corporate greed poems

Cecil | Roy Pullam - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Cecil | Roy Pullam

His was the voice
Of an avenging angel
Calling out the greed
The wrongs
Of men
Who amassed capital
Without regard
For workers
The crowd leaned forward
Accidental utterances
Escaping their throats
As he continued
To express
His righteous wrath
Reminding laborers
Of past transgressions
And of the shaky ground
Of the possible reversals
Labor was facing
The preacher
Boiled up in him
As he reminded them
Of a cause
They had won
Of the sacrifices
Miners had made
To secure their livelihood
How unity
Was their only buffer
Against the wrongs
Of safety standards
Undermined
By the pursuit
Of quick profits
Over the health
And being
Of workers
Of lax inspections
By men
Seduced by perks
Enabled by hateful legislation
Paid for
By coal lobbyist dollars
Of pensions and insurance
Pulled from the hands
Of disabled miners
Broken by long days
In the darkness
In the depths
Of the mines
Of his willingness
To go to jail
To face the danger
Once again
To assure their futures
Some now rising
From their seats
In response
To his indictment
Charged with a furor
Their resolve
Matching his
His job done
He reminded them
Once again
Of solidarity
Their only hope
The applause deafening
He waved a thanks
For their approval
And returned
To his seat

Standing at the Edge of the World | Joan Leotta - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Standing at the Edge of the World | Joan Leotta

I stand at the edge of the world.
You may think the world is round:
“What comes around, goes around.”
But in these last days, sinkholes
of horror have opened up.
High tides, high winds
fill the hole
until water spills out
racing across empty spaces
in my heart,
rolling across my flat, flat earth
stopping just before the fires,
just before spilling over the edge
where I stand, sweating in the
heat of the flames.
Other winds whip up the fire
exploding sparks that devour
greenery, turning air into hellish heat.
Flames race to where the water stops
threatening to dry up what hides in
those black holes.
Earth shakes with anger
at their efforts
spewing lava as argument.
How long will it stay
together? If it were round
it would burst apart
So I remain, alone
wondering if
all is truly flat while
listening to the wind
whose bluster tells me
he is sure that he,
alone, is in command.

More at http://www.joanleotta.wordpress.com.

Uneven Ground | Roy Pullam - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Uneven Ground | Roy Pullam

She walked beside him
He carrying a sign
He could not read
With no education
Offered in a coal camp
Where ignorance
Was a tool
That made mining
The only alternative
In maintaining
Low wages
And poor working conditions
The explosion at Clay
Was the last straw
The company
Owning the only store
Paying in script
That never covered
The weekly
Food order
The company housing
Never tended
Matchboxes
With thin walls
That let the cold in
But never
Kept the rats out
A company doctor
Who turned a blind eye
Never seeing
That malnutrition
Was an enemy
To the working man
Ill children
Sick all winter
But now
Fear stoked the man
Fear of weak timbers
Gas pockets
That carbide lamps
Could ignite
They walked
Slow circles
Around the entrance
Of the mine
With little hope
To win
Union protection
Just knowing
The law and time
Were not
On their sides
That thugs
And the national guard
Would come
Beating their solidarity
And their heads
Until in fear
Until in desperation
Starving families would yield
Their leaders abandoned
Jobs lost
Thrown from company housing
Denied entry
To the company store
Blacklisted
He shared the fate
Of other organizers
Stooges betraying
Friends and family
Leaving his wife and child
With his father-in-law
Riding the rails
Only to find
An unwelcoming mine owner
Well aware
Of his union devotion
A black ball
He could not lift
Or roll away
Another victim
Crushed under the wheel
Of avarice
Owners who sang hymns
On Sunday
But left the robbed and beaten
By the roadside
On their way
To the bank

A Hymn to Saint Jeffrey | Stan Morrison - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by 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 - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by 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 - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by 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 |  Roy Pullam - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

The Scout | 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

Best Poetry Online