#corporate poem

[env0writes]

Juniper Journal’s Vol. 2, 6.26.24 “Corporate Rungs"

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by @env0

Scaffolding, hand-holding to the tower Struggling to maintain grip on the power Mesmerizing flame dances in a majestic arc As sunlight cresting over sorrow’s dark

Outsiders ascending, defending their home Thorns nestle sparrows, cloudy and gloam Reach as you may for the highest of reaches Carried on high by the loftiest speeches

March on and carry the weight of each stone Building and building another man’s throne

[robin1729]

stuck in a loop

I was walking down the steps of a metro station and there was this guy who was mopping the floors, and he was doing it so systematically, mopping one step from left to right, then the next one from right to left, adjusting his mop before every step so that every square inch of each step is covered. And some guy who was walking a few steps below me went “bade dhyaan se kar rahe ho yaar tum toh.”

You’re doing it so meticulously.

He said it with a mixture of amusement and sarcasm, the implication being “why are you putting so much effort in this menial task.” He didn’t reply, just hung his head down in a little embarassment and let the guy walk by. I felt bad for him. The guy had to do this incredibly monotonous task day after day, live his life in a loop, and he had somehow found some kind of purpose in that. He was still adamant on doing it right, even though he could have half-assed it, which I would get. And here I was, complaining to my friends everytime I met them how monotonous my comfortable corporate job that paid me so much more than this guy’s job was.

I don’t know who is right or wrong here. It is obviously okay to want more for yourself, but we need someone to do the boring menial tasks as well. I guess we just have to be content and make the most out of wherever we are. Someday we will escape these loops, and others will take our place here. Maybe it’s a rite of passage, before we move on to better things.

[sanddollarpoems]

I feel the guilt of not caring.

It goes against my grain

to see a problem and choose

to walk away,

but this is the box they want me in.

I'll lie around pretending to be busy,

and yawn and sigh and continue

to wish for

a cause worth caring for.

[fewwordsmanyriddles]

[afyerarchive]

The Invention of the Camera

Seventeen years, it's been

vicariously living to turn the camera's dial to focus my life

into the mindset grind-set by rolled sleeves and silver platters;

A world sprinkled with a camera's blacks and whites.

Seventeen years, it's been,

and you couldn't see me,

wringing myself into an emotional pinpoint for museum cases

and silver platters,

in a world sprinkled with formality, and your glare,

your authoritative, subtractive stare,

conditioning me by fear.

[critical-reflex]

Non Compliance

You just can't leave well enough alone.

Obsessed with making Sweaters leave the closet.

Work is work, what's done is done,

whether it happens at the laundromat or the doctor's office.

But you gotta be in control.

But you gotta complete the agenda.

Waving money in front of our noses like

we love the smell of sweaty foreheads.

The institutions create this need

so psychopaths can dabble in greed.

The Stanford Prison experiment was a reminder:

the ones with batons know no limits,

the ones in chains have hell to pay,

there's no one around to save the day.

The game of power includes

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ seclusion of the rich

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ from the perspiration

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ of the Sweaters;

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ governing people

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ that govern

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ the Sweaters.

Stay away from

the Sweaters so they

never know that

the rich have more

than the Sweater's do.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Threaten to turn

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ people into

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Sweaters stitched

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ with the itchiest of fabric

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ detergents that deter good health.

Resort to forces

present on speed dial

who will rip sweaters apart

for non compliance.

You just couldn't leave Sweaters alone.

[wordsandartforsoul]

The Monday blues are real when you wake up and realize your bed was the best part of the day. You’re running on coffee and sheer willpower, trying to convince yourself that you’ve got this—when really, you just want a redo on the weekend.

-Astrid-

[jasminesuntrell]

[autumnsprophecy]

The poor have always been steps of a ladder in the eyes of the rich. Just another thing to step on in order to reach the top. They don't care if the step breaks or crumbles, as long as they can continue climbing. To them, nothing matters but themselves, and the others of their kind climbing the ladder. They race, and race, and race, climb, and climb, and climb, yet they will never reach the top. This is because there is no "top." There is no "winning." There is no glorious "prize". Even if they could climb for eternity without death or sleep, they would find no enlightenment. The higher the ladder takes them, the more the light of humanity fades behind them. They are the kings of dust, the harbingers of their own downfall. Their legacy is the crumbled steps in their wake, the stench of blood and poison gas.

[therealmackenson10]

If you have the time, check out my latest track.

“Mr. Mack- Echos of Humanity”.

“It’s so beautiful, yet so tragic. The human condition, a tapestry of emotions woven in magic. They say hope is a beggar, but I’d pay her. For in her embrace, we find solace, a beacon for the human race.”

[dust-to-dustier]

Hahahah Fuck Capitalism amirite (Genuinely). Enjoy!

DRONE PEOPLE:

Would drones suit you better,

Over people?

It seems we are already halfway there,

When you demand more more more

And give none.

You want flesh turned metal

And hearts turned stone,

You want minds in harsh focus

And love gone cold.

You want, and you never give.

Your drones can carry you to the stars,

(Bastards. You want those too,

 To make them cold. Make them nothing.)

