Long Capitalism Poems
Long Capitalism Poems. Below are the most popular long Capitalism by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Capitalism poems by poem length and keyword.
Capitalism is you paying a dog sitter
To take care of your two poodles
Capitalism is the Mets paying a great hitter
Or your mom, shopping for noodles.
Capitalism is hiring friends you once knew
To start a company, see an idea through
But some will target you and demonize
If the idea works, after many tries.
They say the profit motive is the key
to exploit the worker, cut down every tree
Rich people get rich because of greed
They shouldn't own more than what they need.
If a fat man stands by a thin lady, they infer
He got his meals by taking them from her.
They have a plan, they'll change how we live
To each what we need, from each what we give.
But its been tried before, in variations
Too much stagnation in welfare state nations
And when healthcare is run by the state
You'll get your cancer treatments, six months late.
Under Mao and Stalin, dissidents die
Don't argue with your new rulers, don't even try.
Be careful with facts that your kids should know
Kids better bend with the wind, or to the gulag they'll go.
But maybe free enterprise is not credible
And government cronyism is inevitable.
Social engineers pass mandates from on high
Companies too big to fail bailed by the little guy.
Just a treadmill to say in one place
No social movement, stuck on first base.
But there too, government had paws on the scale
Trillions in debt, educate kids to fail
Take a place like East Stroudsburg, PA
Forty percent of middle-schoolers didn’t feel safe.
Most little kids afraid to go to the bathroom.
Its all government run, a horizon of gloom.
Life is tradeoffs, every engineer knows
Cutting costs can matter, even lives lost
But money doesn't grow on trees
And life's necessities aren't free.
You can make socialism your ideal
Can say that you care, their pain you feel
But some of us will strive for a free market instead
The star we follow won't be red.
What could have been more expected
from a system created on greed
Where the donors all make legislation
via Congress they constantly feed
When a country is poisoned by money
it no longer looks out for the small
It is owned and controlled by the richest
who’ve decided that they want it all
Our history, bloody and violent
was a preview of what we would be
Just because we can’t see all the bodies
doesn’t mean that their spirits are free
The obsession with money and power
are the perfect dictatorship blend
Void of love for the land or the people
who are merely a means to an end
They all file in the chamber like robots
and their leader looks on as he gloats
The decisions made by all their donors
turn into the Congressional votes
They say capitalism is wonderful
but who is it wonderful for
It is not for the factory worker
nor the people who mop up the floor
It is not for the ones who build buildings
or the secretaries or the clerks
It is not for the drivers of buses
or the ones who toil in public works
Capitalism is poisoned
it is not for the poor or the old
It is not for the cooks or the teachers
or the soldiers, as they have been told
The system is for corporate donors
who get rich on the taxes we pay
We all work to provide them the money
which they triple on stock market play
There; in the waterfall,
I join many tears.
My tears pour from aching knees,
burdened with hearts of solid gold
preaching equality; from voiceless
leaders.
Panhandlers, clutching symphonies
in four lines, covet
corners that prey upon my
peace- just their day job.
Every check-out has a glass jar on
the counter; seeking tithes for
lost humanity, messages carried on wings
of doves; perched upon the waste
of capitalism.
Pushcarts; fleeing swarms of drones,
fear the key-stroke, a thousand
miles away.
While twitters and tweets stare from
vacant eyes, entombed in halls
of congress.
I smile too; red dawn is upon us,
and sunrise brings the tides
of truth
that will flood
every
shore
of
tyranny.
10/19/13
I remember
a young child in Sunday School
wondering what Jesus meant
when he said,
I have come out
into Earth's narrative
to turn Her repentance upside down.
How could this be true,
when he also taught that those who receive more
will get more,
and vice versa;
less worthy grace
for less valued face.
This didn't sound right,
yet it did seem reviving,
Like something to hope for
even though Jesus didn't really get the job done,
or at least not here
where I was
and not now
when I am.
It has taken a lifetime
of wondering about that curious and courageous,
audacious and admonishing claim
to realize Earth's nutritional narrative
isn't about turning planets
or people
or plants
or even energy and health systems
upside down,
But is all about returning Earth evolutions inside out,
back forth
reverse forward,
principles for reverting revival revolutions.
For example,
Indigenous wisdom originally understood
we are here as one people,
one sacred empowered Tribe
to serve the health needs
and wealth wants
of EarthMother.
Just as Western patriarchal capitalism misunderstands
Earth is here
as our anthropocentric commodity,
one secular planet
to excavate
exploit
extract
rape
enslave
colonize
market
discount
clearance sale
to sever Her health needs
from our capital-hoarding wealth wants
before She inevitably dies.
What Jesus calls upside down
and inside out,
Laotse's listeners call
a Principle of Reversion
back to when Yin induced Yang
so Yang would compassionately deduce Yintegrity
for humane wealth Truth
serving Earth's health-revolutionary Beauty,
With many more cooperative
economically thriving outcomes
than leftbrain dominant
competitive
political survivalist incomes.
