They slither in plain sight,
tailored suits hiding scales,
cold eyes behind warm smiles.
I saw one on the news today
blinked twice, vertical pupil flash,
then back to human charm.
Of course.
They meet in marble halls,
forked tongues drafting laws
while we argue over bread prices.
Brilliant, really.
Last week my neighbor changed
his handshake too dry,
smile too wide, teeth a little too sharp.
He offered me coffee.
I declined.
They’ve ruled for centuries,
pyramids their charging stations,
royals their breeding stock.
We are the cattle,
happy in our pens,
scrolling, voting, consuming.
But here’s the joke
they shed their skins every election,
and we cheer the new one,
never noticing the same slit eyes
watching us clap.
Yeah.
Totally real.
Pass the tinfoil.
Full of hope
Leaving for life
Set sail on the ocean
As husband and wife
The kids appeared
The rein tightened
Protecting the young 'uns
From all our fightin'
Left again for protection
A shelter full of strangers
Walking the path together
Surviving only dangers
Losing this, giving that
Never a straight line of rest
Every single moment
Seems to be another test
I got out my sieve
And I could finally see the thread
A system based on borrowing
From the master humanity dreads
The overlords use our suffering
To build the benefits of blood
They get name, fame, wealth
While we sink in red clay mud
Once I found strength to rise
I stood in the face of all my fears
And rather than reject and disown
I brought them near, so I could finally clear
...the bloodline thread
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-04-2026
Tip Of The Iceberg
Millions losing jobs.
Artificial Intelligence.
Software development.
A reality check.
Knowledge is burning up the world.
No confidence toward the future.
Tip of the iceberg.
Recognizing the end is near.
A I is our replacement.
Rapidly torrent with no reverse.
Mankind is dying.
The work-force is dwindling.
It’s in our nature to destroy ourselves.
Machine Gods to mechanical overlords.
With no place to escape.
They have stolen our identity.
A soulless society.
Tomorrow is uncertain.
A bar code on the flesh is on the horizon.
starkly somber skies
omnipotent owl overlords
parliament prevails
"The Barrel of Little Monkeys"
Gorilla warfare took a new turn,
when the children like chimps,
followed the voice of their Overlords;
they adored them once,
but then,
some things
can NEVER be forgiven.
The number like www
drew their parents in first,
and then, what’s worse,
it drew them in,
those little monkeys
out of the barrel,
shotgun
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Once upon a time; hard to tell which piece.
Somewhere between reality and myth,
lies forge an identity lost on peace.
Keen bellows; hammer strikes unveil the Smith.
Akin; that prince slyly seeking the throne.
"Thus always to tyrants!" He blames the slain.
Raising cain, killing able; little's known
of overlords. Let complacency reign.
Let promised comfort lower the voices.
Rejecting the past; lesson in meaning.
Diluting verbiage; Alter choices.
Destined for slaughter; signal the weaning.
Take notice; an abolition’s at hand!
The abolition of Man; Master’s planned!
(tongue-in-cheek humor)
I understand there is a lawsuit, doc # 666, Neptune vs. Jersey. Apparently, windmills being put in the ocean off the Jersey coast was all done without consultation and approval by the Sea Council – who clam (ocean slang for claim) guardians of the sea coast, Loan Sharks, were paid by politicians to keep usually open mouths shut, and therefore the project went forward without public digest (a form of shoreline debate). Salacia, Poseidon, Neptune, and other overlords have their fins in a tizzy, equally upset about gender changing surgery being suggested to school fish pupils by gender fluid teachers also causing quite an uproar within the shallows and depths – stay tuned to the Splashy, your Prime Time Ocean News Network. This is written tongue-in-cheek, and any resemblance to real people or places is accidental and unintended. No truth in any of this to my knowledge.
In my psycology class we looked at some recent studies on how the pandemic has changed people. Apparently there’s a new breed of post-pandemic man. This new strain is more grown up, well-rounded and getting more sleep. They’ve experienced intellectual growth in lock-down, they’ve taken up hobbies and gained in self confidence. It seems they’re looking less for sex and more for long-term stability and partnership in relationships.
I’m hoping they’ll be easy to identify - maybe they’ll wear those old punk DEVO hats or Billy Porter dresses to set themselves apart. I really want to see one of these new overlords. I hope they’re not skittish.
When I was a young lad
I was a boy scout
We went once a month
On a camping trip
With our father
Coming along.
