Long Producers Poems
Long Producers Poems. Below are the most popular long Producers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Producers poems by poem length and keyword.
Hollywood movie producers misrepresent
Our books.
I hate it when they take out or supplement.
It makes me discontent.
Look
Hollywood movie producers misrepresents
Which causes some heated arguments.
Their crooks.
I hate it when they take out or supplement
It makes the book totally different.
I was so mad I shook.
Hollywood movie producers misrepresent
When they augment
It wasn't the butler. It was the cook!
I hate it when they take out or supplement
Hollywood circumvents
They put in so many dressed up hooks.
Hollywood movie producers misrepresent.
I hate it when they take out or supplement.
She intended to teach history
of philosophy,
but no history-buffed
economic or political listening philosophers signed on.
So, s/he decided to try
an empowerment class on ecological
and historical interrelationships
as found in systematic multicultural theology,
but no polycultural theologians
with divine win/win synergetic communication experience
came to actively listen
to and for each sacred Others' feeling
thoughts.
So, s/he offered a space
for polypathically enlightening cooperative economists
to speak ecosystemically
among our nutritional health-networking selves,
as both teachers and listeners,
speakers and readers,
but too late--
All her potential consumer/producers
were busily writing
and marketing their own autonomously competing passions
and dispassions,
posting multi-sensory courageous
and curious selfies.
So, s/he opened a blogsite
to facilitate sharing and telling
compassionate historical creation stories
of ecological
theologically multicultural
mutually cooperative WholeEarth-gaming communication
And that was the last robust ecopolitical co-investment
and first we've heard
from him and her
ego and eco
left and right
western capitalistic patriarchal culture
still speaking evangelically up and out
with yang-outdoor bipolar shouting privileged voices,
and eastern compassionate inside
healing dipolar co-arising
feeling/thinking choices.
Although now lost in complexity
of robust nutritional life,
I'm fairly sure
EarthMother originally intended to teach history
of emotion-listening philo/sophia,
but no history-buffed
bilaterally listening philo-sophiers signed on
to notice her diverse sensory-neural climates.
Gaia continues running on a Health Platform,
healthy democracy
for wealthy economy
for healthy ecopolitics
for wealthy democratic energy.
The idea of free markets
as those embedded in democratic transactional service
to a local community
Is as old and conservative
as the idea of health
being embedded in a real
organic economic body
and political mind,
actually communicating
and playing nice
with each other.
The primal goal of old school markets,
in good weather times,
was to grow polycultural health,
investments as rich as diverse nutritional needs
of consuming and producing constituents.
So too, in bad climate times,
a depressed and fading market
was, and is, to survive Lose economic
and Lose environmental EarthTrends,
becoming more monoculturally played out,
exhausted,
Often picking up,
emigrating toward more promising lands
and fresh water,
more breathable air,
healthier opportunities for robust
democratic
fair
transparent
mutually vulnerable
win/win healthy-wealth transactions.
Robust markets are rich in co-passionate exchanges,
a flow between non-violent consumers and producers
rooted in healthy cooperative investments
in
and from
and of nutrition-sharing hearts
and minds
and voices,
thoughts with feelings still attached.
The right to free communicating markets
is a right of democratic access
and an ecological positive corollary right
of equal freedom from investing in poison,
imprisoning the competition,
waging war against those who terrify our megalomania
with their own autonomous hubris,
violent lies
hypocrisy
narcissism
egocentrism
anthropocentrism
xenophobia
patriarchalism
homophobia
win/lose evolutionary competitions,
runaway capital hoarding,
moral bankruptcy,
investment in ego-maniacal agendas,
hate,
elitism,
racism,
autonomous media and market control,
feelings of grandiose entitlement,
Jealous and zealous bad faith
sold out as spiritualized
and denatured
disembodied
unmarketable
unfree BadNews anti-truth.
Meanwhile,
Gaia continues running on a Health Platform,
healthy natural/spiritual democracy
for wealthy secular/sacred economy
for healthy left/right bicameral ecopolitics
for wealthy democratic free-market energy.
She loved our First Nation Cafe
from the primal blessed moment
just before she first could not yet think
of this cooperatively-owned communal place.
As other than some sacred space
She has liturgically revisited
and faithfully communed each starlight night
within secular developing
Right hand prominent wombs.
