corporate greed poems

A Hymn to Saint Jeffrey | Stan Morrison - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

A Hymn to Saint Jeffrey | Stan Morrison

He is our own landfill emperor
Loads of cartons and wrappings
Smirks stamped on every item
Next day delivery is the motto
But not always as we expected
He’s the world’s first trillionaire
Running sweatshops with PR

With Prime. Bonus and Rewards
He strings his customers along
He keeps his earnings very safe
By omitting ever paying taxes

We just refuse to think of It
Oh the joy of buying online
Relief is just a click away
As we check the front door
For what St Jeff has left us

The Problem with Holidays | Catherine B. Krause - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

The Problem with Holidays | Catherine B. Krause

They’re hard on seven hundred fifty-seven dollars a month. Pennies must be squeezed instead of wished on. Big stores induce quick escapes and fits of heavy breathing, but the small and cheap ones are nice when there aren’t too many people who stare. They used to mock and beat you, now they hand you their number because they don’t know who you really are. It’d be over if they found out, so it’s best when there’s no crowd. If Amazon treated their workers like humans, then the Internet would be what you used to think it was, but they don’t, and you know what that’s like. That’s the problem, I guess.

Non-Essential Worker Blues | Stan Morrison - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Non-Essential Worker Blues | Stan Morrison

redundant what a word
3 vowels and 9 letters
2 more than useless
comes down to 1 word
nothing can be done
to reverse the verdict

redundant much worse
than useless washed up
meter says nada zero zilch
there can be no exception
time to pack it in and get
no bail out for redundant
there’s no place left to go

The Scout - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

The Scout – A Poem by Roy Pullam

He came
To all the games
Sitting high
In the stands
Hoping to not gather attention
Watching carefully
The kid’s moves
Without the ball
The grace
Of the seventeen year old boy
He followed
After practice
Deep into the inner city
Knowing the mother
Cleaned offices
In the gleaming towers
Downtown
No father
But four younger children
The apartment crowded
But empty
Of so many things
That mattered
The family’s only hope
The skills
That came
With the basketball
No other route
Lay beyond the drugs
Beyond the violence
She saw everyday
On her way to work
The scout
Not the only one
Sniffing around
Since the headlines
Men whose Gucci shoes
Normally never
Walked the halls
Of the tenement
Came visiting
With promises
Of bright future
Opportunities for her
For the children
Far beyond
This gray life
But she had seen others
Hustled off
Used up
And dropped down
Where they began
The promise ashes
The good life gone
He was a student
Reading and learning
He, unique
Not like the rest
Whose only shot
Was the rattle
Of the rim
And she would
Take no less
Than the life change
That came
With an education
She asked tough questions
Questions that eliminated
Sports factories
Questions that
Would involve
More personal hardship
But assure the future
Of her eldest child
Her sacrifice
So few
Were willing to make
She heard their offer
Then sent so many
On their way
Scouts find talent
Make promises
Get a paper signed
Then move on
To the next prospect
She wanted more
Poor but proud
A good mother
In the whirlwind
Of big time sports

Summer 1957 - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Summer 1957 – A Poem by Roy Pullam

Barker Hill
Had a thunderstorm
Dynamite jarring the ground
Knocking the bottom
From Uncle Ed’s well
Turning the mortar
In his chimney
Into dust
The roar of the big trucks
Night and day
Hauling locally
To Hart’s tipple
It was his home
His refuge
From the people
At the base
Of the hill
But they had brought hell
In the form of explosives
Robbing him of sleep
Wrecking his property
Turning the land
behind him
Into a pit
Poisoning the water
With iron pyrite
A legal strangulation
That would eventually
Force him to sell
To abandon his Eden
Without a look back

Lockout - A Poem by J.K. Durick - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Lockout – A Poem by J.K. Durick

The blinds are closed, the doors locked, blocked,
lights are out, they huddle in the corner, for once
literally hiding in the classroom, they talk quietly,

get their phones out, text their parents, their friends,
each other, post to Facebook; there’s nothing new
about it, they’ve planned for it, practiced this, but

this time it could be serious – this is not a drill.
From across the street, from his angle, TV news
gets it all, the deserted feel of it, a few police cars

around, some movement now and again; it’s spring,
it’s quiet where there should be voices and noise,
a few sneaking around the way students their age do,

but now it’s silent, like Rachel Carson’s silent spring,
pesticide poisons our place, our air with this, we have
taught them to hide and wait quietly for the all clear bell,

the end of school and what they learned about today.

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