Factories Poems - Poems about Factories

The icon fly's high watches all in absolute absence disdain. In the shadow of the Acadian machinery Man's industry belches black smoke. into a polluted bruised sky. Gears turn in arcane factories faces of white skeletal things wither watch absent heavens, staggering Along the windswept sea stretching to infinity broken bones of unimaginable Tyranny I see all as it once...

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Lone machines hum and sway, back and forth to the rhythm and rage. Optics lens reflect refract and collect the thunderheads of blood-soaked clouds, build violent, violet lighting shimmers, capers, flickers, and fades. Lancing, dancing striking into a sick parade Of the damned the beaten and lost march in time to the metronome as the eye of creation...

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Hear the horrific ape scream along the seam of nightmares. Something waits, gestates dreams blackened, brutal. Brittle things skitter, scurry, scamper away, eyes of entities, deities wail. Intellectual ape stares into the void, things better left unknown unloved never shown. Along a beautiful barren land of cars, bars and neon parking-lots fester into desolate nights heated from the Aftermath....

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This land of entitlement, entertainment and enterprise lost burnt broken...despised skeletal structures reaching griping, clutching, scraping the infernal sky. arcane factories sit on horizons haunt like houses of Man burning, cursing the American wasteland. Napalm fields, embers of pyres that rage, race across This holocaustic ape....

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Towering factories, arcane, silhouetted against a violet dark sky bruised lead-gray clouds tumble. heavens heavy in thunder and lightning turn in arcane patterns of oblique, obsolete across facades of machinery. lightning arcs, carving ruins in the angry sky. ravens fly, high, black specters... shadows dance in the dark engines spark, whirr, burn, hiss and steam. lights of a necropolis flare on horizons seams towers...

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Arcane Factories Along the windswept wasteland broken bones of humanity unimaginable a Tyranny in the mind's eye bleak landscapes of industry churn spires reaching to torch heaven, huge towers of jaded glass, soaring to the zenith breaking fire of crimson waves pouring down to hells foundations....

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Leaf Factories or Just Rake The Leaves Without Whining By: Tom Wright 11/25/99 I see leaves, in assorted hues of red, yellow, and rust, reminding me of paint splotches, from the palate of some Grand Master, moving ever slightly with each wind gust. They blanket the ground as color on canvas, and in thought I try to see just how it would be, if God, like man, had...

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impacts are different flat mouth pieces on vibrating lips ..direct light of scorching sun on a melt- ing heart of love is magic potion fishes are made in factories here...

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