Stand cold 3 AM on work line, slighted, famished, impoverished, vanished, faded, hungry.
Long walk down Cliff Avenue hill, US Highway, dissecting sides of Sioux.
Hard day labor, sex offenders, hardened convict, roll down production line.
Here I am, college degree, communication binge drink, division one university in Brookings, America.
Capanelle visible 15 miles north on 90.
Piece work calendars, and walking after George Floyd in Sioux Falls.
A night of gunshots, shots.
Riot at Empire Mall, stolen rifles, gun store Grange Avenue.
Tires littered Otter River, drought, water under a foot.
The cool breeze paints Josh Moore, tobacco papers, comic book background.
Federal courthouse a mile south, lady judge United States.
“Born in the USA.”
Who produces life
is the matter...
Who gives life to matter,
is the spirit...
Who feeds the spirit
is love!
Moved out to the country, isolated and without a car, I don’t know what I would have done without my new friends Mrs. Juhas and Mrs. Gatien. They forced me to call them by their first names, it only became easier once the friendship deepened. Ida took me into town for grocery shopping every week. We’d do the rounds based on the sales flyers from A&P, IGA and Dominion. Vi only had two children compared to my six and Ida’s seven. Every week we had a cookday alternating with Vi and Ida, one week at our place the next at theirs. Hostesses buying the food and deciding on the meals to make: chili con carne, cabbage rolls, spaghetti sauce… The priority was obvious, it was more important to buy a freezer than a washing machine.
hungry bellies fed
families on a budget
smooth production line
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Can you hear the hypnotic hum of the production line?
Education Rehabilitation factories rolling out images of humans made of plastic and wood.
Minds are erased of parental guidance.
Memory banks programmed with political correctness.
Manikin, manikin
Original thought, personal passions, is like a stick of dynamite, it will splinter their heads.
They are invading our world.
Replacing our friends and family, when they go to sleep.
Don’t allow them to erase your original thought, snuff out the polite to your burning passions.
Beware of the manikins, manikins.
Written by Stephen J. Vattimo 5/4/2020
Recycling uses more energy,
Re-using and sharing makes humans more zippy
Without the need for a battery.
Recycling alone will not slow down the production line,
And will not close down even one mine,
Unless our politicians start to fine.
Sharing and re-using need more zing,
Than a piece of string,
For a lower temperature to be the new thing.
The answer should be simple,
If addiction was not fed by some people,
Who worship at the wrong temple.
(The modern way to take the credit for someone else’s ideas)
Innocent minds, virgin thoughts
all within a collective
breeding ground,
stage upon stage
the master’s philosophy to
be acted out. His! To
nurture, to alter, to steal,
personalities
to change, ideas to strive
for, directions to enforce.
This by the
new breed, created from
the production line of progression.
Those the arrogant ones,
reared in such cynical ways,
their curriculum brimming with
intellect, yet without
the power to reason.
Those blessed
with the forked tongue,
the worthless hand shake,
the insincere parody
that lingers within
the web of verbal trash.
© Harry J Horsman 2010
ON BEING A SAUSAGE ROLL
Our other sausage acquaintances are real –
Flavoured, pigmented, heated
By boiling or frying :
They have their dignity, though they too be eated.
Our natural features, our inner glories,
Are pastry-coated and abide
In small bags from ye take-away,
All similar and eaten cold outside.
Or at best saucered and microwaved
With ketchup to add insults :
Not only hidden under pastry,
Yea also ‘neath red chemical lab results.
Never are we savoured like frankfurters
Or slowly chewed like wurst.
We are hurriedly snapped up like cakes and ale
By a fat eater ready to burst
In a line of crawling traffic,
Or in a static bus queue.
Inside an expanding waistline - Zwounds
Ye fat paunch - with no limit in view.
But soft! Life on the savoury pastry shelf
Is a production line existence - not a role.
Oh, to shuffle off this pastry coil -
I’m just another sausage roll.
.................................