The seeds of war are planted in the soil of greed.
Children of the poor are sent off to battle.
Children of the rich stow away in college.
The war machine is a stomping beast.
Teenagers coming home in body bags.
The parents suffering from chronic mind bleed...
The year prior, it was tuxedos, carnations, and dreams.
Villagers interrogated and raped.
Villages ransacked and set ablaze.
Nothing changed; the reds still reign.
The war ended only when enough profit was made.
Today, the villagers work the rice fields.
As they've done so for thousands of years.
They've no voting privilege but don't seem to care.
Despite atrocities, they seem gentle and genuinely happy.
Occasionally an ancient ordinance will go off.
Taking a limb, but they're still happy and smiling.
A one-armed cook caters to Western tourists.
Still happy, still smiling, still gentleness in the eyes.
They cast their nets into fishponds.
That were once bomb craters.
Does this count as war reparations?
Life moves along despite the specter of napalm.
Some have made skiffs from the metal skin of war.
Others have thrift shops selling war paraphernalia.
A small slice of capitalism in the middle of the jungle.
Maybe 48000 dead and half a million maimed wasn't all for naught.
Ugly death, pretty profit.
A Friday from hell
I was writing about consumerism.
What is the point when people get up at five in the morning?
buying tumble driers that use plenty of electricity in a country
where the sun shines nearly every day.
A new computer when they can upgrade the old one is such
a waste of money.
I`m missing the point people like buying shiny objects
like crows drown to the sparkly buying new yes, the newness is the future.
When most of the products are made elsewhere
it does little to stem the mass- unemployment in this country.
The earth minerals to satisfy the useless.
I hear you laugh derisively; he knows nothing.
So, you can have your black Friday, and black it is when loans are served
at the end of the month.
The people are fooled and seduced by capitalism,
therefore, banning credit cards, when paying cash, one is more careful.
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 be humbled in awe.
That’s what’s wrong with men today;
they never look up, never gaze around.
They only march forward on a path
marked with dollars instead of footprints
and fail to take heed of the wails around them.
But at least one day, when
we’ve siphoned the earth dry to fuel
“achievements”
(greed),
when the cities are burning from the debts of desire,
the children will look up at the stars that aren’t stars
and hear real crickets chirping
and they won’t be afraid of the end.
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 of equality
There is no equality in your eyes
The masters of money
It's ok nobody really believes your ideology anymore
People are tired of just surviving
We all want to be thriving
Not just the few
Yes the tide is rising
You better look for a new trick
And make it quick
Because the time has come
For your head on a stick.
My dear eagle,
I do not abhor you, though I may have spat your name with bitter curses
We are bound in the same chains
Just because you do not struggle
Because you cannot feel them bite against your neck
Does not mean they are not there
You think you are like them because you fly
You think you are closer to a god on Olympus
Than a man, chained forever to the ground
But we men see, and so to do the gods, that you are more mortal than those you rip each day to pieces
You say you are free,
But do you choose each day to consume me?
To tear my liver from my body,
to decimate your own brother
Do you do this out of love for your uncaring master?
Or because you know, deep in your chest, that if you do not it will be you who lies in my place
Limbs splayed in agony
Gut a grotesque display for those who watch from below
A cautionary tale
But let me tell you, my dear eagle
Though I suffer, still I smile
For the spark I stole cannot be extinguished
The wisdom I shared cannot be forgotten
It spreads across the earth, a quiet blaze
The people’s rage
Is not for you, but for your master
He who clips your wings with your pitiful consent
Though you, like so many, masquerade as a god you can never be
Harm your people as the gods do to protect from their own wrath
I, like so many, despite this futility, raise my chin
And spite the gods with undying breath
Octaves of robustly vibrant light
we hear
and see energy's synergy
co-gravitating
Multiculturally co-arising light and power
polyculturally dipolar
insight with resonant energy sounds
PolyEarTheism
sacred integrity's healthy wealth
enlightening octaves of potential
Fractally eco/theo-logically win/win
within
Mirroring exterior ego/eco-logical
both/and appositional
double-binary octaves
of symbiotic integrity
Climaxing healthy wealth
internal cultures of octave listening power
and external climates
of bilaterally speaking healthy light
shedding stressed shade
in unsafe dark disappointment
Even odd Desolation Wilderness
can burn
from overheated capitalism
supported disproportionately
by Straight White Western-Northern
MonoTheistic Patriarchs
Our mature
adult women
internationally redeveloping indigenous wisdom
Rediscover
uncover revolutionary revelation
All giving birth
empowering
our same integral
enlightening
Whole Open Systemic
cooperative
Revisiting
sacred green minded,
red/blue-bicameral hearted
NonViolent PeaceWay.