Capitalism Poems - Poems about Capitalism

“O’!, work, work, work away,—ignore your thirst and shovel steadily—keep nourrishing the coals of locomotive life!(the cost is but your souls); All other occupations?—to hell dispersed! “Amen! your bosses, with cash (to be disbursed), busy their hands with myriad controls made to mold you for your determined roles; Yes… yes!, because the silence would be worst! “Aye! Men! your calling...

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A multinational corporation Will probably sell your thoughts In exchange of profits and assets, More valuable than your freedom. But can you stop them? A real question. Probably not, for you don't understand The rules of this game. I have played for a while, And have had experiences like forever. It isn't a game of your opinions. I understand now....

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A nine - to - five bartending job - the life, death, and fate of an artist. Forced to sweep cracked tile, and vacuum puke stained floors - until enough people notice him. False faith, or shall I say hope, keeps him writing, painting, singing, drawing - drinking and sinking in his own misery, dragged...

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A billion ants all march'd in line Their Queen doth bruise 'n' bleed them dry For these poor creatures, world stops not And no eyes turn'd when one doth drop. A billion ants all beat 'n' broke Their minds be torn, their souls revoked Be turn'd to slaves and free from trust To feed their monster's greed 'n' lust. A billion ants whom...

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The old dragon speaks The Old Lie: There is honey in my jaws! No more must it hunt its prey The knights went extinct long ago And now the rats are happy to scramble ...

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Dust shrouds the peeling varnish on the old church pew as Noah (first of his namesake, last of his namesake) thumbs an overripe orange in his patchwork coat pocket. The preacher, made an obelisk by distance and light looms against the marble cross, stark fragmented, like bullet holes through white fencing. He speaks. “Every Living Thing Has A Soul And...

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the damned alarm howls at 5 a.m. like a thirsty rabid dog in the dark. I throw my bones into a threadbare suit, and drag my carcass out the door. the streetlights flicker, dying gods, the freeway hums a tired hymn. coffee burns my throat— fuel for another round in the machine. the boss with his middle fat finger, his gold watch, his ulcer...

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Tonight I told ChatGPT that the refrigerator wouldn't shut the hell up. The thing pathetically rumbles in the cheapness of creation in modernity, with constant muffled screams; brgggrr whrrrzzz brgggrrr, over and over again, haunting these apartment floors and walls, suffered by the corporal forms adorning them. Obsolescence looms with an intended vacancy for contraptions and their...

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My skin crawls as I watch a hand, disembodied, reach yet again into the Tollhouse bag. Bright, artificial yellow. It burns my eyes. Countless chocolate chips are shoveled down my gullet as if crumbs to a wretched, starving creature. I’m only jarred out of my sinful haze by catching si th r of my reflection. That face staring back at me -...

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There’s children growing up that believe the stars sound like crickets chirping, for their only exposure to these sources of wonder are through over-exposure to blue light and radio waves and soundtracks overlaying simulations. The night they know is bright as day, lit by “satellite internet constellations” or fogged out by the price of progress. They don’t understand what it is to stare upwards and...

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Can the textile, woven soft, Wrapped round cushions, made for traded monies, Hold through wear and treads of bones, spent by those to be beneath me? What is made for you, me and we-- Rather than paper or liquidation-- Are the metals melded to be, Or just to briefly bear bonds and taxation? As labor makes the product flows, Intended obsolescence, Avoids the lows...

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When the frustrated socialist sees that health care isn't free He turns into a killer, claims he's saving you and me He murders a CEO, to make a point, because he could For the goal of perfection is the enemy of the good He gets adulation from those who think healthcare is a right They think profit is the devil,...

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sad and lonely inside, like a hollowed tooth with cyanide groaning and bemoaning about the market, the trade, the money in his bank, thats who mr cottonmouth is a very rich man with a house in his south who whines and pouts, while others put his fires out his tongue is long and split, with two little twins...

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Just like the days of whaling Your capitalist regime is failing What is your idea of order War,rape,plague and disorder You will try any old trick to keep from Floundering But only the mast can be seen People have awoken Had enough of your poking Will you set Europe on fire Maybe the rest of the world Just to hold on to your idea...

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The headline read: “Low deposits and fair repayments!” The offer of a lifetime, the promise of a lifeline for you and those you love. But “deposits” aren’t just in money when we’re low in depositing care, “repayments” still reek of capitalism when many don’t see their “fair” share. The advertisement seared in bold font and burning lettering, reminding us to...

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