Poetry competition CLOSED 20th March 2015 4:03pm
WINNER
DystopianMelody
DystopianMelody
Page:
A Dystopian Materialist World
Anonymous
As a victim of this current world, I languish here in hell
Without money, a decent home, or even items to sell
Now blind to materialism, I am unable to walk
So I sit, vegetate, and slowly become unable to talk
No longer do I have things in common with others
Because my misery is mine, I choose for it not to be shared with my brothers
Knowing that celebrities pull in dough by the millions
While homeless veterans look for a clean shower to wash off the minions
I decide that materialism breeds jealousy and hate
To compare one’s life and possessions, is not a healthy fate
The fast life; it festers new and old diseases
Carpe diem thoughts are only thoughts that a destitute person ceases
Oppression and overcrowding are both the result of selfishness
Perhaps the bible was right about having less
Happiness has become the abyss for those in a dystopian society
There is nothing left to do but embrace the hope that comes with piety
Without money, a decent home, or even items to sell
Now blind to materialism, I am unable to walk
So I sit, vegetate, and slowly become unable to talk
No longer do I have things in common with others
Because my misery is mine, I choose for it not to be shared with my brothers
Knowing that celebrities pull in dough by the millions
While homeless veterans look for a clean shower to wash off the minions
I decide that materialism breeds jealousy and hate
To compare one’s life and possessions, is not a healthy fate
The fast life; it festers new and old diseases
Carpe diem thoughts are only thoughts that a destitute person ceases
Oppression and overcrowding are both the result of selfishness
Perhaps the bible was right about having less
Happiness has become the abyss for those in a dystopian society
There is nothing left to do but embrace the hope that comes with piety
A World Without Hope
City streets filled
With degradation--
Sadomasochists,
Sodomists, and
Sadistic bastards
All around us.
A chemical fog
Turned what was
Left of our days into
An eternal night.
We roam, lost in our
Apathy, quivering and
Shivering--no prayers.
Cults of religious fanatics
Try to convince us there is
Something better waiting
For us on the other side,
But no longer is salvation
Of any importance.
We now live for a high,
A numbness to the
Terrible sensations
That surround us.
These are strange times--
Nothing left to believe in,
Many without a home to live in.
We take what we can get,
Scraps and throwaways
Are now our feasts.
No more revolutions,
We just want to watch
The world burn!
Open space is long
Gone, mega-cities are
All we can see.
The stars of the past
Are now hidden by
Smoke clouds and
Artificial light.
We didn’t choose this,
But still we live with
Our ancestors long
Overdue consequences.
Our world is now worse
Than the looming death
Everyone used to fear.
Suicide has become an
Understandable decision.
People used to think we
Would find a way to live
Forever-- reach space and
Learn to love everyone.
That is not the case.
The rich got richer and
The poor got poorer.
War is all that lasted forever.
Those pure at heart were
Assassinated and those
Evil all lived on.
You can run but
You can’t hide,
Drone strikes take
Out the people
Who owe money.
Protesters get bombed and
Visionaries are killed at birth.
We now live on an overpopulated
Planet with no signs of life.
You’d be lucky to find a
Copy of The Great Gatsby.
Most of the best art
Was destroyed by the
Government.
Every once in a while you
You may see some graffiti,
But other than that, all
Signs of the soul are gone.
The last bit of enlightenment
Was lost when the Buddhist
Monks all burned themselves
Alive in protest to where
The world was headed.
Not a single person even
Stopped and noticed them,
Everyone just strolled by.
Feral children and
Wild dogs run ramped.
A dead body on the
street is no longer
Is no longer a sight
To see, it's routine.
Hookers and dope dealers
Are on every corner.
Strip clubs and bars
Line up all the streets.
Murder is no longer a punishable
Offense and getting mugged is an
Issue we all have to deal with.
The wealthy live on top of hills,
Surrounded by their own
Private armies-- walls a hundred
Feet tall protecting them from
The desperate masses.
Even with all the medical advances,
Life expectancy is only thirty.
