"accountant" poems
An accountant: A number poet. That about sums it up.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
Dear diary,
I just can't explain the amount of thoughts that I have daily!,
that continuous mind charter that I have daily....!
I'm filled with thoughts, every minute, and every second of my life.
My mind just keeps switching from one thought to another,
& The amount of day dreaming....
well!!!
you know my silly screaming ??!!!
Sometimes, they are really funny!
And they keep making me smile,
so that I keep glowing!
But some thoughts...,,,
They are really too dark,
That ,when I confront them,
it breaks my heart apart!!
I'm like a confused soul,
who's in search of meaning of life...
Who's in search of peace ,
Who's in search of shine!
But the moment I start thinking,
ugh!!!My head starts cracking!!
I just can't concentrate on one particular thing !
Today, if I feel like being a doctor,
Tomorrow I might think of being an engineer,
& If today I feel like being an accountant,
Tomorrow I might feel like,
" I just need an Oscar...!"
An Oscar for what??
I don't know ...!!!
It's sounds too cool and looks good to show !
Will I work for that award?...
honestly, I don't know !
I'm so lazy,
I don't even get up to "shoo" a crow !
But hey!...there's one amazing part about me,
Guess what ?
"Anyone can come and speak to me."
Being an overthinker,
has also opened up my mind,
I don't form immediate opinions,
till I get a clear sight !
I really don't know this journey of thoughts well??!!!
Will it ever be stable ?
Will it ever end ?
But ...If it ends,
I'll die for sure,
But hey!,
I'm sure there is some way to cure!
Which way?
Hey !...I don't know again !
Is that way gonna be simple
or another amazing pain!
But hey hey hey!!! I don't know why did I write this ?!
Was I trying to find a solution
or was encouraging my thoughts already in a continuous motion?!
But hey!,
it's ok if you're an overthinker,
Try to be amazing my friend,
even if nothing is clear!
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 5:28 AM UTC
She has a way of tormenting you
In every direction you try take
She gives you a curfew
Hoping, probing, that you, too, slip through the cracks.
I wanted to be a astronaut
To explore the universe
To find my destiny
Through the black hole
And out
Spaghettified or not
When my now cuffed-mind
Soared the air
With wings dispersed in the wind
Still when she didn't care
And thought I was harmless
She tried shooting me down
And got one through a wing
Now I think I want to be an accountant
Mediocre and sane
But who wants to have sanity
When you can be in it?
So I crashed into Hyperion
And as high as I am
She still sends her vicious winds
To try and cut me down
But her torment crafts precious stones
So in the interim
I'll hold on
Hoping that I can un-cuff my mind
Keeping a birds-eye view
Like a leopard waiting for its ****
So that one day
I can glide the universe
Wings distributed out wide
Skillful and experienced
So she can never shoot me down
Now
Perched on Hyperion
Patient and vigilant
I wait
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
From the womb we are taught to idealize the prospect of employment...and everything that comes after is done in attempt to attain a job
All the years of school...the pre-job jobs...the extra curricular activities that sparkle like a diamond among shattered glass or dreams on a CV
because employed is secure...
employed is safe...
employed is smart...
employed is successful
Your mom was hoping you would be an accountant like her but daddy thought you'd be a better scientist...so they made you do everything and by the time you realized that you didn't want to do any of those things...you had spread yourself so thin that the wind carried you in every direction and non of them was right...
That didn't really matter as long as you made enough to live in comfort...luxury is like the coin you find under your pillow in return for your fallen tooth...except instead of teeth it's your dreams that you have to trade in...
Because unemployed is unstable
Unemployed is without purpose
Unemployed is poor
Unemployed is a failure
So it doesn't really matter what you are...just as long as you're not unemployed.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
Off she went all dressed up to meet the guy she swiped left upon.
Five feet 10 his profile said but that's where all the lies began!
In she walked in her killer heels, eyes wide and bright to look for him.
But not a sign of him to see had he stood her up? How dare he!