It felt right and left good
that everyone she saw blending local grown organic juices
fueled by fresh air-turbine bikes
pedaled by consumers
drinking juice from outside
community cooperative garden beds
fertile through compost from FairShare coffee grounds
brewed right there
All cooperatively honeyed
pollinated
owned and self-managed
by those who blend nurturing waters
fueling healthy blood
heart and mind and embodied
by those who heart pump the bikes
and therapeutically mind step the hydro-milling anthemed steppers
and build green capturing solar panels outside
and sing
and dance
and improvise farming and gardening and incubation networks
tell bold new creation love stories
share organically resilient skill sets
cook and preserve local nutrition harvests
design and play WinWin on-line and off-line
deep learning green-STEM Games.
This First Nation Cafe re-creation place
feels like cooperative organic network space
for liberally loving ecoconsumers
and ego-conserving health producers
to ecoschool
and ecovillage
eco/theo-logical after school
and on through each vespered late night regeneration
candle lit inside
star lit campfire outside
nights of lovely ultra-violent FullMoon
through NewMoon full-shadowed integrity
of water-bears
and their synergetic spear-carriers.
He lived this First Nation Cafe
from primal blessed first cooperative moment
just before she first could not yet charge intuition
for this cooperatively-owned communal place
of mutual Wonder.
...Oliver had saved up the cash
to buy into his employer’s franchise,
bought his own store, aggressively courted
every rancher in the countryside.
Soon enough the cash flow was well in the black,
so Oliver and the bartender wed,
bought their own house and were soon expecting,
he cared nothing for what the people said.
Jack, still drinking, played the Hollywood scene,
was a fixture of the wild nightlife,
soon he was in the tabloids again
when he knocked up a girl he knew one night.
He managed to keep working in film,
supporting roles were the best he could get,
with alimony and child support
he found himself slipping into the red.
When he crashed his car into his front door
he was quickly shuffled off to rehab,
in what would be the first trip of many,
the addiction had a grip on him bad.
But still he managed to get some work,
and when folks saw his face on the air,
they’d look at Oliver, mumbling how,
“That brother never went anywhere.”
Now Hollywood is a hot-bed of rumors,
and a disturbing percentage are true,
soon tales spread of Jack’s early acting days,
and all the things a new actor has to do.
Rumors of giving favors to producers,
insinuations of oral sex,
some said that was why her drank so damn much,
and why relationships left him vexed.
Whatever the case, on the internet,
the rumors became an ongoing meme,
his reputation thrown in the toilet
by GIFs and infographics obscene.
Oliver, back in fair Nebraska,
really had no reason to complain,
he had three kids and sold big equipment
to half the ranchers on the Sand Hills range.
Nobody was making memes out of him,
no reporters were snooping through his trash,
tabloids were not undermining his marriage,
and he was making more than enough cash.
He had six stores and a seventh coming,
and a hundred acres tied to his home,
a life or both family and friends sincere,
the general public did leave him alone.
The only thing that could worry Oliver
was what would happen to his brother Jack?
How many stars had walked down that same road,
and how many of them had never come back?
Though Jack’s state would weight hard on his mind,
and hear feared to see him drowning in despair,
Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at the folk
who thought it was he who was going nowhere.
.... Human desire for adaptation, I foresee ....
- A solemn ongoing enthusiasm for -
Becoming parallel with those who dedicate themselves
to food provision, - farmers
My central aim would be to reform sturdily renewable
- Crops containing dense nutrients
Regulation of fruit and vegetable growing operations
will see a fair salary
Paid to all producers, incentivising streamlined practice
- Standardised soil reconstruction
Encourage diversity in properties' cropping. Guarantee income
Locate livestock adjacent, manure transferred
Transforms tired soil to jumping, a fast forward response
- Increased local area selling, less transport strain
Without genetic modification, tenacity of breed continues
Resilient stock would result
Chain reaction brings taste incentivised consumers
- Check research on nutrition / brain correlation
Two decades of subsidised farming will find resources
commited to defence can safely decrease
Satiated state of mind, transferred to our earthly vessels
- Societal health will skyrocket
Far from being Ruler of The World, I have previously worked
as a Sales Rep. for a rubbish collection company
- I came to understand two tonnes of vegetable scraps
leave each supermarket daily for landfill
10th August 2020
Written for Contest: If I Ruled The World
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
(and second oldest heir)
Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
titled The Communist Manifesto,
and Das Kapital
which political philosophy
incubating seeds of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
historical materialism, dearth
of equitable wealth, and inherent
contradictions of industrial capital
distributed unevenly
across avast swath of Earth
thus inviting his perspective
(conveniently exploited,
mined, and usurped) advocating
the working class (proletariat)
to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin exchanged for labor bled
fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
till slaving laborer nearly became gratefully dead
despite being cased in 12 point
Times New Roman garb, who incessantly fed
insatiably maws of production,
(no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
within schema of Capitalism),
a predominant paradigm
stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
between bourgeoisie red
dilly controlling means
of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
as historical materialism,
where figurative landmines forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
would supposedly lead down the road
where self destruction wrought marriage
birthing Socialism offspring from shot gun wed
ding, thus coaxing eventual establishment
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association of producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
campy population hood pitched a tent.