Most people don’t even get
Buried, they just get left
In the spot they past away.
The best we can do is
Think of better times--
Hendrix, J.F.K., M.L.K.,
John Lennon, and
Mohandas Gandhi.
It’s hard to believe peace
Was ever a possibility.
There is no beauty left
In this world, not at all.
A long time ago,
People used to stop and
Stare up at the night sky
And hope for something more.
Now, we just keep walking.
There is no hope left
In this world of ours.
City streets filled
With degradation--
Sadomasochists,
Sodomists, and
Sadistic bastards
All around us.
A chemical fog
Turned what was
Left of our days into
An eternal night.
We roam, lost in our
Apathy, quivering and
Shivering--no prayers.
Cults of religious fanatics
Try to convince us there is
Something better waiting
For us on the other side,
But no longer is salvation
Of any importance.
We now live for a high,
A numbness to the
Terrible sensations
That surround us.
These are strange times--
Nothing left to believe in,
Many without a home to live in.
We take what we can get,
Scraps and throwaways
Are now our feasts.
No more revolutions,
We just want to watch
The world burn!
Open space is long
Gone, mega-cities are
All we can see.
The stars of the past
Are now hidden by
Smoke clouds and
Artificial light.
We didn’t choose this,
But still we live with
Our ancestors long
Overdue consequences.
Our world is now worse
Than the looming death
Everyone used to fear.
Suicide has become an
Understandable decision.
People used to think we
Would find a way to live
Forever-- reach space and
Learn to love everyone.
That is not the case.
The rich got richer and
The poor got poorer.
War is all that lasted forever.
Those pure at heart were
Assassinated and those
Evil all lived on.
You can run but
You can’t hide,
Drone strikes take
Out the people
Who owe money.
Protesters get bombed and
Visionaries are killed at birth.
We now live on an overpopulated
Planet with no signs of life.
You’d be lucky to find a
Copy of The Great Gatsby.
Most of the best art
Was destroyed by the
Government.
Every once in a while you
You may see some graffiti,
But other than that, all
Signs of the soul are gone.
The last bit of enlightenment
Was lost when the Buddhist
Monks all burned themselves
Alive in protest to where
The world was headed.
Not a single person even
Stopped and noticed them,
Everyone just strolled by.
Feral children and
Wild dogs run ramped.
A dead body on the
street is no longer
Is no longer a sight
To see, it's routine.
Hookers and dope dealers
Are on every corner.
Strip clubs and bars
Line up all the streets.
Murder is no longer a punishable
Offense and getting mugged is an
Issue we all have to deal with.
The wealthy live on top of hills,
Surrounded by their own
Private armies-- walls a hundred
Feet tall protecting them from
The desperate masses.
Even with all the medical advances,
Life expectancy is only thirty.
Most people don’t even get
Buried, they just get left
In the spot they past away.
The best we can do is
Think of better times--
Hendrix, J.F.K., M.L.K.,
John Lennon, and
Mohandas Gandhi.
It’s hard to believe peace
Was ever a possibility.
There is no beauty left
In this world, not at all.
A long time ago,
People used to stop and
Stare up at the night sky
And hope for something more.
Now, we just keep walking.
There is no hope left
In this world of ours.