Then at the bar worst for wear she saw his face and balding head.
How had he aged so much, so soon from the photos that made her swoon.
Well the truth aired and shots were fired, Napoleon's descendant had clearly lied!
The CEO of a successful business would be up at 5 for the newspaper deliveries.
His holiday home was a caravan, in the **** of Wales where no one went.
His hair had gone south long ago and his belly was chasing it now as well.
But in all of this, had she lied? Was she 48 or 55?
Had those lips been rendered too? With botox and the wrinkles smoothed.
At 48 or 55 that dress had some riples inside.
The parts Spanx can't control, where age and love handles roll.
She stayed they drank. Then drank again and laughed and talked of other things.
They danced made shapes for all to see like watching a form of epilepsy.
They left at one her shoes in hand, holes in her tights, lipstick smeared upon his cheek and a room to find to seal the deal.
Promises made to meet again and drink and dance and meet their friends.
Next week he was sat at the very same bar, watching the door for her enterance!
She? Oh no, nowhere to be seen. Across the town at another scene. This time an accountant, chartered too!
But we all know it isn't true.
Fairytale endings nowhere to be seen. Just nights of ****** and living the dream.
All in all is this all that they want? Repeating the cycle over again.
With another fool in fancy dress?
Viewed from the bottom of an empty glass.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
They print their lives on a price tag,
Those big fat numbers,
All they do is brag.
My daughter’s a neurosurgeon,
Graduated from Johns Hopkins,
Saving lives by the hundreds.
My son a number-crunching accountant,
A career that keeps his wallet thick,
And his pockets filled.
They wonder what I do,
I tell them I work with words.
They gasp,
Eyes widen.
I tell them that,
I can count the spaces between adjacent letters in a word,
String words together to build a sentence,
Layer each sentence above another like bricks,
Place a single powerful mark of punctuation in between,
The glue that holds the bricks intact and forms a wall.
A wall of stanzas,
Connected by commas and semicolons.
A wall of paragraphs,
Big enough to block numbers out.
Because words fill souls while numbers fill pockets.
Words are immeasurable.
Infinite.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
She spends most of her days in doldrums,
always segregated from the whole crowd.
Everyone uses her acts and games against her.
It seemed like a game and they liked it.
But now it is toture,
she is being bullied
she fears coming to school,
she fails to catch some sleep at now,
their words keep ringing in her ears at night.
Today in the morning it was her shoe lace,
after assisting them
the only thanks they give is by making her feel misrable.
Now this afternoon she is crying,
and it all seems like a joke to them.
"Nomathemba help me with Accounting !"
they call out everyday.
After her help they become ironic,
"she is a distinction student".
They make her feel belittled.
"Dont worry you will be Accountant one day...
Because Accountants are greedy too"
i am not willing to support them,
their games are surely bad.
She fails to laugh,
nor smile,
her heart filled with pain.
She is a victim of emotional abuse,
and am the only one who seems to care.
What happened to the unity amongst us?
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
I have a right to stand
I'm claiming it now.
Turangawaewae; 'a place to stand'
Is a deep empowerment from the land
Learnt through ancestral connection
Strengthened through ahi ka; 'keeping the fires burning'
Well, my ancestral stories ain't so impressive
There were few battles
Though my granddad worked for the air force in world war two
- As an accountant
We didn't encounter the gods or try to bring down the sun
Though when my Grandma arrived here she built up the soil
Soul of the Earth
For 70 years
As the city sprang up around her
And my mother aged 11 played follow the leader with a goat in the next door construction site
Where her house is now
My uncle found an old mans false teeth in a cup
Climbing through an abandoned house
My aunt visited James K Baxter's Jerusalem
She wasn't a fan of his poetry
But his wisdom spoke to her
My other aunts jumped through the neighbours trees
Who threatened to shoot them
My father followed my mother here
After her O.E with my sister in the oven
He ******* about John Key as much as anyone
And praises this land; it is home.
