Best Industries Poems
Homo-Sapiens we call ourselves, rulers of this Earth.
Intelligent and civilized, but what is all this worth?
We're working hard to conquer space...we landed on the Moon.
We'd better solve our problems here, or soon we will face doom.
New industries and factories, constructed every day,
And poisoning the air we breathe...is this the price to pay?
Energy sources are shrinking...what happens when there's none?
Will we, as Earthlings, ever learn to work with Nature as one?
Some in this world still starve each day, while others hoard their gold.
Intelligent and civilized; at least, that's what we're told.
We cure disease with drugs that may cause sickness, the result!
How many dearly paid for this ‘experimental cult’?
We have become a plastic world where everything is fake,
From what we eat to how we look...when will we all awake?
We're civilized, we tell ourselves, but fight our fellow man.
If only we could solve world stresses through a better plan.
With government corruption, morality trending low…
The price of progress we may say...is this the way to grow?
We have upset Earth’s balanced ways, destroying Nature’s scheme...
We’re intelligent and civilized...is it all a dream?
Will we ever walk on Nature's path, take her by the hand,
Restore the beauty meant to be on Earth, our dying land?
Homo-Sapiens we call ourselves, rulers of this Earth...
Intelligent and civilized...but what is all this worth?
And why? We often ask and wonder- why
does this small Earth revolve in time and space-
a microscopic speck- diminished by
the boundless vastness of the universe,
unending and unknown? Why are we here?
We go from birth to death upon a sphere
we customized to fit our needs; caught up
in galaxies of mini-worlds we made-
of bustling cities, growing industries,
complexities of homes and families,
of governments, religions, schools, and those-
of our own selves. We ask- what lies beyond
the realm of joys and comforts, or the woes
these bring; beyond our cloudy atmospheres
of love and peace, of war, disease, and crime?
And what, we ask, what mammoth plan could this-
this tiny particle of cosmic dust
encrusted with the scale of human strife
be part of? Matter not the what or why-
the unsolved heavens or eternal scheme!
Enough- enough, for now, to deal with life
and death- and all those worlds that lie between-
in this, our tiny universe named Earth-
a strange, complex dimension all its own.
October 6, 2014
~2nd Place~
Contest: Out Of The Box
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Judged:01/09/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Structured Forms - Iambic Verse
Sponsor: Giorgio A. V.
Judged: November 6, 2014
Think, children: what will you tell
your grandchildren when they ask
about Earth--once bursting green
and red and yellow with blossoms
everywhere, and bushes serene
in shadows of lime-colored trees,
with bird songs filling the air?
I hope you'll remember turquoise seas
brimming with life, color dancing on
water, boats with white sails, beaches,
seagulls, sandpipers, whales. Men fishing
creeks, children's splashing feet, sitting
beneath Summer's lush leaves,
making toy boats made of paper.
I know you'll recall purple mountains so tall,
snow-crested peaks of lilac at eveningfall;
inhaling perfumed blossoms and wonder
of pines, you could hear aspens whispering,
jays poking fun, noisy creeks in their run,
deer peeking quickly behind gentle oaks,
a magical potpourri for the mind.
Grandchildren will smile as you gaze out
the window, attempting to find memories
of Earth as it was long ago, before losing
our way in pollution's crazed mind. But now
all she can find: industries' emissions, urban pall,
oceans clogged, forests burned, icecaps gone,
plastics, dust, muck, sun going blind...
toy boats made of paper, bird so.......
forgotten now
I am the nuclear ,the unwanted power,
i pay you according to you care:
for how long have I served you?
Provided you the energy to carry on;
sometimes you even packaged me
and exchanged me for currency;
how many of your wars have i fought?
And when in my might you triumphed
didn't you simply answer superpower?
I am the power behind your wheel,
i keep many of your industries going,
i make your night bright like sunflower
even in your health i play my role.
But in your luxury you forget,
you just forget our agreement
and begin to neglect my care
asking me to go to hell;
you begin to push me to my enemy
as you exposed my nudity to whirlwind
and asked water to deal with me as it liked
you are like a louse that lives on hound,
that thinks he is killing the hound,
where will it live after the death of the hound?
you neglect my care, you expose yourself!
