Best Manufactures Poems
Bad bosses wear the same clothes every day
Some of them are called Bob or Bill or Kathy
They smell funny and cry for mommy
Never shake hands with them
You don’t know where their thumbs have been
Bad bosses hate employees who want wages
They kick their dogs and friends
Legends in their minds; they beat their wives
My boss is six feet tall
All of it is *****
Bosses look me up and down
Waiting for me to turn around
They want me to bend over and crack a smile
There must be a factory somewhere out there
That manufactures these freaks of nature
Vaseline does not come with the pay check
When they are done with me
I don’t even get a kiss or cigarette
I know, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s poem : Je sais by T. Wignesan
I have seen upon this earth the gangrene of mass graves
I have seen the sky foul up with human ashes
I have watched the breath of superb beings
Mist over with their blood the universe
I have seen how the hearts of the powerful decay on their
lips
I have seen men thought of as possessing wisdom
While they picked their way through pools of blood
I have seen the just in spirit breathe in massacres
As if the wide open spaces puffed up their lungs
I have seen the good at heart repulse God
And that brought on a tide of extermination
They were clothed in the white linen of words
To dissimulate the stains of blood
I opened my mouth God bear witness
I wanted to speak out
My heart unable to bear being human
Wanting to burst upon other men
Shrieking so as to cleave the sky
But the air thrust its fist down my throat
Out of my heart streaked words turned to lies
That I was unaware of
Those words were put into my mouth
And I pronounced them
I would rather have died than utter them
And (yet) I uttered them
In turn I have turned words into carrion
The human soul manufactures words
Which by fault of my own rot in the face of God
I have become the speaker
Who has been deprived of the meaning of Speech
My eyes are the mirror of lies
And my ears the echo of lies
And my mouth the melting-pot of lies
And my soul clogged up with lies
Froth on the lips of a dying God
Who proffers even a word without lying ?
Who dares to address crying out at the Cross :
Have I not murdered the Verb ?
I assassinated the Verb gifted by God
I am an assassin like everyone else
But not all know who’s put to death by them
Me
I do know it.
(from the collection : Visage nuage, 1955)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, September 29, 2014
(In a 19th-century legal judgment studied by all who
learn the English common law, Sturges v. Bridgeman,
the court found in favour of a "nice" doctor over a
"common" manufacturer, for reasons of pure snobbery.)
The Candyman Can’t
Some legal battles have the power to thrill,
while others never have, and never will.
Some touch on human themes which really matter,
and some do not. We’re dealing with the latter.
This present case is hardly OJ Simpson:
it lacks dramatic shape, and simply limps on
listlessly, with abstruse reasoning,
no sex or violence to give it seasoning.
One Mister Bridgman manufactures sweets,
in premises where Wigmore crosses/meets
its neighbour, Wimpole. Eighteen seventy-nine
of our salvation, two lives intertwine
when Doctor Sturges takes consulting rooms
around the corner. Disagreement looms,
for Bridgman’s grinding, pounding candy line’s
destroying Sturges’ peace, fragging his mind.
The law of nuisance really is quite funny.
It says, “he did you harm? Well, here’s some money”.
What if you’d rather dodge the damage, and
defer the dollars? How to countermand
the duty-breach-then-damages regime?
Suppose we interpose a better scheme?
Instead of “you must suffer, he must pay”,
we stop the harm? The problem goes away!
This ruse is known as “equity”. It functions
by granting prior relief (they’re called injunctions).
So Sturges stemmed stentorian sweetie sounds
by order of the court, and Bridgman found
his business gagged and bound by hoops of steel,
for no good reason. What to do? Appeal!
(For thus advise the lawyers. Such affairs
drag on for years. The lawyers? They get theirs!)
Said Bridgman: “I’ve been cranking out jujubes
for decades now. It’s all gone down the tubes
because some quack dislikes the earnest hum
of my devices. Why, then, did he come
to Wimpole Street? He wants tranquility?
Go hang his shingle in Highgate Cemetery!
