Long Advertising Poems
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Watching Television as any of
us does i asked myself this
question
How come our current government regarding television advertisements targeting audiences is focused
on big corporation companies
Wishes or seeks to place such
high value on protecting children
from fast food chain and fizzy drink
advertising
Yet the same protection doesn't
apply to our vulnerable elderly
My Mother religiously watches
ITV 3 and it doesn't take a detective
or genius to figure out why
As she is of pension age and so
to is the type of program scheduled
on it
And in between quarterly on the
hour the advert breaks loop on
repeat virtually the same as the
programs themselves
A multitude of charities with
different causes in search
of just £2 a month or most
prized of all a donation to be
left in your will
Because is it not the child but parent
who both picks and purchases
the shopping from the store
A child doesn't cook or shop
they merely eat or drink what's
placed in front of them
But a pensioner all alone sat
at home with no friends or family
to call upon is fair game if deemed
to be of fair and sound mind
As long as they have money and
it's for a charitable cause then
what's the problem no harm no
foul
In fact if anything we are actually
providing them a service and doing them a favor by making them feel good and worthy once again
But if the same rules then apply could
the same defense be used or inferred
Otherwise what's the difference between
the aged and the young or for that
matter charities and corporations
Some parents insist,
And some parents resist,
In sending their children to the school of hard Knocks.
Before they start throwing rocks.
There is no doubt that both sets of parents Love their children,
And want to save them from ruin,
But reality is a hard pill to swallow,
When in the virtual it is easy to wallow,
And only a love that is tough,
Can prepare us for when our ball lands in the rough.
There is also no doubt that both sets of parents,
Wish for a better turn of events,
And spending time in tents,
With children,
Where all talk is even,
And tent flaps open to heaven,
We might just have less reason,
To think about throwing rocks,
And live to see the day, the school of hard knocks,
Is no longer advertising for more children,
To save them from ruin.
So slick and sexy. Purred past Temple Bar.
That throaty engine advertising punch.
All legal London, strolling out for lunch,
with turning heads declared, “Now that’s a car!”
So many barristers are – if not losers,
low earners and slow learners. I was one.
I, plodding back from Penge, felt put upon:
a plea, a pittance. Now for Holborn’s boozers.
That mean machine was not for saps like me.
I turned my face towards the threatening rain,
and started wearily up Chancery Lane.
A cup of tea and, hopefully, a fee
awaited me in Chambers. Alloy wheels
slid sleekly, silently – stopped at my side.
That car again! I watched the window glide
wide open. And I almost had to kneel
to see the driver. Handsome. Tall and thin.
The shirt was pastel pink, the tie was silk.
The suit was Savile Row, or of that ilk.
His words astonished me. “Well, clamber in!”
And then the penny dropped. It’s Alex R!
Agility has never been my thing,
so Reaney waited, engine idling,
as I shoe-horned myself into his car.
We’d known each other at the School of Law,
but then our paths had radically diverged.
Me, in pleas and poverty submerged,
and he, the wide blue skies of Libel to explore.
“I’ll run you back to Chambers – beat the rain.”
He asked me what had occupied my morning.
For him, the King’s Bench judges were adjourning.
I’d copped a plea in Penge – how to explain?
The major stars had Alex at the helm
when they unleashed their lawsuits on the press.
Defending thefts of bicycles – and less –
was my domain. He ruled a regal realm.
His clients of the moment, man and wife,
were household names. They’d sold their wedding day
to paparazzi, who refused to pay.
The plaint was something weird, like “Stolen Life”.
The man, from Delaware, big hair, and Jewish.
They crank out movies like there’s no tomorrow
(Chicago, Basic Instinct, Traffic, Zorro):
the girl, from Aberdare – think Cher, and shrewish.
To talk of money is a vulgar thing,
but I was desperate to know his fee.
The forty quid I’d earned, I wouldn’t see
for months to come. His wrists were dripping bling.
We’d be at Chambers in another minute.
“So, Alex,” (best to blurt the damn thing out),
“a case like that. You’re looking at … about …?”
He grinned at me and said, “you’re sitting in it.”
Picture it
New York City
Worked at Macy’s Herald Square Tower
During the MACY’S and GIMBEL’S era
The story surrounds a Macy’s Buyer and Gimbel’s Buyer
They had lunch together in talking what was happening at both establishments in general
Macy’s was working on a new enterprising advertising campaign
Gimbels was doing the same thing
Somehow Gimbel’s got a whole of Macy’s was doing in their campaign and Gimbel’s copied it and illustrated making it their idea
Macy’s had to go back to the drawing board and create another advertising campaign
Macy’s was furious that Gimbel’s would be so low in being competitor
Macy’s CEO had someone to spy on Gimbel’s to see what kind of advertising campaign they were working on
Macy’s was trying to figure out Gimbel’s concept, but the components were so complex that Macy’s couldn’t construct
After that, an all out corporate wide email sent out to all Macy’s employees by Macy’s CEO, Mr. Edward Finkelstein that we are not to discuss Macy’s. business to anyone
That was my miracle on 34th moment experience
I worked in Mr. Finkelstein’s CEO Suite assisting his Secretary, Veronica with typing and sending out communications overseas to Macy’s Overseas Offices
Passed Macy’s Typing Test at 96 words per minute and made 2 errors.
The Greyhound reels over creaking axles.