But you are master of propaganda:
for failing to play your role,
what name have you not called me?
You said I am a murderer,came out with statistics
of how many i had killed, you marked me unwanted
and went on streets to shout me down;
you are quick to talk of Fukushima;
man, man ,man,your deceit is legendary,
fire is good servant...now i understand the say.
Yes i know you art,
you know how to call things names,
when you fail at you duty,
you simply say mechanical error;
and when you don't understand people,
you simply call them primitive;
when you don't understand the misery of God,
you simply conclude he does not exist.
No, i am not afraid of your deceit
i am comfortable with who i am
you are the one looking for me
if you still want me,you are welcome,
if you don't want me again
God knows i will not ask for you.
Along this foggy daybreak stroll,
I tread along the intersection
between Mabini Street and EDSA boulevard,
crossing number 25 Ortigas Road.
I breathe in the same grain
of Manila pollen and dust itching
my throat ; an acrid mound of city garbage
gathered by rain’s aftermath,
as if to beckon another tropical deluge;
and the loud chatter of headlines
from the newspaper stand pierces
the lobes with a burning jolt… a bundle
of political scoops and trade rumors
grating an otherwise neutral hour.
Few distances away, a flea market stand
vibrates with energy; pedestrians milling
around to check buko pies, plum bits,
and homemade guava jams… the exotic aromas
mixing with smoky flavor of dried bamboo leaves
on top of abaca wares; all these catering
to small pleasures of the low-middle working class.
Curving through Francis Square, a deluge
of movement initiates the 7 30 am rush…
buses, cars, and taxi- stands unload
a giant hive of wayfarers coming from
different points of the map; dragging
their skeletal frames like ticks of a clock.
Amidst a Friday hub, I stop to glance at the
towering statue of Mother Mary as a
cart-pusher slowly wanders by; his warm
smile bearing a contrast in a region
where the rat race of man is typical.
Surrounded by a collage of fragrant
eucalypti and mango trees, I breath in
a sense of delight likened to my
yard’s garden, this time, with heady scent.
The plump oaks at the front lobby
of Pharmo Industries are shedding
foliage, while a painted splash
of native robins cruises from laced twigs,
far beyond the clutter of newspaper stands,
market place, and taxi-stands.
My gaze casts inward to balance my thoughts,
as I begin my protracted stay at work.
Stand Contest of Debbie Guzzi
and Nathan's One of Your Best
by nette onclaud
Hudson Valley, New York
Oh, Hudson Valley, place that I call home,
you hug the river from which came your name.
On fertile banks, the settlers came to roam
and stayed to prosper and your land proclaim.
Your winding Hudson River grew their dreams
with farmlands, orchards and new industries,
and lovely homes that languish in your scenes
atop green rolling hills with graceful trees.
And from my window, you present to me
the vision of your peaceful valleys and
the sparkling river waters that flow free
from north to south thru Hudson Valley land.
When weary from the stresses of each day...
I relish in the peace your views portray.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Sonnet About Where You Live
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 01/07/2017
Note: The Hudson River begins at Lake Tear of the Clouds in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. It flows to the tip of Manhattan in the southern part of the state.
My home is in Newburgh, a town along the Mid-Hudson Valley, sixty miles north of New York City.
No Toilet Paper
My mind is boggled.
What is with the Coronavirus mania?
Why is everyone going freaking nuts over this?
From what this writer understands,
It is much like the regular flu,
Which is killing thousands as we speak, and
Hospitalizing even more. And this has been going on,
As long as I have been alive since 1952.
But this particular microbe is novel, and
Since little is known about it apparently,
People are afraid they will “get it.”
So off to Costco they all go, and
Buy as much toilet paper they are all permitted to buy,
Take it home, store or hide it with the other family treasures,
And then realize, inexplicably, that now
They are all magically immune to “getting it.”
Is that what these crazed souls are thinking?
I can think of a fate worse than “getting it.”
