Long Conveyor belt Poems
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Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
HESITANT
Aye
and to sigh,
yet never goodbye...
our reluctance to say..
to close..to leave..
to part..to kiss
farewell;
weider-sehn ,perhaps
au-revoir..later..
see you..wave..then watch
'til we turn away
and cannot see
no more...
Aye
and to sigh.
A SELF-CENTRED CREED
Life is never the same,
one moment to the next.The
day’s routine..eating, working,
playing, sleeping camaflages
the moving conveyor belt.
Dawn breaks, night falls
day upon day, week
after week. Seasons
change imperceptibly,
the length of daylight alters,
only the birds notice and
adapt. We having sheared
that link, cocooned in
a mirage of modernity,
muddle on in our delusion;
arrogant and ignorant,
trusting in a perceived
superiority, obstinately
dismissing life’s realties,
worship at ego’s altar.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under the name ichthyschiro
Smoke drifts from the smokestacks
On dark and gloomy days
Just before the first rains of Summer
Crates are collected and stacked
And thrown onto the conveyor belt
So they may disappear into the fortress
A robot sings songs of yesteryear
And humans simply stand by and observe
Give these jeering men some credits
Lest they starve without work
With their blossoming bellies
But they sure love Conservatism
Starving mothers fling underweight babies
Into the jaws of an unforgiving sea
Because they can't take care of them
But neither could they spare them
Remember when a wise man once said
Elections have consequences
A tower is built slowly from the ground up
It starts off small but becomes massive over time
Just like petty rants from the bird's nest seem small
Until they collect over time and form dogma
An entire generation tainted by evil
And the devil himself is blushing
Alas drown your sorrows at the beach
And swim in a sea of glittering garbage
Because this great sea sure does flow
Where thriving cities once stood
But now they reside deep underwater
Entombed by science denial
And for every peace loving Christian
Is one who spreads dissension like disease
Who thrives on stapling gays to the cross
As if it were 1965 in the redneck south
And in truth every person who lets it happen
Is just as guilty as the transgressors
When the good lord said love thy neighbor
Could he have known they'd cast the first stone
Upon all the liars and all the sinners
Just peel apart the jowls of the maiden sinner
And find the seven deadly sins cowering
From a man dressed in a burlap sack
Patience for appeasers is something I lack
And as I rip away the images of this distorted future
I look to the future in two years from now
And I just hope deep in my heart we've had enough
Because at first 2016 gave me a future to believe in
But now Morons Are Governing Again
When I read
that we are all sculpted
upon his image
the first imprint appeared in front of my cognition
is that one of the parts sliding down the conveyor belt
just like at Fiat's
little pieces dropping in paper boxes
warily inspected
obsessively revised
senselessly omitted
from with white gloves wrapped hands
among those nude paper covers
suddenly your path doesn't seem so mysterious anymore
it's circular
and there we are
circularly crossing over your first creatures hands
with their perfectly white gloves
they were the first one
they should have been left the first one
but you just had that need to prolong the game
and implement some new rules
expecting that products will behave
according to the implemented protocols
and your workers will hold their hands white
then
an apple occurred
some overdriven laborer
dropped it from his lunch box
onto that moving rubber platform
and everything went wrong
one hands turned black
other white hands in desire to maintain themselves clear
withdrawn from that rubber
leaving parts unsupervised
and boxes exposed to putrefaction
due to a single touch
some good parts are falling before they even reached the boxes
other good ones became damaged by the fall
or are dropped in incorrect packaging
some malfactured one's reach the boxes
and are sent side by side with good ones
everyone knows
what happens when mildewed wall leans on the dry one
knowing that our price is devaluing
according to the decay stage
you keep amusing yourself
deliberately pushing from time to time
that wrong button
just to remind us
how we are
easily corrupted goods
Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
Energy.
Twirling around, lying down.
But your eyes are going out of focus.
You make a blurry wish.
You wish not to fall through the couch.
Focus, and you’ll be able to sit upright for a minute.
Then sinking, and shrinking will occur with use.
You haven’t had coffee in two days.
But you’re more coffee than ever.
Empty cups and turning them over to wash and dry.
All day, the conveyor belt rolls toward you.
You need to wash huge pots and pans.