The Useful Guru
Melanie heard of a remarkable man,
with a groundbreaking view on life,
millions of people watched his videos,
learned how to deal with daily strife.
She found herself in a bad place,
her career not going so well,
so she went to him on weekend,
her deep issues, she would tell.
She said,”It’s so hard as a woman,
to get anywhere in this world,
the glass ceiling keeps me down,
they’ll never respect us girls!
I need to know how I should go,
’cause I’m sick and tired of it!
How do I get my six figures?”
Said the guru,”Work hard, don’t quit.”
Jamal was a child of the projects,
no father, bad schools, and gangs,
he’d spent night in prison, more than once,
had been jumped, has his bell rang.
So he went in to find the guru,
to ask him for his advice,
he said,”Man, they’re all out to get me,
make me suffer, live by knife.
A guy like me cannot get ahead,
they don’t like my coal-dark skin,
The Man is determined to suppress me,
it's all over before I begin!
How do I get on out of this place,
I’m tired of the grime and grit.”
Guru said,”Nobody is ‘suppressing, you,
wanna leave? Work hard, don’t quit.”
Russel was born to put on a show,
a magnetic soul on the stage,
he pounded pavement, worked auditions,
but still very rarely was paid.
He found the guru hoping that he
could help him with his career.
He said,”I feel like it’s a circle,
and that I don’t get anywhere.
My friends say I should play ‘the game,’
that it’s how the industry works,
they say I can’t expect my merit
to impress these studio jerks.
But I’m not gonna get on my knees,
not for a part or a bit,
am I a fool just wasting my time?”
Said the guru,”Work hard, don’t quit.”
A reporter came seven years later,
he’d heard of guru many claims.
“Melanie Cox, the big C.E.O.
says you helped her get to fame.
And my buddy Jamal says that you
helped him leave the ghetto.
The actor, Russel Zane, credits you
with pushing him to bigger roles.
So many people are now swearing by
the things they hear you say,
my producers are interested to know
what exactly is you game?
How do you get such great results,
can you tell me your secret?
Guru said,”It’s no damn mystery.
Wanna win? Work hard, don’t quit.”
“Cause there ain’t no other way…”
The secret life of cats,
The secret life of dogs,
The secret life of 4-year olds,
The secret life of boys,
And so on,
And so forth.
Has nobody told the TV producers that nothing is secret any more,
Not even the life of Demi Moore.
Has nobody told the TV producers we can't take much more,
Before we all take a walk on the moor,
And are heard of no more.
I am sure those expecting a letter from the Queen,
Would never have expected in the wildest dream to be seen,
On the he secret Life of a hundred-year-old has been.
Oh, why can't someone tell the TV producers,
That it is time to come clean,
Oh, why can't someone tell the TV producers,
To stop being so mean,
Oh, why can't someone tell the TV producers,
The only secret lives left is those of TV producers,
So, we can all turn the TV back on,
Knowing no more secret lives will be on.
A Belated CCV Das Kapital event...
regarding birthday anniversary
wicked candle box event burns bright
for Karl Marx,
who amazingly graced,
and kindled pinterest
jumpstarting money fest destiny.
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
(and second oldest heir)
Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
titled The Communist Manifesto,
and Das Kapital,
which political philosophy
incubating seeds of life
of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
historical materialism, dearth
of equitable wealth, and inherent
contradictions of industrial capital
distributed unevenly
across avast swath of Earth
thus inviting his perspective
(conveniently exploited,
mined, and usurped) advocating
the working class (proletariat)
to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin
exchanged for labor bled
fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
till slaving laborer nearly
became gratefully dead
despite being encased in 12 point
Times New Roman garb,
who incessantly fed
insatiably maws of production,
(no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
within schema of Capitalism),
a predominant paradigm
stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
between bourgeoisie red
dilly controlling means
of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
as historical materialism,
where figurative landmines
forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
would supposedly lead down the road
where self destruction wrought marriage
birthing Socialism offspring
from shotgun wedding,
thus coaxing eventual establishment
to house scholar and gent
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association
of Indie producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
campy population hood pitched a tent.