Worse than sports games being cancelled;
Worse than concerts and plays going on indefinite hiatus;
Worse than school classes and Sunday services finding the exit door, for now;
Worse than millions of vacations being cancelled, and
Entire industries being brought to their knees;
Worse than the world economy taking a complete nosedive
Into depression and financial paralysis;
Worse than millions of human beings dying
Horrible, agonizing deaths due to this little microbe.
No, I can think of something even worse.
Imagine going to Steak Corral - All You Can Eat,
One night soon, and you wanted your money’s worth.
So you load up your plate with:
Whiskey-laced, barbecued baked beans and garlic bread;
Two breadcrumb-laced quarter pound char-burgers,
Each smothered in a half dozen beer-breaded onion rings,
With ranch dressing dripping over them like lava.
Then you go get some more beans on french fries with
Big raw garlic chunks nestled in them, and then,
You wash it all down with three beers.
Imagine the next morning.
Imagine the horror, the horror,
Of voiding all that Steak Corral stuff, and then
Having the absolute worst possible thing
Happen to you in today’s crisis times.
No toilet paper.
My Environment is my only homely home
That I know. Plants and animals alike love this lovely home.
I love to sit and marvel at the beauties of our beautiful E nvironment,
To see rivers flow freely in the democracy of the environment,
Grass green and as fresh as a fish in untouched natural free waters,
Births singing and ringing like universal timekeepers in all matters.
This wonderful Environment is the handwork of our ever-caring Father
And when it is well looked after, it could be next to our Father.
My health and my wealth all come from this cherished home.
How I wish foolish humans do not tarnish the harmony of this dear home!
I hate to see toxic smoke from industries go up carelessly and invited to Ozone
Because when Ozone shall have died, Sun will cease to be our friend.
I hate to see fishermen throw away a young fish
Just as I hate to see my neighbour dumping refuse into running waters.
A disorderly forester cannot be a friendly friend to me.
And why not he or she who farms into a river valley, bed and source?
I am sick when farmers burn bushes and
I cannot marry she who cooks just any kind of meat and kills the viper.
Pollution and anything harmful should not be in my Environment, our Environment,
Because I too will be harmful to those who tolerate such things
For I hate to live a brief life.
(Published in CHAINING FREEDOM, 2012)
It was in eighteen eighty-six in the streets of Chicago,
where the greatest miscarriage of justice people would know
transpired in an infamous labor-police rendezvous.
Albert Parsons led eighty thousand people on revue.
The strikers marched down Chicago’s Michigan Avenue.
The Knights of Labor were sponsors for the work stoppage venue.
Demands for shorter work hours and no child labor were made.
This would be regarded as the world’s first May Day parade.
Thousands nationwide would join in with the activities
In the next few days, the striking workers stopped whole industries.
On the third, some strikers and police engaged in melees.
These actions resulted in two ill-fated fatalities.
The struggles also caused some severe hideous injuries.
The fights took place at the McCormick Harvester Company.
Many held the police for murderous culpability.
Organizers from the Knights of Labor held a mass rally
at the Haymarket in Chicago’s West Loop vicinity.
They would assemble there in the early part of May.
Thousands crowded there peacefully on the month’s fourth day.
Leaflets were passed noting the police for murder to the crowd
as anarchists urged the mobs to join forces and shout aloud.
A bomb thrown at the police catalyzed an altercation.
One officer was killed and others hurt in the explosion.
Matthias Degan was the officer fallen in duty.
Seven other policemen died later from an injury.
The police opened fire on the people immediately.
At least eleven of the strikers were shot at fatally.
Eight men stood trial for the death of police officer Degan.
They were Parsons, August Spies, George Engel, Samuel Fielden,
Adolf Fischer, Louis Lingg, Michael Schwab, and Oscar Neebe.
All eight were tried and found guilty by a judge and jury.
Neebe got fifteen years; the others got the death penalty.
Schwab and Fielden were commuted to life; then got clemency.
Lingg took his own life before his scheduled execution.
The remaining four men were hanged in public exhibition.
Since then, there have been enacted many labor reform laws
The men who died are considered martyrs to a noble cause.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for the information I obtained to write this
poem.