That's a good girl
My EBT collar makes me an
American
mutt
My owner gives a
SNAP
of his fingers and like a good bitch
my panting tongue and doleful eyes
gets me table scraps
My tits long dried for any pups
*SNAP, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program formerly the Food Stamps Program, families living in poverty receive Electronic Benefits Transfer (EBT) cards to eat
My EBT collar makes me an
American
mutt
My owner gives a
SNAP
of his fingers and like a good bitch
my panting tongue and doleful eyes
gets me table scraps
My tits long dried for any pups
*SNAP, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program formerly the Food Stamps Program, families living in poverty receive Electronic Benefits Transfer (EBT) cards to eat
Secret Theatre
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJcA-DrZdsY
A candor that can't speak to questions carefully chosen,
Was standing in stampedes, suggesting "spare me the omen",
The deaf would sing for the enemy...despite our loving advances,
They dress their strings in accessories to hide how ugly a dance is…
Many dreaming of empty things, such mindless dummies would pander—
to a legacy I'm discrediting like some spineless, plundering cancer,
A puppet, armed to the teeth with greed—mouth full of nothing,
Ventriloquist kept his seat in deceit, while counting the money…
Thus, was harder to teach the seeds to amount to something,
When diligence left them weak and diseased, so doubtful and hungry…
It’s a secret theatre, and the audience looks oblivious,
Easier things would seem to work, but awfully crooked, hideous—
fingers seem to manipulate pretty people so perfectly…
Pulling their strings in rapid succession…
The vapid obsession of passive aggressive actors lamenting a passing of trends,
So masochistic and cavernous…just as master intended,
They surround themselves with sycophants and flattering friends—
who’d do anything to mask just how tragic it ends,
The Immaculate Deception...captivating Capulets with lasting impressions,
So passionate...tense, and manic depressive—all accurate except for a cast, if it questions—
a script it's been given...plots never thicken,
They just twist for the cynics who fit the description,
Critical of critics who'd ridicule a vision out of principle,
Insipid and minuscule...individual carbon copies—
If it’s literal, it’s a tool…if subliminal, Art embodies—
a hidden symbol of stars and masks…indivisible, its invisible part to cast—
is critical…to it’s larger act—like artifacts, seek to uncover the art…of “fact”,
If you want to tell a story—enshroud it in mysticism,
Deliver it deliberately, bound in its symbolism,
The cynicism surrounding—profound, in its gift to give ‘em—
when doubt, is just a prism to bounce a glib description—
of countless kids imprisoned on count of insignificance…
Fishing for dissidents, drowning in indecision—it’s how they’ve gotten their hooks in…
Fishing line and puppet strings—synonymous, but indifferent—
not autonomous, just indignant…
A synopsis from the witnesses who’d never take The Stand…
Civilized people always sympathize with evil, sticking to opinions that were previously approved...
Little ties that bind you can be reasonably improved,
Now, this safety net's a spider's web—Won't you stay for dinner?
You can take these steps to right your debts, and still won't pay for scissors,
Like these simple lies that blind you can't be…easily removed...
Greedily consumed by things we'd easily elude,
If we'd just cut the strings that keep us from believing we can choose...
But dance your little dance again...and don't forget to smile,
I'm done manning-up for mannequins—standing, hopeless in denial...
Copyright © 2014 Travis J Gibbs, The Ant1-Her0 Project
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJcA-DrZdsY
A candor that can't speak to questions carefully chosen,
Was standing in stampedes, suggesting "spare me the omen",
The deaf would sing for the enemy...despite our loving advances,
They dress their strings in accessories to hide how ugly a dance is…
Many dreaming of empty things, such mindless dummies would pander—
to a legacy I'm discrediting like some spineless, plundering cancer,
A puppet, armed to the teeth with greed—mouth full of nothing,
Ventriloquist kept his seat in deceit, while counting the money…
Thus, was harder to teach the seeds to amount to something,
When diligence left them weak and diseased, so doubtful and hungry…
It’s a secret theatre, and the audience looks oblivious,
Easier things would seem to work, but awfully crooked, hideous—
fingers seem to manipulate pretty people so perfectly…
Pulling their strings in rapid succession…
The vapid obsession of passive aggressive actors lamenting a passing of trends,
So masochistic and cavernous…just as master intended,
They surround themselves with sycophants and flattering friends—
who’d do anything to mask just how tragic it ends,
The Immaculate Deception...captivating Capulets with lasting impressions,
So passionate...tense, and manic depressive—all accurate except for a cast, if it questions—
a script it's been given...plots never thicken,
They just twist for the cynics who fit the description,
Critical of critics who'd ridicule a vision out of principle,
Insipid and minuscule...individual carbon copies—
If it’s literal, it’s a tool…if subliminal, Art embodies—
a hidden symbol of stars and masks…indivisible, its invisible part to cast—
is critical…to it’s larger act—like artifacts, seek to uncover the art…of “fact”,
If you want to tell a story—enshroud it in mysticism,
Deliver it deliberately, bound in its symbolism,
The cynicism surrounding—profound, in its gift to give ‘em—
when doubt, is just a prism to bounce a glib description—
of countless kids imprisoned on count of insignificance…
Fishing for dissidents, drowning in indecision—it’s how they’ve gotten their hooks in…
Fishing line and puppet strings—synonymous, but indifferent—
not autonomous, just indignant…
A synopsis from the witnesses who’d never take The Stand…
Civilized people always sympathize with evil, sticking to opinions that were previously approved...