I have a remedy for Doctor Sturges:
it’s swallowing his antimony purges!”
But Bridgman lost. One cannot help but feel
that making toffee wasn’t quite genteel
enough. Their Lordships said behaviour
that’s unacceptable around Belgravia
can find a home in Bermondsey. The latter
has lots of lowly types. It doesn’t matter
if they have noisome noise, and have to live
in filthy fumes – for they’re not sensitive.
Written displacement
Oriented
Figures focus
Loose stance
Bile manufactures
Masculine
Angelic
Body
Doubles
Stretch new skin
Over the
Wise
Spicy neglect
You neglected
Your mind's
Obese child
Write letters
To dead
Virgins
It'll take your heart
Off trivia
Slice most glances
(If you read) Do not compare
Lateness to sickness
If healthiness
grows godliness,
and godliness
grows healthiness,
why not regenerousness
co-redeems Earth's shared Eden Nest?
Healthy belongings fill Yang hunger.
Sacred belonging flows through Yin nutrition.
Industrial,
like military,
revolutions
for monoculturing power and wealth
are too much Yang short-term bottom-line.
Sustainable evolutions
for matriarchal gifting polycultural flow
is what we post-millennially higher value
as just right Yin over Yang long-term
co-empowerment
co-operations
in-formations bilateral,
deductive-industrial LeftYang
reweaving inductively sustainable flow RightYin,
as particles are to waves,
as organic cells are to digest/eliminate nutritional systems,
as thymine form is to cytosine functions,
as positive fractals are to double-bound notnot zero.
As Yang industrial periods
are to Yin flow-sustaining sentences
proclaiming regeneration wins
as decomposition loses loss.
Love manufactures
where fear's angers
pass double-bound away,
if healthiness
grows godliness.
Inter connected already my friend
Submitting to peer pressure and
Responding to the Fathers Sins, who
Followed the rules and lived and died
As all the others had before
Watching children today, breathing our
Polluted atmosphere, chernoble, coal
And oil, gas blown by the wind
The world over.
Is the world over?
Has the paradise we were born into
Burnt in manmade mega changes
As we filter our passion through
Whom and what our peering Group
Of neighbours read from our actions
And if I use the recycling bins, will
It reduce the amount of plastic the oil
Industry make, or promote making
Usefull items like ploughshares
Instead of guns?
If, I ‘do my bit’, does it help you
Or ‘them’ do theirs; n’ does it
Reduce the numbers of landmines
My country manufactures, or the
Number of children with stubs for Limbs
If I turn off lights when I ought to
And make stuff last a bit longer
Or ‘make-do, fix and mend’ will it
Alter the amount of resources used
By status symbols in their buying,
Accommodating or maintenance?
If I walk instead of drive
Will it solve anything
Am I less likely to get breast cancer?
I am doing my bit
I always have been
And so have all the rest of you
So we obviously deserve
all that comes to us - its no-ones fault
Merely the training provided
and responded to and the everlasting
Landscape of one of Gods Days.
And when they said ‘wind farm’
And some of us thought ‘Jobs’
And some of us thought of dead birds
And atmospheric community provisions
And we leant upon our trained officials
For answers
And then we started fighting
Was that still in One of Gods Days
Small island off the coast of UK
Mainland, perfect for nuclear fission
New clear waste, large amounts of concrete
Easy to make mega profits to spend on
Status symbols
Why?
Apathy,. Mate, and fire-fighting and
The ever present command to
‘dominate the earth’, ‘to be divided’ and
Recognise 2 sorts of humans, male
And female….. Or them and us
Just press the button as the best bequeathment
And inheritance - life is obviously not enough all on its own.