With women the heart argues, not the mind.
MATTHEW ARNOLD, Merope
1. The stand of old growth Melalucas, graces the lowlands of our farm.
For over fifty years, accumulations of leaves have formed small soft islands.
“With selective clearing,” my husband says, "larger areas of grassland will grow.
More grazing for the cows and less hay we’d need to buy in Winter."
Inwardly, I lament, not wanting to lose the beauty of these trees
with branches that rise like huge broccoli bunches against bright blue skies.
My husband, much harder, by necessity, over-rules my sentiments.
2. Conveniently, earth-moving machines appear early on the first day
of the New Year. They cut a long swathe
but on the dam are left a large row, marked by me,
for sanctuary.
They cast reflections on the still water.
3. The felled trees are piled into rough heaps. Prophetically, the car
of the Inspector for Primary Industries appears.
“You must know, these are protected trees.”
He asks for permits (not granted) and orders a ‘cease and desist.’
His scowling looks are an indictment.
4. For months the operation was on hold
and, then the rains came and the floods—almost our undoing.
Flocks of water-birds occupied the flats, nesting on the islands
formed by the grassy hummocks. When these waters receded,
an overgrowth of young melalucas sprouted, where the old trees
had once stood. A network of roots underground had signaled
a catastrophe. New nodes erupted along all the root-ways.
Dumbly they announced their guardianship of the swampy land.
“Give us back to time,” they said , but the un-relenting slasher
leveled them again, so grass could grow.
5. I go back into my house now, secretly pleased the trees are speaking.
The topaz flames from the fireplace, warm my bones.
The hoary frosts have come. The envelope containing the D P I’s
decision waits on the mantel shelf, propped by a row of grazing, ceramic cows.
From the window I see our cows enter between the Melalucas.
They graze on the new growth pasture.
I warm my hands, as the flames lick firewood.
The scent from Melaluca smoke haunts me.
Suzanne Delaney
365 words
NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, ENGLAND
Half-Scot, half-English and ill at ease with the past,
Newcastle is sooty black from its coaly drama,
And the breathless town was always in a hurry to grow,
Narrowly avoiding destruction of its past or leaping over it.
Up on the plateau, industrial power-engine city:
Its earlier Norman Castle and Black Gate narrowly missed
By the frenetic hammers of eager Victorian builders.
Elegantly-proportioned Grainger Street and Central Rail Station
Pause unwillingly to admit the Scottish-style lantern-spired
Sandstone cathedral with its delicate shade of sooty industrial black.
Down at the riverside - an earlier town of shipyards and arms factories,
Quayside warehouses with watertight flood-doors,
Its precipitous narrow old port-streets carved into the gorge walls
And pierced by cold winds from the North Sea,
Is leaped over by a platoon of high-level metal bridges.
Across the Tyne, inelegant, they grab the opposite bank and bind the city to England.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
NOTE: 1 Newcastle is situated on the north ( = Scottish ) side of the River Tyne.
The town was an epicenter of the Industrial Revolution,
with coal, steel, chemical, engineering, and shipbuilding
industries, and was also a major seaport.
2 Norman Castle, Black Gate are remnants of a pre-medieval past.
3 Grainger Street, Central Rail Station are 19th century redeveloped areas.
4 Cathedral (St. Nicholas) dates from 14th century.
I imagine attending a colorful graduation ceremony at the college or university.
After attending my mind is stuck with a lot of queries:
Would graduates cultivate in themselves attributes of entrepreneurs,to think outside the box?
Were graduates tipped to be innovative, self-motivated, willing to take greater risks in
their fields?
Would graduates go into industry to add value in the economy sector,after being equipped with suitable skills?
Could the skills they have acquired be able to sustain them and support their families
with or without formal employment?
Would graduates narrow the skills gap that has existed in the industry?
Did lecturers expose graduates to both technical and entrepreneurship skills during
their training?
Would graduates be entrepreneurs who will constantly create and grow business ventures,thereby creating employment and incomes in the economy?
Could graduates embrace the intelligence of the labor force,and start running viable growth-oriented ventures as a career alternative?
