Long Mass produced Poems

Long Mass produced Poems. Below are the most popular long Mass produced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mass produced poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Industrial Evolution

If I had a factory I would actually produce nothing at all because

Satisfaction can never be mass produced let alone happiness

Workers would not manufacture for their hands should be free

To craft rather than assemble in strict prearranged conditions

They would not sit idle of course but follow their creative minds

Overcome the vile dictate of fabricated needs for the masses


‘Back to poor roots’ established purveyors of doom interpolate 

‘We need money machines not fine artisans and philosophers’

‘Leave thinking to the masters and disavow your utopian craze’

So while I am called a renegade rebel I lay claim to contempt

Of blindfolding slaves with cheap goods instead of pure virtue

Do not mind the malevolent label of anarchic revanchist treason


‘But what will they eat instead of the scraps from our production’

‘They will starve if we do not lead them like sheep to the slaughter’

‘We are kind humanitarians willingly sharing the means to our end’

I admit that my concept of work houses with no preordained tasks

Threatens the status quo throws a spanner into a well oiled machine

Of domination and marginalization fine tuned in centers of control


Yet the disorganized factory which I never owned in the first place

Will invent itself as soon as the non-workers can think on their own

Evolution is rather industrious and nothingness counts for a lot


Premium Member Courage

We are finite creations in an ever-expanding universe,
Kissed by the calcified stardust of epochs gone by.
Seized by trepidation and insecurities that stagger our growth,
Engrossed by a yearning to fit into societals manufactured boxes
Which consume creativity and individuality.

Incapacitated by force-fed paranoia,
Tormenting our artificially pristine panoramas with mangled wraiths —
Regurgitated pleasantries scribbled upon mass-produced pulp,
Courage stamped out by mass hysteria.

Revolving chains shackle dying hearts turning to stone;
Humanity hardens while heaven becomes further out of reach.
For every action has, even if unintentional, consequences.
We have silenced our own tongues,
Watched in desensitised horror as the world burns,
And now we stand frozen
As the earth cleanses itself of our parasitic invasion.
© Sara Jama  Create an image from this poem.

Persius Flaccus Redux

Suppose we ran it by a friendly Martian
(I’d say “by Martial”, but he wouldn’t be gentle).
You crave Armani, Hugo Boss, Versacci and
that Hilfiger who’s naff, naff.  Are you mental?

This myth of exclusivity’s juvenile
(I’d offer “Juvenal”, but you’d refuse).
They’re mass-produced, ubiquitous, stock-piled,
your Sarah Jessica Parkas, Jimmy Shoes.

The Martian, then.  We wrap ourselves in rags
to ward off cold, conceal the family jewels,
but put a brand name on those skirts and bags,
you’ll cough up ten times more.  “You bloody fools!”

Apartheid is an evil thing, agreed?
South Africa once practised it.  You struck.
You staked out embassies, until the blacks were freed.
Embargoes, sanctions, boycotts – oh, such pluck!

But none of you’s besieging Tel Aviv.
Our Martian’s wondering what the difference is.
Ramallah’s raped without a by-your-leave,
but you’re at Burghley, knocking back bucks fizz.

Perhaps we can’t extinguish all life’s fires.
Perhaps compassion tires, and needs its pauses.
Or is there just a chance that it transpires,
there’s such a thing we’ll call “designer causes”?
Form: Quatrain

Premium Member I Can'T Believe the Hatred

I Can't Believe the Hatred
By Franklin Price
11/08/2019

I can't believe the hatred  that runs rampant through this land
The supply of it astounding, far exceeding all demand
All because of politics, it's so hard to understand
It's not even natural, it's mass produced and canned

However it has happened, it's the forefront for us all
With instant access from the net, always at our beck and call
The masses now participate, all this dislike standing tall
Was love for freedom got us here, this hate will be our fall

We fought for independence, at least our founders did
Now we're the sheep who follow, who mostly go where we are bid
We've given up our freedoms, and our voices have been hid
It's time we closed Pandora's box and put back on the lid

 Republicans and Democrats are not the who we are
Our government not royalty to bow to from afar
Our duty is to cast them out, when they're not up to par 
The needs of We the People should be the only followed star

Don't let your independent voice add to this hate filled source
Use it, don't abuse it, to help change this nation's course
Speak to your fellow citizens, We the people are the force
To help end this harmful hatred, you must dismount from your horse

Offer your hand in friendship, begin to walk the extra mile,
Open your ears to listen, with mind open, for awhile 
Think before responding, open with a sincere smile
Don't think that you know everything, there are other rank and file.

