
Don't give in
Replenish your energy
with an eye
towards the heavens
Always be peaceful with
no harm to anyone
I’m greeted by the freshly laundered dawn,
pale slate linen hung to dry above
a stirring city of collective individuals.
I cherish moments like these,
when I can step out in to the drying day
without forethought or agenda
and imbibe a city which has squirmed
beneath the clouds for a millennium.
And what a different place it would be if
the sun shone upon it more often.
What need would there have been for the
gilded Galleries de Saint Hubert
if not to protect the heads of the bourgeoisie?
What drive would there have been for Horta and Blérot
to duplicate nature’s balance indoors in glass, steel and murals
and sprawl sgraffiti jungles beneath damp eaves?
Why would beer need to warm one’s soul and feet
if one’s shoes were not constantly damp?
Where would have Magritte found his clouds?
How would the cobblestones of the Grand Place
manage to glow brighter than Saint Michel’s spire
if they weren’t slickened by an otherwise uncaring God?
How silent and plain the city would be
without colonial djembe undertones, postmarks
from a search for one’s self in clement Congo.
It is a city of grey
from which all colours run
free,
sober,
deep.