Little ties that bind you can be reasonably improved,
Now, this safety net's a spider's web—Won't you stay for dinner?
You can take these steps to right your debts, and still won't pay for scissors,
Like these simple lies that blind you can't be…easily removed...
Greedily consumed by things we'd easily elude,
If we'd just cut the strings that keep us from believing we can choose...
But dance your little dance again...and don't forget to smile,
I'm done manning-up for mannequins—standing, hopeless in denial...
Copyright © 2014 Travis J Gibbs, The Ant1-Her0 Project
Only The Material Survive
I sleep with my AK tucked under my arm, I call her Emily,
Emily and I are all about the loot, if you see us please shoot,
I was bred incoherently, incapable of feeling regret
at age eleven I stumbled upon greed now I want it all,
shot a few rounds in the air, the beginning of my dictatorship.
I want a car, a house, forty acres, one mule, and two guitars,
everyone else has it all, why not I?
What the hell is a dollar to someone willing to kill for a million?
Four Rolex watches, yes I am that important to society,
I can never be seen without my platinum chains on,
daily shootouts just to acquire more bling bling, this place
smells, ten murders every minute, we're all going to hell.
No need to want anything but food and health, but
tell that to my brain's obsession with acquiring all else.
Yesterday, I saw a man brain dead walking,
all I could do was stare at his nice shoes,
pondering how many bullets it would take to end him,
so many bodies in the streets, what is one more?
In that building across the street lives hope,
tonight, I'm taking it all away to gain more.
I sleep with my AK tucked under my arm, I call her Emily,
Emily and I are all about the loot, if you see us please shoot,
I was bred incoherently, incapable of feeling regret
at age eleven I stumbled upon greed now I want it all,
shot a few rounds in the air, the beginning of my dictatorship.
I want a car, a house, forty acres, one mule, and two guitars,
everyone else has it all, why not I?
What the hell is a dollar to someone willing to kill for a million?
Four Rolex watches, yes I am that important to society,
I can never be seen without my platinum chains on,
daily shootouts just to acquire more bling bling, this place
smells, ten murders every minute, we're all going to hell.
No need to want anything but food and health, but
tell that to my brain's obsession with acquiring all else.
Yesterday, I saw a man brain dead walking,
all I could do was stare at his nice shoes,
pondering how many bullets it would take to end him,
so many bodies in the streets, what is one more?
In that building across the street lives hope,
tonight, I'm taking it all away to gain more.
The shining road to joy
Sitting silent with a brick
made of something white
if it crumbles
sniff it twice
so judging eyes can call it vice
laying close with hollow hearts
eyes wide open and knuckles tight
If she cries
close your eyes
and prying eyes will say that's nice
cubicle cold and walls curled close
dry tears and cold feet
lead the way
to an icy home
plead for tomorrow with hands soaked in today's sacrifice
A head on the wall
her in the bed
the trophy's cool
and so's the ring
but the ring of icy dread is the new days price
the liquor's cool and the bullets warm
the past can puddle but the future rains
no greed for bullets
just one will do
they won't say what's next
but they'll tell you
everybody dies
Sitting silent with a brick
made of something white
if it crumbles
sniff it twice
so judging eyes can call it vice
laying close with hollow hearts
eyes wide open and knuckles tight
If she cries
close your eyes
and prying eyes will say that's nice
cubicle cold and walls curled close
dry tears and cold feet
lead the way
to an icy home
plead for tomorrow with hands soaked in today's sacrifice
A head on the wall
her in the bed
the trophy's cool
and so's the ring
but the ring of icy dread is the new days price
the liquor's cool and the bullets warm
the past can puddle but the future rains
no greed for bullets
just one will do
they won't say what's next
but they'll tell you
everybody dies
To The East, A Cardinal Sun
There are those who sit aloft in
the houses built by noble men, the
clerics, the sovereign-born and their
benefactors. They cross swords from
the safety of their dominions while
common men must carry the weight of
war among their many hindrances.
