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Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
The on-screen horror
Was as vivid as the real thing.
We watched as people died
Fighting against an evil king.
While in our own lives
We just smiled and went along.
Maybe we might have stood up
If accompanied by a clever song.

It won for best picture
The saddest we had seen
It shocked and appalled us
In nearly every scene.
The Director thanked Jesus
The author and his wife.
Yet the king is still alive,
But this time in real life.

Screen heroes heroes as shallow
As comic-book supermen;
They are full of flash and dash
Then they run back home again.
We honor them much more
Than the people who save us
And fail to see the blessings
Their dedication gave us.

Day to day our teachers
And our medical personnel,
Our police and our firefighters
Confront a real-life hell.
Those people and the military
Are paid the lower wages
While people who show profit
Get rich while the holocaust rages.

So, filmmakers are delighted
With each new massacre.
After all, making ****** fortunes
Is what entertainment is for.
The media allows much more time
To the ogres in our society.
Villainy is more photogenic
Than any kind of propriety.

As long as the public can’t resist
Buying those pathetic rags,
The tabloid press will still reward
Snoops, gossips and nags.
Those are the same fools
Who then go on to elect
Crooks and thieves and liars
With disastrous global effect.
Pax Oct 2016
In my entourage
people laugh
I got used to it.

In my center stage
I was the comedian
who never likes
his job.

In my closing remarks
their entertainment
was fulfilled.
I on the other hand
got drained
from my mistakes
turned to be pretty
funny,
never was that
my intention.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1630227/clown-i/

i guess i got used to it, being laugh at. a job that im forever tainted
well its okay, im good, im still strong to pull through, soon I'll get
out of this....

thanks, for reading
sometimes we just
needed to let this out
of our system...
William A Poppen Aug 2016
Entertainment comes in many forms
One without Nielson ratings
presents daily shows
below the garage gutter

Weathered leather shoestring
strains under the weight
of unfilled feeder
long exposed to wind
and air until
it's original surface
contains only flecks
of it's original varnish

When filled, squares of suet cakes
fitted between wire grids
entice chickadees
early in the day
before nuthatches, wren
and downy woodpeckers
peck and feed on the
nut, corn and protein
snack.  Bluejays struggle
without success to
hang sideways and gather
specks of nuts from the tallow.

Other large birds, cardinal
and red-bellied woodpecker
show-up the jay as they feed
with ease at the suet rack

Each day suet sinks
slowly descending until
little is found by
winged visitors

Begrudgingly he rises
from his chair, tramps to the
garage to find a new
insert for the feed box.
Hands, weathered like the
pine of the feeder
unpack the next cake
to refresh the lure
as the scenery of wild birds
return to their feeding
and refill his soul
a description of the scene out my backdoor window
SassyJ Jul 2016
Glitters and red meters
givers and received perceivers
usher the gift of illusionary display
vision all the aspects of reality

Signal the surreal posts on trees
yank and spotlight my dreams
walk and split the glass panels
wagon us from societal ice

Glitters and red masks
course every vein of our being
pour the red wine and misplace
protrude every nautical sense

Read my palm, contact the wizard
grab my sight, take me to the moon
contactless,eventful and tasteful
contactless, easy and resourceful
Written in a theatre over a performance of burlesque, live magic and comedy (cabaret live entertainment June 2016)
Brett Palmero May 2016
Together they march
Towards a battle of theirs
Some ready and strong
Others feeling like it's wrong

Here comes the enemy
Swords out, bows drawn
The clash begins, metal rings
Now death the angel sings

What started the fighting?
Is it our fault or theirs?
Why spill brother’s blood
And then lay sisters in the mud

A sword in the ground
A mother’s love now sorrow
An arrow through the head
A father’s pride let go

We fight and **** without cause
Playing as God’s executioner
****** not justified
Life and love denied

We’re all the same
Born to live and prosper
It’s all a fight for survival
A **** deadman’s carnival

It’s for the entertainment
For ourselves and each other
To spill the blood of humans
And all for one’s amusement

A leader lamenting his defeat
A catastrophe begins to commence
A ruler grinning and laughing
A body unknown, life worthless
Spenser Bennett Jun 2016
"I am what I believe"
Cried the crestfallen philosophy
"You are what we tell you to be"
Stated the looming bureaucracy
"But what of free speech, life, and liberty?"
Asked the outraged citizenry
"All fictitious. Now back to Benghazi."

And the world turned on
While our minds turned off
Victims to the Great Entertainment
That silences our voice of dissent

"What a marvelous movie"
"It could have been better"
"That Trump is a no-bullshitter"
"Yeah but he's  the same color as my melted smoothie"

Meanwhile the old wait to die
And prisoners don't have the hope to riot
And the T.V. tells us about Kim's new hair
I see these things and I despair

"Hey man, lemme get a eighth"
"Man, what the ******* gotta celebrate"
"I just got fired on Saturday, tryin' to forget this place"
"Man, you just gotta have a little faith"

But ain't no God in heaven and no savior in the saints
One prayer and all will be forgiven at least that's what they say
But my eyes don't divine a reason to believe 'em
My words are my crimes and I won't deceive 'em

Step back and give your heart your full attention
Listen to the voices of the ones I forgot to mention
Are we really so different
Are we slipping into indifference

If you believe in humanity
If you believe in nature
If you believe in morality
Maybe you'll become someone's savior
Chastise all further entertainment
Is the heart of our enchainment
Begins with fetters about wrists
Are wrung til red
Is the color bulls abhor
Not the one who questions
Are without answer
Til He who comes restore.
Foxgopher Nov 2015
I am a poet
And as such, a fool
For it's stories they want
Great tales, heroes too
They want lies and adventure
They don't bother with poems
They'd rather read trash
They want gossip and news
They don't want the truth
They equate poems to math
Poetry is bland
Too tasteless
No ACTION
Give us the movies, the tv, the game
Yet, so am I guilty the same,
I admit
Great poets have stayed
In history writ
But what of today?
I can't name one poet now
Were I not a poet!
Would I even know how?
Frances Oct 2015
This love is a little game we play

       It has no end
       There's no escape
       You hold all the cards
       And the way you stack them
If they were to fall they'd bury me alive
          Deprived from your kiss
It's the only thing I'd miss
     Not even breath or the sting of my wrists from when you hold me to your rules
                And no matter how many times I go broke trying to make you smile
       I'll always pay the dealer even if it takes a while
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