Best Conveyor Belt Poems
Sometimes I laugh other times I cry
As the Conveyor belt rolls on by
The poems that us poets write
Bright as day – dark as night
Trying hard to read them all
Sometimes I wish the belt would stall
As I read page after page
Full of love – Full of rage
It has became so clear to me
We are one big family
We share our love and our disgust
With open honest loving trust
We share our laughter and our tears
The beauty of youth and wisdom of years
From all walks of life and different creeds
We open our hearts and spread our seeds
This morning I’ve read about love so true
And why the streets gather crews
I read of how compassion should never die
And how nothing hurts worse than a lie
From good to bad and bottom to top
I’m an ex-con and he is a cop
But that’s all as irrelevant as it can be
For I am a poet and so is he
I’m on a conveyor belt! Get me off this conveyor belt!
I hate living a life of deprive.
Every day is the same, morning roads are unchanged,
And at work I’m not even alive.
See, I’m subdued, I’m detached, isolated from fun,
The fun of owning the happy and kind,
Instead, it’s the same, same words and same game,
Now I know that I am losing my mind.
Jump, roll and run, I’ll escape this treadmill of hell
Jump off and run to the free.
Be free of the time, artificial dull time,
And swim through the beautiful sea.
Yes, now my life is free of convey, not stuck to a time,
Not preparing to exist as a dead.
Because I can soar with the birds, then write beautiful words,
And do it all up in my head.
How's your old conveyer belt
Are you keeping slim with a little help
Your resistance
Is strong I sense
As long as you don't start to belch
The conveyor Belt
Life is a conveyor belt transporting you to your final destination.
As you ride, look around and watch the passing scenery.
Some belts are faster than others, but they all end up in the same place.
Does anything really matter, when there's no escape?
David Cox 03:24 12/11/21
"Just get your titles, stick to study, son,"
she used to say, "no matter what it takes."
She saw me as the family's Chosen One,
escaping that conveyor-belt of cakes.
When I got home, she'd be already gone
("If only for your future children's sakes!")
the hairnet and the overalls to don,
to start the night shift, down at Bettabakes.
The belt would grind and drone (it never stopped),
conveying cupcakes, candy caramel,
vanilla-flavored, sugared, cherry-topped,
towards Goods Outward's gaping mouth of hell.
This sluggish river she'd have gladly swapped
for Acheron or Lethe, switched the smell
of almond paste for brimstone (could she opt
for somewhere far less tedious to dwell).
And me? I got degrees, up to my ears,
steered clear of Bettabakes, at least. Became
a lawyer and a teacher, one who steers
the kayak of his soul down much the same
dull river as his mother, but my weirs
are bigger. "National", you name the game?
"American"? It's baseball. Many beers
ago, I ceased to think in terms of fame
or fortune. Work's just work, and must be borne.
From graduation to the grinning grave
it sweeps us, slowly, down a valley worn
by those conveyed before us. Each new wave
of fancy fudges sets out, feeling scorn
for docile drudges, but winds up enslaved.
Our only way is onward, just like pawns,
towards Goods Outward's yawning architrave.
As counsel for defense I saw them pass.
It mattered little if they roared, or knelt
in supplication. Since all flesh is grass,
we have no choice. We play the hand we're dealt.
And now I watch each earnest, eager class
of youngsters, see their fine illusions melt:
they merge into one nameless toiling mass,
conveyed towards oblivion by The Belt.