Once we went
On a camping trip
Along Stinson beach
In Marin County.
We had a campfire
On the beach
A real bonfire
Welcomed
In the chilly night air
Fond memories
Of being a boy scout
50 years later.
I am proud
That I was a boy scout
In some quarters
In the hyper-liberal bay area,
Of the late 60s and 70s
Boy scouts were denounced
As being nothing
But training camps
For the fascist overlords
Of the universe.
But I disagree
And am glad
I was a boy scout.
Always regrated
Never becoming
An eagle scouts.
Sorry, no graceful way to say his....
Your friends and family under green grass lie.
Body filled with odious pride, the hand of death shall pass you by?
As self inflicted hideouts lie.
No adoring prince, family nor money can save you.
Not even your adoring pet can stop death in its tracks,
That Reaper wants your back,
He deals you the final smack.
The younger ones with vigor, without a a pain run to the beach!
And stare at you in piteous, disgusting wonder.
Not knowing death takes even the younger.
Tearing family souls asunder.
This is not the kind of poem, to be popular here!
I care not for endless laughers and frivolity.
Raise the souls high, not in lowlife joviality,
Before death gets the best of me.
The angst true patriots experience.
America in a state of idiotice somnanabulance!
Doing the Wuhan death dance.
While governent overlords give you a death vaccine and you prance?
6/20/2021
He is coming
for me
the stygian rider
on his
hellish steed
whose nostrils
spit fire
he is coming
he is coming
for me.
Entrenched and
fortified
my heart trembles
seems resigned
to this reality
this inevitability
this clash of
overlords divided
mind and heart
contentious
and combative.
All
for sacred sanctity
questionable ties
their truth their way
an epic struggle
two worlds colliding
battling and
warring over their
precious notions
quintessential hostilities.
The earth rumbles
mud filled trench
thick with despair
stench of vomit
the rider approaches
axe wielded high
his awful visage
fixed on me
his terrifying shriek
he is here
he is here
he is here
for me.
Zeitgeist
Moon rock
Media magnets
Overlords
Underlords
Kings
Queens
Yee of means
Purveyors of wealth
Bankers
Oligarchy
Politicians
Celebrities
Hipsters
Fashionista
Dictator
Police
Army
Giant's of industry
Order
Order
Documentary
Meaning
Dancing in a clown mask
A few rich dudes are overlords to 8 billion people.
Like the lion tamer who controls 500 pounds of slash with a whip and stick.
The lion has been conditioned to think it's powerless.
One day the lion may decide that he's in charge again.
Then a quick bite to the ringmaster's tiffany neck.
It probably won't happen
because it's become complacent, lazy, and sedated.
It's grown fat and will die dishonored in its paper cage.
Crumbling worlds before emotional eyes lamenting,
Rumbling ruins through mortified masses repenting…
Abandoned cityscapes amongst vigorous viral venom,
Saddened silenced souls searching becoming benumb…
Within idol isolations irreversible tears turning to rust,
Mortal sin of evil endeavors amidst escalating mistrust…
Pandemic proportions within penetrating potential,
Systemic society enduring ever-evolving exponential…
Calling all upon Angels armored warring with swords,
Brawling battles brewing with running overlords…
Loving erupting from goodhearted women and men,
Shoving evil through oblivions arising once again.
...this poem can also be read backward~from right to left...
April.25.2020
Wild Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
N/A for Contest
classical music prompt Beethoven fifth opening
the fate of the world
looms ahead of us
and we have a choice
to make
all of us
must decide
will we follow
the fate
of ancient Rome
surrendering our freedoms
and becoming an autocratic empire
ruled by emperors
will we become
like Germany
letting the madness
of fascism overwhelm us
will there be a final solution
to the problems
poised by the coming
transformation of America
as white America
becomes brown America
will muslims be rounded up
and killed
as ethnic cleansing
in the name of Christian freedom
sweeps across the land
will the evil AI robot
overlords
launch robot wars
to extermine mankind
will we choose
to confront
the pending climate change
rebooting our society
and economy
with a green new deal
putting people first
will the 1 percent
even let us try
or our we doomed
to end our lives
in a dystopian nightmare
I listen to the music
of Beethoven
and find comfort
as he confronts
the fate of the world
proving that human spirit
will overcome
in the end
filled with love
and I am saved
and my optimism returns
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.