Best Consumption Poems
It's a public forum,
you should be discreet
and not divulge everything
to strangers you meet.
Some things should be
left to imagination
and not detailed
for the entire nation.
Your feelings are hurt,
you feel betrayed.
Too late you regret
the comments you made.
Think before posting
is my advice to you.
Once it's on the internet
your secrets are through.
* inspired by Team poetry soups current blog
Weary, sullen, mournful face,
A tale of internal disturbance tells,
Perhaps of some chronic illness,
Or of current affairs!
Dark rings around the eyes,
Malar prominence and sunken cheeks,
Malar flush of high fever,
Makes the diagnosis more clear
Clinicians! beware! pay attention!
It may be Acute consumption!
( Note:-- The first episode of
Acute consumption i.e.
Acute miliary tuberculosis may
masquerade Acute bronchitis. )
Okay, in many cases people use this term or expression to distinguish a likeliness to becoming what you eat… The truth, really, is that you already are what you eat. The depth of this leading to the reality that, whether it be meat, vegetables, fruits, vitamins, minerals, sprouting greens, or water…. These all already are a part of you. And I’m not talking about man-made chemicals or genetically modified organisms, or even mysterious “diseases” that have been specifically engineered to eventually kill you. I’m talking about what is pure and alive! Our connection to all living things already exists and has for all of history.
However, what many people don’t seem to grasp is the fact that if you are aware of what you are consuming, where is the awareness of countless traumas and suffering that a large range of animals go through just to “put food on the table”, or how many chemicals are sprayed on those fruits you say are so good for you? Sure, there may be an issue of “no time” and the “convenience” for a number of these folks to carry on living the way they know best, but there’s time to start looking at the harm one then causes to themselves through the harm inflicted on everything that is purely and magically connected to them. Every heartbeat. Every molecule. Every breath. Every thing.
food pyramids, the gustatory embrace of cow eating senators
bucking their allies.
So maybe the consumption of steroid pesticides
truncates our ambition to swiftly move.
No matter, there's wheelchairs, elevators, and highways
to support the ride.
Its all hearsay but there's definitely
a hidden hand in school lunches.
Maybe ranting across the state assembly
to get their balding hairdoes in check
and write some worlds
that will help us understand our appetites
Consumption
Scurrying between gleaming malls,
sniffing through the latest bargains,
that are crucified onto sterile walls,
crawling amidst those sanitised aisles,
glazed eyes darting frenetically, hungry,
leaving not a trace on the polished tiles,
gnawing at the endless, dead queues,
shirts, skirts, jeans into trolleys flung,
then straight to the closet to be hung,
pompous odours foul each aroused breath,
scraping, bowing before these mute deities,
an intoxicated swirly haze of lustful gaieties,
it never ceases, this relentless, frantic surge,
always unable to quench the insatiable urge,
stopping briefly, only for an occasional purge,
as we continue, & continue , to numbly splurge
Who are you to have ever claimed loved towards me,
someone whom you’ve yet even seen..
but a fool you are, if when passing by, obsess and attest
that for me you would die.
But would you forgive me?
My credulity intact…
If I claim without reason to trail away from deceiving…
Stubbornly amused,
Seemingly lost a friend again,
caught up in the tangents.
so uncouth,
to ennoble ones self through an enmity loaned.
and intoned upon the able fact that without our pact
there would be no tract…
no able pinned feature to allure,
to distract?
How would you abstract in this world,
filled with truth,
‘pon these features we’ve gleamed as it seems to arraign in us
a meaning, a trust…
Our personal tribunal of mutuality…
'Bee' put on a bar-be-que for bringing up the past,
and of course he added drinking. Now the die was caste
for stories bringing laughter from dubious glory days,
when our oats were being sown while living single ways.
Naturally it wasn't long before the 'art of studery' had died,
and leaving all the juicy stamina that our minds provide
for the love of every man’s desire that lasts until the brain,
dissolves into memory loss and cars are not thought of again.
Ah! Those Holdens flashing FJ and the Fords called 'Customline',
that prowled the streets for 'pick ups' who gave a 'come on' sign,
brought back the memories to all that only 'Hilly' could correct,
when mentioning the better Ford - was his beloved Prefect!
But did that bring on laughter and a scowl on 'Hilly's dial,
who set an argument in motion amid comparison and style.
"Customlines" 'Hilly' said "Might lure girls with the V8,
but guzzling 'carby's' kept you broke and always on the slate".
"Hilly's' right" 'Bee' mentioned, and then he added reasons why.
Of course owners of the 'kingmobiles' sed "Yeah nice try!"
But 'Bee' wouldn't let old 'Hilly' down, saying "It was just by chance,
that I realized a Prefect's perfect when we went to a dance".
"And as it happened two sisters were at the dance this night,
and 'Hilly' with his silken style had set their hearts alight.
The rotten 'bugger' took advantage by herding them up there,
and mentioning his stamina would satisfy the pair".