I stood on a windy cliff surrounded by pohutukawa and learnt the whisper of the sea
Roughing it on an island I tried determinedly to turn into a pukeko
I got my first cut, bruise, scrape from this land
My first breath, poem, touch of a violin, my first kiss was here
I know the rough patches, the fringe scene, where the best soil is
(It's at my grams house)
I know how to spot a drug house, which cafes will let us jam, where the open mics are 5 days of the week.
I know Kirikiriroa.
My fires have been burning
And I have a right to stand
I have learnt through my own evolution
Through Janet Frame's railroad country
Through a history
Cities growing and spreading
They weren't just here
As it has always seemed to me.
The countryside, what was here before?
Landscapes of forest and mountain
Familiar yet unknown to me.
When I go away I will know the difference
When I return I will know this land
The depth recognized through contrast
Defined by difference
As the sun and moon complement
Light and dark
Sorrow and joy
And,
As in yin and yang
I will know nothing is completely separate.
When I go away I will know
So fully
And I will return and say:
This is my place to stand
My turangawaewae
My Aotearoa
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
on account of you:
she says: do you know you often smile when, day dream dozing?
me says: on account of you
she says: c’mon sweet talking man, ain’t gonna fall for that hooey!
me says: hooey, phooey, on account of you
she says: nah, you writing poetry, no fooling me no more!
me says: on account of you
*she says: I bet you got one of your girl friends singing to you, through
those wireless earbuds, doncha? who is it this time? a Sara or Joni?*
me says: on account of you.
*she says: you think big shot, you can multitask b.s. me? doing three things
at the same time!*
me says: on account of you
*she says: on account of you, I’m seriously ****** you don’t tell me anymore
sweet lies and alibis, probably writing an ode to one of your poetry gf babes!*
me says: on account of you, can’t count no more, how many love poems in my lifetime written, and this one too, going out to you, charged to my tab, you babe,
are my account, my accountant, my accounting....
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 1:43 PM UTC
At the risk of sounding sexist
I’d like to pay my highest respects today
to the girl at my accountant’s
with the beautiful *******
Usually the only things that jiggle there
are the numbers on the ledger,
but today a couple of numbers
stuck out for me to admire.
She knew it all added up spectacularly well
as she bent down obligingly
and pointed out where I should sign
and showed me what I needed to see.
She knew and I knew that
capital gains and expenses
were comparatively insignificant here.
Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside.
Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed,
but then I'm afraid that's what happens
when you’re more
of a ******
than an entrepreneur.
Mike T Minehan
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
We are all born
Creative
Early childhood is all about
Being creative.
Soon, however, life
Steps in.
It tries to ***** out
Our creative instincts
By labelling us
Rebellious
Naughty
Selfish
When we try to do
Our own thing.
It tries to ***** out
Our creative self
By fitting us into
Life's boxes
Life's moulds.
Doctor
Lawyer
Engineer
Accountant.
Go the safe route
Life urges
Go the secure route
Life urges
Follow convention
Be serious!
The adult creative
However
Is the child who
Survives
This onslaught
This manipulation
This war on the
Creative self
And chooses instead
To follow their own path
In life.
The road less travelled.
Where
Fun
Freedom
And
True fulfillment
Await.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 12:23 AM UTC
There is an electric hum from traffic lights
Barely audible to the people waiting at the corner
Overwhelmed with confusion over the former
Condition of the economy in spite
Of the surplus of traffic signs
So they stare at traffic signs
The signs don’t mind
They stare right back and watch and contemplate crossing, too
But the signs will stay behind
Because people go
As they please
Under an ashy sky
And flickers
Of lightning
Appearing in the clouds
Consider the aerodynamics of taxicabs
You wish humans were so streamlined and yellow
We’re not so bad!
