Best Manufacture Poems


Premium Member Blurring the Lines

Living in a bubble where reality is virtual
 Truth is a blur in a fabricated ritual
 TV news bursting with political views
 The rich pay no taxes and the poor pay their dues

 Guns are the toys that manufacture death
 Violence the machine to take away your breath
 The streets are a war zone not fit for walking
 Some are mentally deranged, their AR15's  do the talking

 It's them against us and you against me
 There's no compromise in the political sea
 Gangs in the street, their guns have no pity
 There's no mercy in bullets in the heart of the city

 Hate is a commodity traded on wall street
 The love stock has crashed in agonizing defeat
 The Capitol's been sacked, and some people gloat
 And some senators are selling their soul for a vote

 2-16-2022
© Joseph May  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: manufacture, people, places,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member The Body Shame Game

they body shame
they spew hate posts dipped
in virulent venom
vehemence for the voluptuous
crazy mad about the curves
mocking the well stocked
where do they get all the hate
wait!!!
they manufacture it
burning off calories
they work themselves into
hate hysteria
zero sized is no prize
what makes thin, in?

Beauty goes through phases
women through their crazes
must fit the body type
that's the hype
fashion famished 
emaciated models
thigh gap miles wide
poking bones they can't hide
unhealthy unwell
they send the fat ones to hell
well....

big booty bullies
think they'll get away
with what they write
with what they say
they have no shame
lame...they're so lame!!

haters will hate
to give a damn?
it's too late!

Beauty isn't a size
it's in what you see with your eyes
the beauty within
is not limited
to fat or to thin

it's the size of your heart
so shut up and get smart
Listen to this big girl
Take a bow, take a twirl
Sexy unbound to size
GET WIZE!

Be Body Beauty Brave
Silence the Shamers
Give them a smile
knowing what you do
about BARE truth:
Better to have thick thighs
than thick sick minds....


Eileen Manassian

I follow Tess Holliday on Instagram and Facebook. I love that woman. It really angers me what haters write to her. Her message is simple: Big woman have the right to feel beautiful too. Plain and simple. Haters...move on!
Categories: manufacture, beauty, slam, society,
Form: Free verse

Not Harvest Thanksgiving

I do so love harvest thanksgiving, 
That time of year which celebrates agriculture, 
When church flips from being god-centred, 
To remembering farmers and good food manufacture.  

It’s not an Armenian or Amish allusion, 
‘Cos tins are given no problem; 
Natural remedies aren’t primed as better, 
Than medicines, to the mind and body superior. 

As a child who regretfully attended church, 
I thought on that day of poverty and Christian giving:
That their offer was kind of a respectable food bank, 
A silent redistribution of wealth, income and living. 

No food bank is respectable, of course, 
But they can channel wealth efficiently and appropriately;
And that the Church offers such for just one day, 
Should be celebrated as a positive sign most definitely. 

God is sometimes just such an abstraction, 
Academically, he’s for the objective mind; 
He’s not comforting when your needs are just so real:
Physical, emotional, psychological: he can be so unkind. 

When you just need a meal on the table, 
And need it supplied by someone else, 
Whether by government, food bank or church, 
It’s a person that's there, not divine impulse. 

I thought it was moral to impose that on believers, 
As a kid who just so wanted to talk and shoot, 
About real mechanisms, real structures and methods, 
Which made life’s systems, dynamics, art and roots.  

Being grateful for food, diet and health, 
Eclipses salvation humility and responce;
Eternal purpose lays as distant and non-tangible, 
To people and belongings which have an unimpeachable force. 

Farmers need to be remembered, given relevance, 
For their labour, dedication and sheer love of the job; 
It’s that occupation and training which ensures, 
Our basic daily needs are met not just with contours.

The harvest basket every year means to me hope, 
Nourishment for those who starve and scrape;
Church wealth rides so high and mighty on average, 
That this real examination is something to advocate.
Categories: manufacture, celebration, child, childhood, creation,
Form: Rhyme

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member The Manners of Management -

They made mammon somethng measurable, mighty, & magnificent,
everywhere that labor, exchange, & entertainment exist monuments
to money, large and small,

the genesis was excess manufacture 
such as grain, gold, textiles & ceramics,
animals & people,
purveyors were born like corn on the cobb,
like mist in morning,
buearruacracies of religion & government emerged from the basic business
of buy & sell, structure was supplied by law & covetuousness,
the greed of need,
people enticed to sell their Spirit in the form of toil for products,
eventually for fiat currencies, profit took the place of contribution,
slavery evolved into serfdom,
from the plantation to the factory unproductive owners needed managers,
individuals with minimal compassion & maximum ambition, essence extractors,

the whip replaced by the 'write up' and tacit threat of poverty,
the iron chain supplanted by hopelessness of ignorance in limited training,dependency,
management believed in synergy,the kind that rewarded the few 
at the expense of the many,
the river of Life tore into the irrigation of wealth for selected heredity,
bussinessmen want employees & citizens with low self esteem, shallow interests & passions,
economy as cosmos, profits as pieties, workers as sinners,

edicts of 'minimum wage' and requirements for age are simply Market stabilizers
implemented to ensure profit,
taxes a financial plan of slave paid for regulation,
the management caste, the sociological strata designed to keep laborors feeling underachieving,
crows squawking against crows so that dragons fly free -