Don't be a politician, unless you are one of the few
Then listen to the people, do what they would have you do
They are the ones who put you there, and they can oust you too
Work to stop this foolish hatred, bring love and freedom back in view.
Form: Couplet

Extract

When yesterday left, today I'm a little right. 
This is a tad bereft, yet full with almight.
Misconceptions or misinterpretations, either way it's confusion. 
Dreaming of incarnations, and snarled in the illusion.
Mass produced Catholics, unforgotten inside their cathedral. 
Discovered some of the relics, 
Ancient talisman are unbelievable. 
Go forth into the tomb,
Open the sarcophagus, let the rancid stench consume.
Gathering up all that is charmed,
Born inside the depleted after birth. 
This does not meant to be alarmed,
However it's been full of its worth. 
Die another time, live in today.
Write another rhyme, lines lined word play.
Shaman type, opening the 3rd eye.
Extracted and ripe, breathe to see thru the lie.
Contradiction is a great way to open minds,
Salvation is not a problem unless you are in their binds.
Bells chime and chime, before you can get away with it. 
In time covered in lime, and I"m chock-full of grit.
Ready to go to the next, yes I've been there before. 
Sometimes just a little vexed, benumbed to the core of my lore.
And as always plum rotten to the core..
Form: Rhyme


Ad Nauseam

Sunshine grows men on ropes
Similar with metaphors and similes
And cold plastic smiles.
Slim, shiny, at first slimy, Then…
Then mass produced body index
Fat and hypertension deficit syndrome-o-matic.
Failure due to faulty, underfunded, cheap union labor parts.
Broken and glued 
taped back 
to the semi-flaccid meat bag’s parts 
Ad nauseam, 
But worth regurgitating 
for the sake of curiosity’s infinite lives.
Will you spare a tired old man a dozen redbirds?
All dead and empty.
Ad nauseam.
Entering ourselves head first, strong
Into the green-blue gluttonous mausoleum nausoleum 
With fancy golden embryo.
Embryo cold , 
with teeth chattering loose, 
Broken from gnawing the misconceived development 
Of a prenatal worm-child.
The background was aforementioned “Thus”.
Inter-missionary positions 
on all seeing eyed pyramids 
Connect myriads of the labyrinth.
Run for cover before the light breaks the shadow fault line 
Of what is right and what is written 
Because I can’t bear to tell you what is wrong.

Sunshine grows ropes on men 
different from the same old, same old.
Mad at the world because like opinions and ideas and optimism 
And a general  surety of a done deal.
Nothing is relative to Uncle Certain.
Just Aunt Be.
Hollow minds can only feed hollow stomachs 
From the, “Why did they even come here?”
Go back home to your party fanciful.
If you think it’s you then why are you still here 
Under the tree that shades us from falling 
Birthmark razorblade sweet tarts.
It all starts over and over.

Gikomba , My Mtumba Girlfriend

I know you don’t know Gikomba, Gikosh
It’s where we go to shop
For everything second hand and camera
Shirts, purses, suits, girlfriends, even senators
You must get there early when the sun is in the east
If you want to get something nice you must be the first pick
They all come in bales shipped from the west 
We don't like to say they are used or cheap 
You should see the new girlfriend I just nicked
she really is beautiful, she has all her teeth
She is quite a catch she is an affordable treat
A little bit used? yes but barely, she looks pristine 
I can’t believe someone gave her away at just twenty-three
She has a few scars nothing that can’t be fixed
With a little care, a visit to my tailor, trust, and a new wig
I am so excited I must show all of the streets
I can’t wait to try her on once I am home, rested and clean
She comes with instructions in a manual you will never see
First, you must wear a wrapper, It is the wisdom from within
You see this people from the west are sometimes sick
Before you try anything from Gikosh, its proper
To wear protection for some infections we can't treat
Until you can make sure she is clean
Just like my mother did with my clothes from the streets
She cleaned my Sunday best first to lose that mitumba scent
To make sure my neighbours couldn’t see we couldn't get the new drip
Just so I could fit in with the rest not to mention also disinfect from disease
Like a good son raised right by her mother with respect for my street
I clean her up, to protect myself from her previous sin
Once I rinse her past, I teach her how to speak like me 
I take her out for all my friends to witness her skin
They stand in awe of how designer she is 
Like a reality star from Instagram or those fancy magazines 
Oh My! I can’t wait for also you to see 
My mtumba girlfriend after I take a pic 
She is special, with character and is really unique 
Not generic like the mass-produced brands you worship
Where you go shopping in the malls in the city
Yes your girlfriends look amazing
you don’t even have to check their teeth
They are never used they are never cheap
But still, none is like this new one I picked
I am already attached and I am pleased
You really should try Gikosh if you will
I recommend with 5 stars it is the dream

Premium Member Not on my team!

