Orwell Poems - Poems about Orwell

Biographies of different kinds Orwell with Atwood, intertwined Old books, new books, a thousand rhymes Keeping their words, holding those lines Singing caged birds, sit whistling chimes Histories, mysteries, marking time Every volume, fixed on my mind Lexicons, for a world we can't find Fact versus fiction, yours and mine. ...

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On the Eve of St Orwell's Day The squaw woman brought truth to bare In scripted pose and statuary dish A recipe changed from Bollusk to bisque And the night crept up like Jupiter A false Eden in the sky way main To porridge or to bed The urchin s running unkempt and bold With prophetic dreams untold Except in murmuring drag Their nightly secrets...

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George Orwell, born in India and first named Eric Blair, knew poverty and sickness, so he knew life could be unfair. “Animal Farm” and “1984” brought him great fame. For his critical profundity, we recall his name....

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George Orwell famed for Animal Farm loved gardening to keep him calm So he wrote his satire 1984 the year passed,& became days of yore...

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Orwell Correct George Orwell was correct but he was slightly off in his years The world he predicted now exists where we are all controlled Big Bro, the New World Order, the Illuminati and others the boss We are nothing but verminous numbers to them to be organized As you would a chess game all pre-planned no matter what Like the...

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We live in an Orwellian world we are living in an Orwellian 1984 world and have been for decades we are assaulted daily by alternative realties promoted by various politicians designed to shut down all rational thought true Orwellian thought control and now with the corona virus massive surveillance has become the norm and when the crisis is over the surveillance will continue on one excuse after another forever as Orwell’s...

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It has just begun. The maps have unraveled in topographic templates, unmarked by geographic spaces. They’ve been replaced by frequencies emerging from what we once knew as separate places. For a place is but a point in space, dancing in a coordinated sense of distance: Between spots upon an image rendered by an observer’s vision. Now a thought is but...

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>River Orwell and a Poppy field By Stanley Russell Harris (The mad Author) I went out with the wife today. We walked by the River Orwell I say. Tide was out, but breeze was swell. Ensured there was no stinking town smell. Grasses looked so green and fresh. Honey bees were buzzing on the clover bless. Gathering pollen, for their queen. Soon to be,...

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Can't help but wonder if that clerical Cyclops has caught me in the act of Trying to be Vaguely human....

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I dream in sanguine crippled 'pon the demise of paupers. Shackled to my seat, unable to believe this is reality. Wake me up, Oh someone wake me up. Pour water 'pon me, pinch me, slap me, kick me awake, I've slept enough, tis more then I can take. It's science fiction come alive, wreaking havoc before my eyes. Oh won't someone please wake me? Before I die in my sleep. Joining...

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The clocks strike thirteen, On one mans futile efforts, To rebel against his world....

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