Could they survey key industries,organizations,family and friends already in business ventures?
Would they start up their own business ventures,provided they have access to support and other requisites?
Could graduates blend various fields with entrepreneurship sustainability to overcome unemployment levels?
Could graduates separate what's important from what's irrelevant to make
achievement in life?
Could they be confident, pro-active,decisive and energetic in their endeavors?
Would they be hardworking,firmly decided,continue in spite of opposition or difficulty,
and have the ability to see clearly?
chipepo lwele
*Dedicated to granduads
He would have dissolved the congress party
Would have stopped at once all its festivity
Certainly would have gone on hunger strike
And, would have, launched a blistering attack.
He would have wholly banned the sacred khadi
That some time ago symbolized utmost sanctity
According to him it stood for human dignity
And no present day politician is found worthy.
He would have removed all sorts of reservations
And would have urged people to spurn such sops
Encouraged developing self respect minus props
To earn bread thro’ honest labor of sweat drops.
He promptly would have stopped all pensions
At the moment enjoyed by the freedom-fighters
Would have told them to return the allowances
As serving the motherland calls for great sacrifices.
He would have fought against all injustices
Would have put full stop to discriminations
Which divide the people and the human race
And create a schism in a fragile social order.
He would have banned entry of all the Mnc’s
And encouraged forcefully all rural industries
Making the village development a focal point
That aims for growth and banishes unemployment.
He would have stoutly advocated family planning
Convincing the public to practice non-indulgence
To help the nation prosper with self-reliance
And avoid facing consequences of dependence.
The state of affairs is so stomach-churning today
It is good that he attained martyrdom on that day
Were he alive to witness the present day nonsense
He might have sought the slayer pleading death.
Liverpool
When night ends, the fog begins
Heavy as lead!
Shrouding the town:
Once grand
And home of grandeur.
The grand mansions
of old times!
Now in ruins: off white!
Harboring the ghosts of
The grandeur!
Who would have lived in a house
Like this?
My mind wanders;
The eye of my mind
Looking through the silver keyholes!
A wealthy merchant or an industrialist?
What became of the merchants and industries
Of this once mighty Town?
Perhaps the fog shrouding the town
became dense with smoke
Billowing from the ashes of
The industrious!
The Mersey River is just the excuse!
Who knows?
Liverpool: my husband’s home town
Liverpool: the origin of my beloved’s
Mellifluous tongue!
Liverpool: the TOWN of the famous four!
Why dost thou inspire such melancholy
In me?
Liverpool: Once a year, on Christmas day
We remember you: my husband and I!
Our hearts heavy with melancholy
Of the Christmases we spent
On your shores in past years!
Nothing connects us to you! No more!
All the family left your shores!
In mass Exodus!
To sunnier horizons!
Liverpool: one day we will bring our children
To your shores!
So that they will inhale your air!
Understand the roots of their father’s mellifluous
Voice! A voice so rare!
YASEMIN BALANDI
To trade through the Pacific Ocean
An undeniable dream for nations
Never mind pollution and all its ramifications
The Pearl, China’s third longest river
As blue jeans take the world
Their warmth should make us shiver.
The ecosystem easily raped and plundered
By blue jeans, have you never wondered?
The River Pearl what a glorious name
Its river bed with shell like rocks once aflame
The iridescent pear-like colours true
But dying now because of 'blue'.
The waters from the factories run black
Some recycled, but corporations never look back
The waste-dyed waters piped into the rivers life
Polluting and poisoning - rampant and rife
Piped into the fields this black river of death
The crops cannot grow, people gasping for breath
The smog that sits over the Pearl waters dyed black
Will take all you have, is there no going back?
The famous white dolphins will soon be gone
They lived in this river the pearlesence now gone
They die every day as do the crops on the shore
Won’t some-one stand up and cry out ...NO MORE!!!!
© 10/07/2013 GG
The third longest river in china The Pearl River is so badly polluted from the industries on its river banks including the blue dye from the denim factories that all the life in it is now dying, as are the crops on the rivers banks watered by this polluted water.