And you can leave us all down here

(Leave us to rot. Leave us alone.)

Us, the prototypes

Of your shiny new technology,

Flesh and bone and hearts you tried,

Tried with all your undeserved power,

To warp and change and control.

You think drones would suit you better

(I think you would suit your grave.)

[env0writes]

NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.5.24 “That Ain't Playing Phaoroh at the American Dream“

What’s a dollar Dollar bill Y’all? Lying? Trying? Dying? For this green? Grass and trees and leaves fall all the same Why play pretend with markets in the clouds What is a dollar, a buck, a doe? Although without I’m dying, trying, lying Asking why I’m not enough Dollar bill, y’all Survive on these slip Slip, slip, slippery slope Pink slip car loan Pink slip house loan –Reminder I’m a man– Can’t afford my home, my car, my life What’s a dollar An hour? How many? I’m spending my day working for so little When the bed I sleep in, in the house I weep in Will never be bought with that labor Who enjoys the fruits of these planted labors? What juice spills from distant lips?

What’s a dollar? Dollar bill Y’all aren’t all vying for more? Trying for more Dying for more? Why must we play pretend–passing ice-coins Wintered the weather about to maintain this illusion This song and dance Won at the tip of a lance Am I to die on the streets where I sleep After a hard days work Gunned down by a passerby whose offense is taken At my presence In my work, when offense is taken At my presence What sense does it make to not be seen Santa’s little helpers Slaving away So some other might gloat and tote Can I sleep on it? Wipe my weeping tears on it? Who will take what I have Leaving what little for tomorrow And tomorrow’s tomorrow Before I again have to borrow So that this cycle of green Of greed Of grasses–greener Perennially blooms; forebodes doom

Where is safe from this dollar? Dollar bill Y’all The grass is always greener The management always meaner The bankers always keener I am saving, graving, paving the way But not to walk upon but on I am the stone–ascended Who can afford to be single? Who can afford just one? In a market that’s rising–water levels Left to drown I can swim–only so long Tread water, dread water, fed water And drown Green stays afloat It is soluble, solution, able and capable Why must I live to work and not Live and work Where did the and’s go? Where did the green go? Barren and wearing no colors of life The suburbs and cities and folks are all white Washed and packaged for resale again No space is owned save the barony lords

What is a dollar? Dollar bill Y’all Learn all day To work all day ‘Til your dying day What is there to say? “He was a busy and dedicated man to his work” Will his work remember him Remembered for his work Who will grieve the cog replaced The seed replanted The crack that’s mended When the old days are waning The sunset soon fading I will keep working for that return of the green The average mean The stacks slapped in my hand To feed and afford what I can Because what use is a dollar That can never call her Back Buy my time Back Take it all Back What use is a dollar? That can’t buy back my time wasted in youth In adulthood so ruth-lessly sought

What is a dollar? Dollar bill Y’all Aren’t struggle to own any bit of your life Your car is on loan and your house and your wife At the slightest inconvenience The drop of margins Swoops the executive C On to elevate thee Claiming your purchases are just temporary They’ve licensed your time Your work and Your sight All that you own And all that you might Work for that dollar Plug and play on their game I’ll keep dreaming, Filling reem in -of paper And dream of my paper My dollar Dollar bill Y’all

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by my friend Mika

[glassesfreekjr]

"The Big Homie"

[misscaiacreates]

The Price of Disillusion

In a storm of gold, green, and red, Currencies scatter, dreams left unsaid. Among the jagged, shattered dreams, Can wealth fulfill what the heart truly needs?

Broken scales, wilted flowers, In the garden of greed, lost are the hours. What is the cost of endless pursuit, When the soul is left destitute?

Paper whispers of power and gain, Yet why does it leave a hollowed pain? Amidst the frenzy, ask yourself this: Can coins and bills bring eternal bliss?

In the chaotic dance of riches unfurled, Where lies the joy in a material world? Is happiness found in what you possess, Or in the quiet moments of tenderness?

Reflect on the splendor, the colors so bold, Does the value of life in numbers unfold? In the quest for more, what have you missed? Is true contentment bought or simply wished?

[celestialpoems]

A meal made for the rich and powerful

Ravenous beasts gather around the dinner table for their second meal of the day

They devour every last crumb leaving nothing behind but a shiny plate

It is only right they do so when what they are eating was once a girl

A girl they didn’t know but I did

She had hopes and dreams just like them yet she is now in their stomachs for this is what they call mercy

Tomorrow it could be me or maybe it’ll be another person I know on the table feeding the insatiable monsters

They say they won’t let us starve and they make sure to keep that promise as they fill their stomachs with the ones who beg to be saved

They never have to fear hunger when they can always eat the young

They will know no pain when the youth has to suffer the consequences of their actions

They felt that they were considerate as they licked their plates clean

They looked content for they knew they’d repeat this cycle tomorrow

No fears or worries because they are always the ones sitting around the table

And the girl they ate wasn’t seen as human as a child who had years beyond her

No, she was just some poor helpless child who needed to be put out of her misery

Ohh how merciful the ones at the table are

[thatloudnerd]

Wrote my Monday blues out.