It isn't about the race
I should have told my runners
the morning
of the race

today is more
than one 5k

they looked bored, tired,
excited, and all the other
feelings they wouldn't
share with me

there are too many people
and I cannot project myself
convincingly enough

to let my 3rd-8th
graders know
that the race doesn't matter
and the metal
is just made of metal
(mass-produced)

The vendors line
the showplace
and Justin Timberlake's
song is playing
(how come I hear this song
at every 5k race?)

'Can't Stop the Feeling'

I tell my kids to warm up
and parents are worried
that they will get tired
(Its back and forth on flat road
four times only!

You wimps!
(Not the kids
Select parents)

Why do I feel like a clown,
entertainer, enthusiast,
dictionary of nonsense,
and idiotic coach
all at the same time
today?

I need a party size
bottle of pinot grigio
to get through this
alive!

Fifth wave, bibs are on,
my top runner is full
of cheese fries,
and we are off!

One fell down
at the beginning
(not on my team)

Another one lost a shoe
and carried it
through the race
(not on my team)

The sun was just bright
and warm enough
to make another kid
cry while walking
down the hill
"They made me run,
I hate this!"
(Not on my team)

All my runners survived
and none of the parents
sued me

We didn't win
and they all scattered after
for the Kona Ice

Not on my team!
© CC Bloom  Create an image from this poem.

Chasms Shine Inside Pupils Captured

in mass-produced photographs leaking
oils and plastics into oceans eternally
churning secret species speaking sonar
beyond the corridor of human tongues

awaiting arrivals admirals of slaughter promulgate
fading flags of kings and queens aging on God’s throne
as veins rise to the surface and lines on maps bulge winds
direct tyrannies toward destinations cultivated by natives
beholding prophecies piercing membranes of skylines

families gather in gluttonous homes quiet as guilt
consuming bounties bound in card-board consumed
by glowing signals processing visions of impotence
and incompetence revealing its radiating birthmark
shaped like a deformed diamond vapid as brutality
© Alex Roth  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Monoku Monday - Final Edition

"Final Edition"     Posted 12 Sep 2021

With deep gratitude to all of who visited and commented over these 12 months of Monoku Mondays, I am hereby retiring this series. Keep laughing and bringing a smile to one another, we all need a lighthearted break from the serious side of life once in a while... especially on Mondays! ~ John

Just Say'n	
    a clear conscience:     usually the result of a bad memory

Speaking of Memory…
    i've got great memory      if i could only remember to use it

Well If You Put It That Way
    the grass is greener on the other side      at least you don't have to mow it

Balance Is as Balance Does	
    a teen's idea of a balanced diet      a burger in each hand

Speaking of Teens…
    there's nothing wrong with teens      that a little reasoning won't aggravate

How Sad
    her birthday is april 1st      unfortunately, no one believes her

Politics In a Nutshell
    never forget the golden rule      whoever has the gold makes the rules

Why I Did Poorly in English Class
    I was always fated to mispell werds   it was just my density


"Bits and Pieces VII"     Posted 5 Sep 2021

I Wish I'd Said That 
    there is only one thing worse than being wealthy       not being wealthy

Isn't It Ironic?	 
     i express my non-conformity      with mass-produced bumper stickers

I Know, Right?	 
     all those who are opposed to speeding violations      raise your right foot

Clueless Clem - International Dating Dunce	 
     "like watching tennis, Cheri?"   "oui!"   "just a wee bit? okay, baseball then"

Little Red Writing 'Hood	 
     i live in a red house on a writer's block      but no one is writing

Quote of the Week 	
     i went to a fight last Saturday night      and a hockey game broke out ~ 

[humor attribution - #5 by Edmo Snord, #6 by Rodney Dangerfield, all others found online, sources unknown]
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Monoku

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