J.A.B.
Categories: manufacture, education,
Form: Didactic

Premium Member The Creative Process

Every single thing we enjoy -
whether it touches sight, hearing, 
sense of smell, or the working 
of hands and feet - was given 
             by the God who created us.

Before man thought to produce art, 
manufacture goods, or write stories, 
poetry or music, God put all the raw 
materials in our minds and hands, 
             all we would ever need - 

then waited for us to develop 
sensitivity to his leading 
            and the responsiveness 
which produces obedience. Those who 
achieve the greatest success and 

benefit mankind most are ones 
who hear that inner voice, 
that spark within, listen
with their hearts, and follow.
© Cona Adams  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: manufacture, art, community, faith, writing,
Form: Free verse

Alphabet Soup

Admirable Almights all I ask appreciatively allow me to attain, 
be beyond bourgeois breeding ballads for the brain. 
Create colloquialisms that cast competently into chimeras, 
directing dramatists with doubtful determinations to 
delightful dactylic discriptions. 
Edible expressions that exite eyes and ears, 
by freely forming a firm fire you'll flog any frigid forlornness fear. 
God glorifies the good, my given gift Godsent thee, 
my hardihood's husky, heart hungover with honesty. 
I inscribe impenetrable insights, my individuality's 
inanimate without improvisation, 
other jaws jabber jargon jokingly, my journalistic journey's 
like Jesus's justifications. 
I know to keep with Christ a close kinship, 
lie low then leap to light life is limited. 
Maturing moderately I molded motives to mentally 
manufacture music, 
now naturally notions are necessary, abnormal novelistic natuarlist. 
It's obvious this optimist ovulates obscure poetic offsprings, 
perception pastel's perfectly personify the pen pusher's 
potentcy passionately. 
You're quasi qualified like Franz Kafka no question, 
respectable written reflection ramble rampant even while resting. 
Some scorn and show sentiment towards sonnets I've 
scriptured successfully, 
the toungue-tied troubadour tallies towering totals of 
synchronized terms intentionally. 
My untimatum is ultimately unrivaled when using unbreakable 
utensils, 
my voice vibrates vigorously, visionary with a victorious view. 
Why waste what you wrote, wake up, wonder in a writer zone, 
poems have vibes like a xylophone. 
Heart young, yearn for God 365 times a year, 
my zodac is wrong, attitude zealous.
Categories: manufacture, art, confusion, family, imagination,
Form:


Beekeeper

This a grand bright partnership
As the waving clover grows
And my little friends all busy
Gathering swiftly, Heaven knows.
And I slowly pace the hives
Measured help all dressed in mesh
Knowing Beulah Land's rich treasure
Gleams within those combs so fresh.
What a peerless manufacture 
What a mystic searching out
Workers buzz upon the airways
Mapped in magic by the Scout.
And I sense that God is smiling
As He sees me pace the field
With an eagerness to harvest
And to think on Mercy's yield.

https://issuu.com/dewane/docs/marrow_in_monastic_life
© Doug Blair  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: manufacture, christian, inspirational, nature,
Form: Rhyme

Guns and Roses


First person shooter,
on a hate tour of duty,
swinging a bullet sling blade
Buying a death row ticket,
worth fifteen minutes of fame
First person murder shooter;
womb-to-the-cradle-to-the-grave robber,
using your Automatic Revolver
to solve your anti-social mental problems
Sharpen that sling blade
on a coroner grindstone wheel
Gather the scythe-shredded corpses 
from the harvest killing field
Take the bullet-riddled body bags,
with warm blood dripping still ... 
and kevlar 
	      coffin 
bury them on Tommy Gun hill
Guns and Roses — 
Automatic Revolver 15 bullet salute
Let the gun pallbearers put ‘em in the ground,
and the saltpeter pew mourners 
	         put the rose flowers on the graves
AR-15 bullet salute ...