"When they seen his Prefect it's enough to make them swoon.
Of course they let him take them home. But they lived near the ‘moon!’
And if 'Hilly' owned a 'Customline' he would have been a fool,
'cause halfway home he would have found, he'd run out of fuel".
"Later 'Hilly' then convinced me of the Prefect's fuel consumption.
They mustn't cost a thing to run. If I believe in his assumption.
'Hilly' said he'd drove a hundred miles, but I think that he's bluffing!
Because he tried to tell me - he'd driven all that way for 'nuffing".
Conspicuous Consumption
Look at all I have
I've got money burning
In this power grab
Between the haves and have nots
I'm one of the haves
Enjoying this life of luxury
Sitting in its lap
Conspicuous Consumption
Take a breath and breath in deep
Take as many as you want
Although this stuff ain't cheap
Money is no object
It means nothing to me
Now that you ask, yes Virginia
Money does grow on trees
Conspicuous Consumption
In this world of give and take
If it's no longer suitable
It becomes throw away
Even if you tire of it
No need for it to break
Conspicuous Consumption
The phrase of the day
Fluff your feathers, young bird.
Fly away.
You indeed have a life,
no matter that your mother
is dead.
Human consumption overtook her land so
flee!
You have no rights.
I, *****sapien, am god.
All land is mine,
your feathers are mine,
and the sticks you used to build your home.
Never intended on any of this, sold my soul to the devil for the pleasure of a
dead man's kiss
Fire sizzlin'' out of control, sizzle down for i feel the burn, and the lesson i did
learn, must i bear all my soul, before i can see another rising sun that doesn't
shun my eyes from the light
Darkness in the day/ will it ever go away/ stay for the night if you must/ i don't
really trust, anyway/ no, i don't really trust, anyway
Your company will do me no harm and mine won't do you any good, so why
don't we get past this superficial charm and let's get down to business like we
should, no point worrying about what is already over and done, for the night is
long with so much unfinished
Darkness in the day/ will it ever go away/ stay for the night if you must/ i don't
really trust, anyway/ no, i don't really trust, anyway
Never intended on any of this, sold my soul to the devil for the pleasure of a
dead man's kiss
mirrored are my dreams
a buffet of perception
flagrant and cool
they drift between
reality and
confinement
torn are the edges
of yellowed leaves
and broken passages
as the plastic waiter
nods and confirms
the tainted straws
of refilled glasses
heard not are the passions
of tender calamity
but ridiculed are the memories
of gratuitous masses
measured only by appearance
and never by
quality
the satisfaction of contentment
weighs easily on
bellies full and settled
but twisted by remembrance
of finger catalysts
pushing the content
towards freedom
Bogglers, (consumption, distraction)
The snog bogglers of lower snoop
are really rather dull
a spending time smoking duur
and eating till they're full
Bogglers ne'er read to pass the time
but engrossed in snog delusions
fascinating really the boggle mind
it's said, a tad confusing
We all boggle up and down
sometimes side to side
we'll fill our days with wacky-woo
or feel frightened, petrified
But it makes no matter, boggle or no
duur or rue'd distractions
the beating drums of life's snoop
are nought just damned abstraction
Ere the next time you meet a boggler
and feel a need to comment
remember they be like inclined
so shush, enjoy the moment
I often open the curtains to let the heat in, but there’s no sunshine today.
While sat in a chair that’s versed and infirm, blistered brown, bitter and solid as the surrounding bricks.
Was it a daydream of fortune. When a breeze, shimmered with animals within a contorted tree. Behind a typhoon of blue.
An open curtain can warm the room, until ordinary shades of disturbance advance.
Providing unspeakable gloom, I return to bed, for an extra day. When its raining, life surrounds a flower upon the windowsill. When you nothing, there only themes of nothingness.
I also can open the curtains to let people inn, forget the wasteland of silence
People are coloured peeks and cure the reflection of my grey.
This morning, there's no sunshine, a small glint of a cloudless glow. I did nothing but waste moments. Everyone seems no brighter than me, as a breakthrough smile appears upon my laughing face.
all device features are described in the manual,
but we are still unruly in the streets,
I needed to know a lot more about fractions
that hide between the numbers one and two,
measure the exact extent of each shadow in the sky of life
and really understand why we are lost here,
shopping endlessly in the bazaars,
acquiring picturesque items
to decorate the porch of our posterity,
as if we foresaw our descendants and,
wanting to impress them,
we would put an elephant bibelot on the sideboard of pain,
a postmodern armchair next to the stairs for nothing
and further back,
the opaque mirror of our confused, painful,
almost unnecessary existence.
I want you out of my head
You eat at me like a worm
Your memory has plagued me for years
The hurt consumes me
It shouldn't be this way
I should move on
But every now and then
You come into my head
I dream of you
The way we used to be
I find myself wishing
For the life we could have had
If gets harder every day
To push away the past
And so I repeat
I want you out of my head
Please stop consuming my brain
And my heart