Said a fellow
Accountant using an algebraic formula to attempt to derive
Why you smile for us and I’ve
Noticed, though no one else has, the electric storm churning
Miles above
Polarizing the sky
In silence
They tremble, these, the not-so-poor
It’s that fearful tic, the one we’ve seen before
But you tremble, too
Do you see me quiver
We’ve got that quick jitter
Like a prickling under the skin that’s pulsing through
Our blood the way that caffeine does
Or the wattage exploding in death throes or birth throes
Above us now
Hypnotic
And powerful
Though I cannot tell
Exactly how far away
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 3:08 PM UTC
The sun is a glaring Mom. She has
Nine toddlers in pull-ups robbing a liquor store
They scream like goblins coated
slippery in A+D,
(but the money tastes like sand)
buttery streams of light in the air that smells
like chewed fireworks.
Baby Blue silence. Then
“Langston McCaw! LA County Sheriff!”
the Sheriff is dead McCaw is an accountant over at Sherman and-
But he doesn’t like to talk about it.
Sun setting sets the air habanero
“Look about it” the babies cry
Those chubby voices of rage.
Liquor quivering milky and hot
I ripped the roof and reached-
J-Dog has snatched another thief
And he will take the lil’ ***** to the
holding cell that thinks
Where he will be questioned by
ten petite police
These babies won’t bite the bakers back again!
“Si tu vois ma mere”
broken Bombay bottle sings in despair as
Giant mother tomato sun fell,
Madness doesn’t cease it goes around.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
All he could see were numbers
that reached out and grabbed taxes
and takes, invoices and expenditures.
He could not see explanations of delight
that little mistake I made with fringe benefits,
those royalties that never came.
In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes
to build the roads, skyways and airports
where he would travel and stay.
I wondered how he slept at night
cocooned in numbers
just 1-9 with a hefty zero
that made the difference between rich and poor
I wondered how he could survive on numbers
no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties,
high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights
and endless days of counting little many times over.
He said to me once: Save every cent,
fortify yourself against depression and
natural disasters, don't spend lavishly
there's a price to pay
cut up your credit card. Live austerely.
Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC,
a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses
(to shield my eyes from the accountants glare)
and a cruise to the Mediterranean
where the blue waters beckoned.
The accountant visited the GP
twice more than me that year.
I'm still working the fat off at the gym.
( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?)
Author Notes
Anyone know this guy?
Check this Novel out!
The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition
Marshall E Gass
ISBN 9781493137848
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
Be my everything,
To guide and cherish me,
Be my lover,
To love me unconditionally.
Be my Architech,
Let's design the future together.
Be my teacher,
To teach me how to love.
Be my engineer,
To build our home.
Be my doctor,
To take care of me.
Be my accountant,
To audit my salary.
Be my bestfriend,
To advise me when I'm sad.
Be my clown,
To make me happy when I'm down.
Lastly, be my partner,
And stay with me forever.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
You are a model
a bartender
an accountant
a casanova
a catch-22
a poet
a pitiful romantic
and
a tormenter of my heart.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
Of all the mistakes I've ever made
Many of which changed my life
Like the time I went to jail
Caught an embezzlement charge
Criminal at large
For stealing cd's at the age of 17
Only to grow up to be an accountant
Have every employer doubting
Or the time I decided not go see my God mom
Said I had plans but that was a lie
Only a week later did she die
And it's at her grave I'm trying to say goodbye
OR when I started gambling
And nearly ruined my whole life
Lost all I had and more
Even my father's ring
Of all those things
If there was one i could change
I would go back to that moment
I messed up thing up between you and me
And instead go with plan B
Just for the chance
Just for the possibility
That you could have ended up with me
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Everybody wants to know why he couldn't adjust
Adjust to what, a dream that bust?