Guns and Roses —  
giving society another senseless violence eulogy
Guns and Roses — 
weapons of war killing innocent children of peace
Guns and Roses — 
ricochet death purchased with capitalist ease

No background check to vet tranquilize
the uncaged rage,
wearing a Second Amendment disguise
Empty thoughts and prayers,
full of politician hypocrisy
Thirty pieces of silver tongue lip-cluckers 
offering a gun lobby: no gun control policy 
A paid, no-money-back Judas apology
Snake oil teary talk rubbed on dry soul skin, 
allergen empathy-free

Guns and Roses — 
sacred shell religious philosophy
Guns and roses — 
kinetic death violence theology

Gun manufacture worshipers
love deifying the work of their hands 
They love to praise their golden trigger head
	silver handle arms
	brass chamber belly
	lead barrel legs
	paper green toes idol
Saying: Let your scimitar banana-shaped heart 
always remain sharp
And may your lead scythe sling blade soul 
never be dulled

Guns and roses — 
waxy ears don’t hearst hear it ...
bulletproof hearts so iceberg smoking cold
Guns and roses — 
plastic carnation petal spirits ...
metal detector salvation black market sold
Categories: manufacture, dark, death, violence, wisdom,
Form: Elegy

Premium Member Soul Stance River - 33

Fort Clatsop is up and true,
50 feet square, with a smokehouse, pallisades, barracks and two gateways
furnished from the aromatic and reliable wood of the great Fir trees,
we keep busy by scraping elk hides for clothes,  making moccasins,  hunting
and boiling sea water in kettles to manufacture a nutritious salt,
the Clatsop Indians are not the onery thieves that the Chinook are,
in fact, they are merry hustlers with fine things to trade,
the Clatsop chief, Coboway was in fort today, smoking and learning how we leather stitch
when I began negotiating for his sea otter robe,
a fur of extraordinary waterproof warmth and deep colored beauty
several layers ringed, overlapping one another like roof tiles
with a thin elk hide underneath
the length of a knee cloak with the incandescence of morning mountains
snowy whites, granite greys and cool browns,
I believe that is why Clark and I are contending for it,
that rare robe reminds us of the Rockies, the rugged majesty,
Coboway isn't being simple though, actually he's being a prick about it,
refusing all sorts of neat and valuable things
and then Sacagawea comes into the room shakin her meaty hips around
and the chief comes to life and says he'll trade for her beaded belt,
Clark looks at me like hey, not fair
because he knows I can get Janey, Sacagawea's American name,
to give it up for my blue velvet coat that she just purrs for,

J.A.B.
Categories: manufacture, adventure, business,
Form: Epic

Port Talbot

Port Talbot

The city of steel,
Is the place where I belong,
Under its industrial cloak and working class reel,
Where talent is abundant and steelworkers are made from steel.
The city of steel,
The place where chimneys stack high out of reach,
And golden sand river from its arms,
Where identity and pride manufacture industrial charm,
The city of steel,
With its industrial predominate core nestled by the shore,
A heart pumping its flow with pride and identity,
And natures blanket covering close guarding hills smug with beauty,
The city of steel,
It's tomorrow shackled with greed and jealousy,
Tricked by fools promise sheltering black rats,
And caught by deadly bloodhounds hunting in packs,
The city of steel,
Whose children are forged not born,
Who will never repudiate but battle what you stand,
Until the safe return of their great land.
This is my city of steel,
Our city of steel.
© Nick Evans  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: manufacture, business, corruption, culture, freedom,
Form: Political Verse

Premium Member Only My Opinion, Kma

I am in an oncoming negation of civilized un on going socio passion of an unforgiving remnant that seems to conscio-consider a pre existant pro com promise that if u have a co existant chameleon critter that u must be ongoing and in confluence with socio banter that be in order to sub stance a child like endeavor for all instances to roll forward, regardless of racial renderings to fit the a, anti, sick sorential senderings of a supposed sound surrential governmental succulent sound sentient signal that we all love all who love all us and all who love all, and OMG, where does it all that love end??? 
Take me to a piss be done pasture where all is sublime, negate, and nil in terms of socio silly centrint addicts plus aplenty and all others thinking ?$%^&^%$@))*^& with the that makes me feel like a nil nothing encompassing ahole being the never/nor/endeavor that the exo. ill-expanse uncovers an unknown entity casmerizing, olfimising, nllfamizing, to the ever intro entragant manufacture of reinfimilcongrates intro baking intereactionary miligrant cautionary entrails,  lessening my any momentary fovent fighter fat syndrome
unhendering solitary kinesthetic romantic conundrums pillow passive in their **** resistance regardings a royal retard round circumference due in PI calenderic counteances math meth revered reviled. Hey can u tell me the answer to all things innocuous I don't believe it. U must attend Sorry U. Look good on a cross you would. Keep the force faith inside yrself, look deep outhouse, consider all existence and then open yr closed mealy mouth to ever evolution. Don't conserve-------yourself.
Categories: manufacture, conflict, creation, dream, introspection,
Form: Free verse