The conveyor belt continues.
Cereal and milk, pouring, pouring, pouring all day.
You haven’t gone to the coffeeshop in a week.
Or anywhere.
Just listening to clicking, and shaking sounds.
Trying to listen.
Energy.
But without caffeine.
Is like roller skates within you.
Nothing gets done until nighttime.
Make cookies at 3:00 am.
Come to life.
Dancing cookies.
Coffee.
You still never mailed that electric bill out.
Power down.
Lights out.
But still-
Energy.
On wings of self-destruction she relishes the panic
In the control room of the living
It was meant to be a family journey from heaven
Everyone on board to enjoy the passage
Then she launches herself as a guided vile missile
Mission nearly accomplished
Seat belts fastened and cool drinks already served
A knowing smile from the stewardess
The airport tower signals a clear runway for runaways
Paradise calling on a flight path to hell
Final announcement we have unchecked baggage
Please alight from the vessel
Puzzled but not unwilling he adjusts to the order
Takes his case from the carrier
He had not packed his belongings entirely on his own
Before placing them on the conveyor belt
Assisted and extended suicide had been in the making
Strapped to transgressions of boundaries
In time he got off the the airbus to help other travellers
Maybe he should take a train on his own
When the jet craft exploded he watched the fire ball
Sad but relieved that this voyage was over
31st January 2020
seems like ten
i had nine million thoughts of you
8,999,999,000 of them were daggers to my heart
the one thought that i held on to was recycled and turned into a message from God
it took me 3,650 days to realize that quality time with you was a sneeze in a thrift store full of ripoffs
now for seven days a week, i move on like a turtle intentionally constipated
i always carry that small wonder like a 15 year old butterscotch disc
at least butterscotch is still a friend of mine....
did you ever read that poem and hip yourself to the internal message
now my heart is on a temperamental conveyor belt
the surgical tools used to fix it have all decided to become animate and retire
the tears from my heart make black roses grow and inspire an odd senility to the whole of me
yes, it feels like another ten....and i thank you from the bottom....
....that i will never get over....
fascinated by the things
hovering in the punishing
sky. both the wicked and winged,
or the bare and featureless. pulled
along in a conveyor belt parade,
a silent march in the stratosphere.
floating forward to the place called
Limbo.
jagged horns pop the
clouds like balloons, withering skin
grazes the twilight. the softest
sky being cut into ribbons as
if it was a present that was
meant to be ripped open all along.
those foggy phantoms following
along. reaping the seeds they
sowed when they were more than
souls.
what a wonderful gift it must be
to hover over this hollow place.
"Just get your titles, stick to study, son,"
she used to say, "no matter what it takes."
She saw me as the family's Chosen One,
escaping that conveyor-belt of cakes.
When I got home, she'd be already gone
("If only for your future children's sakes!")
the hairnet and the overalls to don,
to start the night shift, down at Bettabakes.
The belt would grind and drone (it never stopped),
conveying cupcakes, candy caramel,
vanilla-flavored, sugared, cherry-topped,
towards Goods Outward's gaping mouth of hell.
This sluggish river she'd have gladly swapped
for Acheron or Lethe, switched the smell
of almond paste for brimstone (could she opt
for somewhere far less tedious to dwell).
And me? I got degrees, up to my ears,
steered clear of Bettabakes, at least. Became
a lawyer and a teacher, one who steers
the kayak of his soul down much the same
dull river as his mother, but my weirs
are bigger. "National", you name the game?
"American"? It's baseball. Many beers
ago, I ceased to think in terms of fame
or fortune. Work's just work, and must be borne.
From graduation to the grinning grave
it sweeps us, slowly, down a valley worn
by those conveyed before us. Each new wave
of fancy fudges sets out, feeling scorn
for docile drudges, but winds up enslaved.
Our only way is onward, just like pawns,
towards Goods Outward's yawning architrave.
As counsel for defense I saw them pass.
It mattered little if they roared, or knelt
in supplication. Since all flesh is grass,
we have no choice. We play the hand we're dealt.
And now I watch each earnest, eager class
of youngsters, see their fine illusions melt:
they merge into one nameless toiling mass,
conveyed towards oblivion by The Belt.