Leap Of Fatal Faith
Another battle fought and the shops are empty
Easter Bunnies in the production line can’t wait
I need money and lots of it for next year’s round
I hereby patent my golden turkey for survival
Little chocolate tank tracks and marzipan bullets
Cream covered shrapnel and gingerbread limbs
Toffee filled bomb shells nougat for camouflage
Sugar iced tent cities and plenty of tin soldiers
Refugees bubble gum boats standing no chance
Wars are for life and not a mess just for Christmas
With my bank account swelling there must be some
Sense in the day after Christmas so jump jubilate
Celebrate at your fatal peril and my sweet surprise
i dont memorize poems i experience them.
so im not impressed by your ability to regurgitate then
because NOW is the moment that we are inspired
through inspiration by the power thats considered much higher
now impressive you are to the masses that attend
but to a true poet like myself you do nothing but offend
you spew phrases and thoughts like a production line machine
artificial intelligence, a robot! a predicated line of memes
you see nothing wrong with putting on a facade for your fans
however i find it kind of odd how you let worms crawl out your can
you imprison inspiration in the psyche of your mind
throw away the key and call for father time
you have no respect for thoughts and the spark within the mind
regret is all that is brought to the consciousness of humankind
there's no connect the dots when you're indoctrinated by the lie
but i know a thickened plot by the look in your eye
im the old school mind and thoughts of inspiration at its best
when poetry came from consciousness not a heaping pile mess
No more gleam, no more shine, not once
Once I rolled the production line
Llnes busted and broken, no more sublime
Sublime when rolling the production line
Line producing joy and glee
Glee in the past, no one loves me, no
No one loves me, each day I pine
Pine for the days of the production line
Line when I was neat and smart
Smart, victorious and filled with grace
Grace has gone in this grim place
Place a thought in your heart for thee
Thee is dead, oh me, oh my
My life exterminated
Exterminated forever
No more gleam, no more shine, not once
Once I rolled the production lines
Lines busted and broken, no more sublime
Sublime when rolling the production line
Production line filled with joy and glee
Glee in the past, no one loves me
No one loves me, each day I pine
I pine for the days of the production line
Production line when I was smart
Smart, victorious and filled with grace
Grace has gone in this grim place
Place a thought in your heart for thee
Thee is dead, oh me, oh my
My life exterminated
Exterminated forever
Join
Or be conformed
The ideas that fuel our thoughts are like a cinema flick
Carefully crafted by those who hold influence
Strategic
Confining
Education is a production line
Miss a step and one’s left behind
First comes primary, then secondary school
Or rather inspection
Then they are hastily shipped out to sea
Where the menacing waves batter them to their knees
They begin to buckle, blend and amend
Whereas they now need to stand out and be different
After years of being used to conform
They feel like they are being reborn
Those who don’t join end satisfied
Always kept true to who they are
Knowing exactly where to set their bar
And continuously towards that, they stride
Empty boyhood’s piercing treasure,
Gaping wound flows without measure~
Fatherless well deep, dank and musty,
Mother’s love so stained and dusty~
Enlightenment seems to be the goal,
redemption's lie to kill the soul~
Mind's graveyard filled with spiritual glory,
yet buried below a shameful story~
Sick secrets locked in countless rooms,
descend in fear, subconscious tombs~
Gold plated terror, worn by time,
Hidden from light to hide the crime~
Oceans of tears to deep to sail,
become the gull, to no avail~
Useless life lay in the ashes,
Mother board blown, system crashes~
Misguided by Men who've lost their thrones,
society’s production line, mindless drones~
The blood dance done, the scepter broken,
whispers heard, dark lies are spoken~
Who then will ascend yon highest tower,
to claim the throne and sword of power?
Who then will feel the power this brings,
no throne, no sword, and no more kings~
Copyright © Satprem 2015
Written at age 14 ~
Edited a few times~
Glistening throngs walk in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production line
Along the boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough drifts
Ocean meets country fair
Constant clamor of teen and seagull
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
Whiffs of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale
Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You’re a Winner!” it screams
And then we are gone, until next year
holds the band
together, listens
to their ****
(plays the peacemaker),
hauls the most gear all
over the ****ing
place, been taking
her/his rage out on the
skins & cymbals
since her/his early teens,
would’ve put a
gun to her/his head
had mom & dad
not gotten that set
for her/him way back
when, the most
wanted in the city,
loyal to one band
if s/he’s honest,
whoring her/himself
out to 9 if s/he’s
not, plays the electrics,
learns the drum
machines, djs
on the computer &
kicks back with
her/his internal
rhythm by tapping
both feet to
infinite beats
while doing
everything from
sitting in class
to working the
production line.
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