Corporations of Chemistry

-CORPORATE CHEMISTRY-
They are with us here today
These children of Dr Mengelè
Who hides away the answer?
Who would cover up the cause?
When we seek the cure for cancer
They forbade it in the laws
Long have they kept it hidden thus
The cause of it comes from microwave
The cure in the oil of Cannabis
Who decrees the truth as libel
But we found it in the Bible
They manufacture harmless vitamins
Before it  -Zyklon-B
Youre not supposed to smoke the ****
You might get THC
Categories: manufacture, betrayal, cancer, holocaust,
Form: Free verse

That Voice of Mother Earth..A-Crying

The world is Dying…
Mother Earth Is Crying...
"Man, man, man…
You have caused me much pain…
Even if I rain hailstones on him...He is still stubborn"...

"Man, Man, Man…
You cut down my Hard Grown Forests …Without replanting them,
You Plunder My Breasts spilling my precious Milk…	
Keeping My Marine Offspring In Extinct Extinction,
You Flare Gas into the Air, Making this same Air your Main life 
Source Thinner and Thinner, Destroying My Ozone layer"...

"You Manufacture harmful chemicals which you use as Refrigerants 
And for foam production these same deplete the Ozone layer…
Hear ye! Hark ye! Woe betides you for burning my forests…
See the charred evidences...So Much Natural Life In Jeopardy…
Your Over-Zealousness has plundered the Wildlife I granted True Bliss… 
They are now unsafe and close to extinction…
I will withhold my anger for a short time and Look on..
But When Thy Cup Of Sin Filleth..Not Even My Creator Will Withold My Fury..
I am MOTHER EARTH!"
Categories: manufacture, animals, caregiving, education, inspirational,
Form: Didactic

Premium Member Broken Glass

Some recalled Kristallnacht,
the white mob’s facial fever,
once the same fever of a night,
now the fever of a day-mare.

Some recalled Charlottesville,
the white mob’s lust for blood,
once the same blood craved,
now the blood of a purgatory.

Some recalled Greenwood,
the white mob’s rampage,
once the Tulsa rage inflamed,
now the ire of the privileged.

Oh persecuted one,
aspiring despot, so maligned and martyred,
your words hang in the air like the endless
echo of wailing toddlers.

Captain of the siege,
What incendiary drivel have you sown? 
What lie ignited white wrath again?

Broken glass, shards of democracy.
To steal elections, accuse your enemies of it.
To win by fraud, manufacture it.
To decertify black votes, rile white mobs.

Broken glass, shards of democracy
swept from the floors of the capitol,
the bloodied casualties,
the pipe bombs awaiting discharge,
	while white thugs are protected by white justice.

Broken glass, shards of democracy.
White supremacy 
         beds well with fascism and capitalism.
                
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
      When will the next carnage surface?
                                Where will democracy die?
Categories: manufacture, allusion, hate, horror, political,
Form: Political Verse

Premium Member Tenants To Animal Landlords

A nation with the southernmost capital in the globe
whose identity has constantly been bullied
by the global acknowledgement of a larger one.
A place where economic empowerment comes through films
to the point a movie employed a minister for maximum harvest.

No name longer than that of a Hill in Hawkes Bay;
no part of the country is more than 
hundred and a thirty kilometer from the sea;
no nation is least succulent for the biting teeth of corruption.
And no other has simultaneously graced females in all high national positions.

Isolation has ruled over its wild life
to make them manufacture accessories for unique survival.
The alpine parrots, ground dwelling Kiwis and the Kea bird
all congregate in its center of diverse bird species.
It is a log off site to snakes both local or immigrated
and a home to the world’s smallest Dolphin species;
second to none in the species of penguins
and land to the heaviest insect ever known in the world.
Imagination comes to life in the existence of a giant carnivorous snail
while Disney embraced reality through the mystery of Pelorus Jack.

Uniqueness in history is continuous
in this last populated habitable landmass in the world.
Is it a first time father at eleven and a century old?
Or the pioneering of plastic surgery in medical history?
Is it the appointment of a national wizard into government’s cabinet?
Or the historic climbing adventures of Edmund Hilary?

So concerned about the Queen’s safety and its territorial defense
is such a region attributed to the long white cloud
with its blue lake- the world’s clearest waters
and its ‘women’s-right-on-voting” pride;
It’s still flabbergasting to realize five out of every hundred
of its population is human; the rest simply animals.
Categories: manufacture, animal, community, earth, nature,
Form: Ode
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