Best Producer Poems
Sleep with a producer, - and for sure, after,
Become a greatest actress, and no other way!
And what to do a male, who want to be an actor,
Who not a talented and he not yet a gay?
(This is a fictional poem)
I was a rich Hollywood producer but now I'm broke.
My last film ruined my career and that's no joke.
I didn't know that my movie would flop.
My wife left me because there was no money for her to shop.
It's embarrassing to go from being a millionaire to being in the unemployment
line?
I just got a new job, does anybody need their shoes shined?
s/he came from some other place to
nestle in NYC & try to make it big off
other people’s talent---
they stroll through the open mikes, nightly,
and make themselves known at small shows
where the naïve transplants who want to be
the next big thing
come to nestle themselves &
stroke their jupiter sized egos---
the young record producer has a few references to themselves
on obscure albums that
no one in their right mind know exist &
they use this as leverage to lure in business partners who will
spend time, energy & money
with them, in this pathetic attempt at
profiting off others
who do things for the pure necessity of survival through
art &
not to be sodomized & raped
by commercial vultures
such as this roaming twit.
every handshake
has nothing to do with a personal connection of any kind
people are there at said young record producer’s disposal
to exploit & amass,
so that they can add up the names & vomit them out
on the next unfortunate person
who might show any interest at all
in what might be offered by the little “business”
that this person has begun &
they act as if you couldn’t throw a rock, blindfolded,
and hit someone just like them
in a town full of bob dylans, ani difrancos &
lady gagas
all trying to whore themselves out
before they get a muffin top or their hair goes gray.
July 23 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Jeremiah 11-14
Key Verse – Jeremiah 11:16 The LORD called thy name, A green olive tree, fair, and of goodly fruit…
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY FRUITFULNESS’ PRODUCER
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your gracious working
Thank You for enabling me to obey Your voice, lovingly speaking
While hearing my pleas with my childish sulking…
Here am I crying for Your presence I’m always seeking.
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your answer to my prayer
Thank You for helping me to pursue holiness away from purity-slayer
While soothing my noise of great tumult against flesh-trier…
Here am I begging for Your aid midst tempting vision-dryer.
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your prospering righteousness
Thank You for planting me in Your goodness to grow through Your faithfulness
While considering my supplications against worldliness-weariness…
Here am I asking for Your compassionate pressing for my usefulness.
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your commandment
Thank You for letting me profit in Your granted contentment
While shielding my devotion against carnal allurement…
Here am I praising and glorifying Your name with my commitment.
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your demand for my humility
Thank You for teaching me to honour Your sovereignty
While forgiving my sins I confessed with sincerity…
Here am I cleaving to Your deliverance against transgression and iniquity.
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your confounding light
Thank You for reproving me so as to forsake backsliding thought-blight
While checking my motives of pretending might…
Here am I beseeching for Your attending wisdom and counseling insight.
Lord God, You are my fruitfulness’ Producer by Your assurance
Thank You for granting me life everlasting of heavenly insurance
While warming my salvation-joy with Your peace-endurance…
Here am I acknowledging Your favour of serene forbearance.
July 23, 2023
Banking on inherited memories rejuvenates me.
As and when I remember the memories
That me and my people long to cherish
And those me and my people despise to relish
To remember not as memoirs
But as inerasable scars.
The nation, the geography, the war, the leaders
The language, the temples, the forts and those statues, and the ethnicity
Then comes an innate xenophobia
That declares me and my people as more equal than others;
And others do live in History’s mischief,
Bloodshed as part of the living
And for the living of me and my people,
And the making of the histories
That I and my people have today
As glorious moments of the past for the present
But for those who produced this wicked ‘hero’
That is unexplainable.
The unforgettable’s enigmatic inexplicable
And this makes me feel the heroic deeds
And the unheroic moments as great periods
And people who built that fort and this temple.
I only consume History.
Producer of History
Learning from the past bloopers
I reconstruct the future through THIS present.
And those present here.
There is NO present as such
For humans live in past glories
And memories that are painful
To think about the future
And the prospective futures
Those (are) perceived either in fear or in hyper ambitions.
The past seems to me
A mere wars-the wars fought
For a feudal by a feudal
Or those slaves-(Both physical and social).
Those kings and their courtesans
The numerous wives and those concubines
The titles and the moribund army.
The modern PROMOTERS of democracy
Yet the common man was ‘there’
But not living.
I exterminate all the above
Including the democracy,
The dictatorship of the preliterate,
The religious kingdom, the Islamic republic.
Egalitarian society for all- the inclusive growth
I will have equality
Where people are equal
In all but something giving room for those
Like I who would like to produce
History- future history.
I produce History
Not for History’s sake
For myself – my sake.
Whine Producer
Miracle Man
7/23/2024
Constantly ticking is our grandfather clock,
and with each night’s chime it puts me shock.
My ears are weary of this uninterrupted talker,
it’s hard to escape this loud mouthed stalker.
Often, with disgust, I watch the pendulum swing,
other than it’s beauty I find nothing that’s soothing.
Always near day’s end someone continues to rewind,
and at each suggestion seems I’ve always whined.
I suppose I could find something entertaining to do,
because hearing it’s chime always makes me spew.
The options I see at hand are to continue to blister,
Or load this sucker up, and deliver it to my sister.