Northern Kentucky puts on weight in summer,
a green mélange thickens,
yet inside our trundling tube,
joints rattle,
gears burn through paunch and muscle.
We lurch over a crest down into a holler
An old Shaker Hymn booms across the radio:
When we find ourselves in a place just right
'Twill be in the valley of love and light.
I have often longed to be 'in a place just right,'
to be at ease in these bucking bones,
even when breathing this smother
of body odor and diesel.
Then we dip down into a valley.
At a wooden store advertising cold beers
we stop.
"Is this the right place?" I ask.
"It’s as close as we get", says the driver.
Fear had all but a few intrepid explorers in its icy grasp,
And even they not resisting the right of fear to,
Lord it over the land.
Things looked bleak indeed for the human race,
With all means of advertising at fear's beck and call,
Social media spreading fear faster than the plague.
Journalists no longer free to print without fear.
Real estate agents fearing lost sales,
Police and the courts in constant dis-pear,
With all the rest fearing to get out of bed in the morning
And fearing to go to bed at night.
All seemed lost,
With none prepared to go down the road of hope,
Love struggling to detect a steady heartbeat.
Then the unthinkable happened,
With no new people to frighten fear became bored,
And decided to have a field day.
With all communication under fear's control,
No one should have missed an invite.
Yet not a soul turned up on the day.
The women stayed away for fear of germs,
The men afraid to miss the sports play of the day,
The children afraid they might have to walk across the field.
Despite what you may read in your history book,
This was the true catalyst that turned the tide on fear,
And tore them free of its icy grasp,
So, they could become the force they are in the universe today.
When none turned up to the field day of fear,
The fear merchants with nothing to peddle on the day,
Went bankrupt,
The advertisers afraid of being sued slipped back into the ground,
Social media became social once more,
Journalists no longer resided in the gutter,
The real estate agents could not sell the field at any price.
And had to adjust their lifestyle,
The police and courts went back to serve the people,
Who now had a germ of an idea that fear could be conquered,
It was safe to walk across the field,
And watching the play of the day in real time was more fun.
As for fear,
It is still about,
And enjoying the healthy respect,
It is due,
Which is heart warming indeed for the future of the Human race,
I hear that woman crying in her room each night.
Why is she doing that? It gives me a fright.
Her husband calms her down to silence.
What they do each night does not make sense.
This is a couple that I hardly know.
They moved into our boarding house a month ago.
An airplane flew over us up in the air.
The sound of it gave the couple a scare.
It's just advertising the local state fair.
The plane won't be dropping bombs on the populace.
There's no need to fear anything like this.
The husband says the President's name is Westercott.
Everyone else knows that it is not.
I have never seen anything stranger while I've been alive.
In their room was a calendar dated 2035.
There were many clocks around ticking away.
A startling realization suddenly came my way.
These two were refugees from a war in a future day.
Based on the short story "Sometime Before Dawn" by the late Ray Bradbury.
Born in Hamler Ohio
Child of Louis F Davis Sr
Lived in Portland and Savannah Ohio
Study at the University of Michigan
Specializing in the bassoon a percussion
Overcame fusing
Modern popular and classical techniques in music
Worked as an advertising jingle songwriter
Challenge by the toning down of his music
Started his own record label personal traits Davis founded Mannheim Steamroller in Omaha Nebraska
Always written suburb instrumentals and verses
Never gave up best known for his revolutionising
The Sound of traditional Christmas music
Fresh Aire
11/26/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2019
Where’s the beef? The old woman said.
I still see her bulbous nose, parading in my head.
She opens the bun and the hamburger is dinky.
My thoughts about this oldster are incredibly kinky.
Where’s the beef? Was soon printed on white t- shirts.
We were all naming the old lady, us Ethyls and Gerts.
Wendys was bringing people in by the busloads.
I was one of the easily led, coming in on all back roads.
Where’s the beef? Was on billboards against the blue sky.
It brought chuckles a plenty, none of us wondering why.
The old lady with a bulbous nose made us laugh until we were sick.
An advertising executive no doubt got a raise with that gimmick slick.
When I eat I have the discipline to stop,
and I make effort to burn calories off,
you snack all day everyday snacking is non stop,
unwilling to make effort I make you're a lazy sod
Then you blame society and shame me for fat shaming
sit and sweat complaining about your fat that's never draining
though I refrain through discipline because it stops weight gaining
keep fit and my mind entertained to overcome the craving
If you ate less and moved more you wouldn't stay a fatty
if you take responsibility on yourself you'd slim your body
If you move instead of sit down and stop being bloody lazy
you're obese because ill discipline allows the grazing
You can't complain you're fat because society has influence,
when many are athletic or use knowledge with their diet,
you fail to entertain meal gaps and snack your way to lunch,
So don't envy those making effort when you just sit and munch
Yes I'll call you fat because you're fat and that's a fact,
you're greedy when you eat lacking the self control I have,
you do not make the effort that I make to move my act
staying lazy off your feet keeping the calories as fat
Will power, endurance, science,
Fat because you're lazy
never use appliance,
so who cares if you're crazy
I will not be silenced.
I eat a pie you eat 3
stop blaming society,
or advertising on TV
when gyms are partly there to see
change your lifestyle and routine,
take responsibility,
dining like a dinosaur and defining it survival,
will see you die before your time unhealthy fat and vile!!