PARTNER
Honey the sweetest the bee manufactures
The word you easily describe me with
Brown chocolate my sweetest flavor
Like words from you, sweetest melody ever
Honey forever I will love you
Queen the long dressed palace lady
You say in your heart I have the throne
In your palace you play king I the queen
From your gestures, I feel a real queen
At your palace I will dwell
Baby sweet tender to cuddle and cherish
From my deep grief you call me baby
Erasing my fears, assuring me security
I am tender and delicate but you strong
Hold me to sleep like a baby
My dear, darling sweetheart
I give you my heart unconditionally
But you break the trust and loose it all
Will be hard to recover, my reverse gear broken
Love and not break my heart
I veiled my eyes to them
And chose only you to cherish
Know they still roam my neighbourhood
Eager to pick and mend pieces you break of me
And that will still be another chapter
Lets read the same page
Discuss and take points together
Another offered to lecture in the eve for free
Just incase you miss the lesson of the day
Said am too special to study alone
thoughts, willy-nilly, drift out of mind
restless in the muddle of entanglements
things
twisted
like my garden watering hose that weeps the earth to life
a bold green pushed to fruition
twisted
like winding highways that overtake you with litter
scraps of fast food for gulls in cherished feeding
twisted
like student summer factory work that manufactures
cursing
when assembly line work disassembles purpose
twisted
like landfill debris of mangled cellphones
tech faith that ushers us to connective clutter
twisted
like barely concealed malice
an ugliness unfolding worthy of trash TV
twisted
like war's celebratory cruelty, the tyrant's glee
in threatening a seeded nuclear future
still
in the midst of blaze and fumes, caress what's most
vulnerable
affirm the grit of human living
and hold out hope
like a candle hovering just outside a keyhole
Poem composed April 13, 2023
Buttercup Comes Home
Buttercup comes home each night with different partners
She is a factory girl, thinner than a string
I guess she manufactures lovers, one after another
It’s hard being married all the time
She tells me she needs her freedom. She needs her space.
That is her mantra. That is her bible
Buttercup comes home these days
And I’m not there
I found another Buttercup
For what it’s worth
Her name is Bertha
She’s bigger than a house
It’s hard going out
A few hours ago ‘twas 80 degrees
Yet now my toes and fingers fairly freeze
Used to use a weathervane
Stupid rooster went insane
Replacement hen manufactures cold breeze
When the Duke boys tried to jump over my house, they crashed through the middle.
The damn General Lee landed on top of me and put me in the hospital.
The Dukes apologized and said they meant no harm.
I sued their pants off and the judge gave me their farm.
I sold their land to a big company that manufactures beer.
Jesse, Bo and Luke were furious and Daisy was in tears.
Daisy said if I gave them their farm back, she would show me her hooters.
I told all four of them to take a hike and they had to go live with Cooter.
When a person injures me, it's an extremely bad thing to do.
The Dukes learned that when people do me bodily harm, I sue.
Army,
Church,
And
Jail.
Three jobs
Are posted
Every day,
Every week,
On TV,
News papers,
Wall ads,
On Fairs.
Three manufactures
For packing
Death.
The poet manufactures fantasies
wonderful enchanted castles
flying on winged carpets
when he builds poetry...
Thus chimera makes us dream,
in this chimera we will all live...!
SWEET DREAM TM
My company manufactures mattress
Blanket, quilt, bedcover, pillowcase.
‘SWEET DREAM’, the chosen
Trade -Mark going on
capturing market accessing success.
12/25/ 20
First Place
'Trade Mark' Contest by Sara Kendrick
To all of you who are one day destined to die.
I bring great news regarding your final demise.
An individual's death is as unique as the life that preceded it,
but the means by which the body shuts down is always the same process.
In a nutshell, once the brain has determined that there is something fatally wrong,
the brain then shuts down all except the body's most vital life giving functions,
and then focuses on repairing the damage proving life threatening.
Once the brain has determined that there isn't anything it can do
to save the life that is very soon going to be through,
the brain then performs its final and most important function.
It manufactures and remanufactures dopamine, flooding your system.
All feelings of pain or negative emotions are completely alien.
Everyone dies in the highest state of euphoria that they have ever been.
...and by the way, this has been scientifically proven.
So when that time does arrive when you take your last dying breath,
this I guarantee; You're going to Die A 'Fun' Death.