The nascency of bloodshed for
petty advance raises a red sun on a
new day. Men are armed with phantom
limbs. Some will be blinded by what
they will see here today, others
will not live to see their children
become of age, but imperial hands would
sooner rest around our throats than on our
shoulders. This legacy of our kind is
one they would soon forget, much
in the way the wind disremembers the
words spoken unto it. But on this red
dawn, it will not be leagues of men
slaughtered and left to rot in the
fields or picked clean by birds of
carrion. It will not be the families
made to go on fatherless. This is no
longer their war, but ours. A cardinal
sun rises to the east, and our enemies
from the south fall into our ranks.
Damnatio ad bestias. Alea iacta est.
http://www.philippalmer.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/Edward-Hopper-Hotel-Room-e1264934743942.jpg
(artwork: "Hotel Room" by Edward Hopper)
(This piece was inspired by the films Equilibrium and Divergent. Briefly, one film dealt with controlling society through the elimination of feelings and emotions, while the other involved the forced delineation of citizens into pragmatic work and social factions. Thanks...)
Hopper
no one knew
that mama and i were happy
she’d taught me how to hide it
it didn’t matter about the scarce food
our clothes like rags
the allotted spaces for our shanties
for she'd taught me the love
of gardening
since we were of
the humble harvest faction
she had a secret
once she came to me
said, “this is my gift to you”
i held the flimsy piece of paper
crackling and yellowed at the edges
“this is why we live,” she said
i had never seen a painting before
it was signed by a man named Hopper
it showed a woman sitting on a bed
in what looked like an old hotel
way back before the third world war
there was luggage
as if she were traveling
but she looked so lonely
i was haunted by the curve
of her back
her head bent in shadow
how could have this Hopper man
have known her truths
when he could only paint
her face and body
it was something i couldn’t explain
it hurt so much to look at it
but in a beautiful way
the day the guards took mama
and incinerated her for her crime
i watched as she bent herself
in the flames
like that woman in the picture
and since she had not given me
the medicine for so long
the Prozium that took away our feelings
when the guard with the needle
asked tersely, ”are you ready?”
i sighed like a lover
and said
please
(artwork: "Hotel Room" by Edward Hopper)
(This piece was inspired by the films Equilibrium and Divergent. Briefly, one film dealt with controlling society through the elimination of feelings and emotions, while the other involved the forced delineation of citizens into pragmatic work and social factions. Thanks...)
Hopper
no one knew
that mama and i were happy
she’d taught me how to hide it
it didn’t matter about the scarce food
our clothes like rags
the allotted spaces for our shanties
for she'd taught me the love
of gardening
since we were of
the humble harvest faction
she had a secret
once she came to me
said, “this is my gift to you”
i held the flimsy piece of paper
crackling and yellowed at the edges
“this is why we live,” she said
i had never seen a painting before
it was signed by a man named Hopper
it showed a woman sitting on a bed
in what looked like an old hotel
way back before the third world war
there was luggage
as if she were traveling
but she looked so lonely
i was haunted by the curve
of her back
her head bent in shadow
how could have this Hopper man
have known her truths
when he could only paint
her face and body
it was something i couldn’t explain
it hurt so much to look at it
but in a beautiful way
the day the guards took mama
and incinerated her for her crime
i watched as she bent herself
in the flames
like that woman in the picture
and since she had not given me
the medicine for so long
the Prozium that took away our feelings
when the guard with the needle
asked tersely, ”are you ready?”
i sighed like a lover
and said
please