He was a clean-cut kid
But they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
They said what's up is down, they said what isn't is
They put ideas in his head he thought were his
He was a clean-cut kid
But they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
He was on the baseball team, he was in the marching band
When he was ten years old he had a watermelon stand
He was a clean-cut kid
But they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
He went to church on Sunday, he was a Boy Scout
For his friends he would turn his pockets inside out
He was a clean-cut kid
But they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
They said, "Listen boy, you're just a pup"
They sent him to a ****** health spa to shape up
They gave him dope to smoke, drinks and pills,
A jeep to drive, blood to spill
They said "Congratulations, you got what it takes"
They sent him back into the rat race without any brakes
He was a clean-cut kid
But they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
He bought the American dream but it put him in debt
The only game he could play was Russian roulette
He drank Coca-Cola, he was eating Wonder Bread,
Ate Burger Kings, he was well fed
He went to Hollywood to see Peter O'Toole
He stole a Rolls Royce and drove it in a swimming pool
They took a clean-cut kid
And they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
He could've sold insurance, owned a restaurant or bar
Could've been an accountant or a tennis star
He was wearing boxing gloves, took a dive one day
Off the Golden Gate Bridge into China Bay
His mama walks the floor, his daddy weeps and moans
They gotta sleep together in a home they don't own
They took a clean-cut kid
And they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
Well, everybody's asking why he couldn't adjust
All he ever wanted was somebody to trust
They took his head and turned it inside out
He never did know what it was all about
He had a steady job, he joined the choir
He never did plan to walk the high wire
They took a clean-cut kid
And they made a killer out of him,
That's what they did
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Postman
and poet?
love letters in mail
Accountant
and poet?
precision, detail
Archeologist
and poet?
sifting for feelings
Electrician
and poet?
a jolt
leaving one reeling
architect
and poet?
drafting with words
Zookeeper
and poet?
singing of birds
Bus driver
and poet?
observing life's roadways
Minister
and poet?
perhaps how he prays
Lawyer
and poet?
though about win or lose
her poetry just might amuse
Economist
and poet?
Aren't we all that?
though we wear different hats
distilling things downwards
saving on words
whoever you are
whatever you choose
listen, observe
welcome your Muse!
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
For the accountant, the librarian, on this cold day
there is no revelation. He will go his own way
to the roar of the tinnitus in his ears.
About our war what is there to say. Yesterday
a flock of bluebirds was the only color in the woods.
Have they arrived too early for their good?
Of Judith and Inanna I have Korf's fears.
Inanna is generous, Judith is dangerous.
On each the wise elders depend for sustenance,
protection. Agriculture is ******
and wars end when men remember ***********
To savor the young woman's thighs and the old one's food,
to water her womb and cut her wood.
Is this not what's real, the actual, the animal?
The women I have known were bluebirds and crows, such
nuthatches, cardinals, robins, an occasional thrush.
They did not consider their bodies holy,
they found my seduction easy. What good luck
on the bed, in the light of the land, in our youth.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
The girl said she wanted to be a writer.
...
"Yes, but what do you want to do?"
the accountant asked,
eyes glazed over.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
originality. its become a long lost art
so don’t expect this to come from my heart
all the cookie cut out people, with their cookie cut out jobs
and their cookie cut out problems, their cookie cut out sobs
i’m not a real person, and neither are you
its a ***** to admit, but you know its true
we’re all raised to grow up and get paid
so one day a girl will show up to get laid
have a few kids, and the love starts to fade
it makes me want to puke, and call out for aid
but i’m bakin’ in the oven, can’t ****** see out
so i’ll try to keep on lovin’, and try not to pout
tears start to pour, like god turned on the spout
cause i can’t figure out what this life’s about
so god if you hear this i think i’m about done cookin’
but i bet your almighty nothingness aint even lookin’
cause we’re all alone in this world, trying to find our way
and if we’re lucky, we’ll make it thru to the end of the day
an accountant or some **** man whatever pays
this hypocritical cookie’s getting lost in a maze
there’s no need for creativity when all that matters is productivity
and i’ll speak but won’t dare to act, is that a product of inactivity?
**** the world, man i say tupac had it right
thats all i can say, already given-up this fight
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
Your smile crossed my desk and I felt some kind of affection
But baby I'm just your accountant, and I'm accounting for some counting of the stars, I slipped my number to you and we hit a couple bars
Had a few arguments, made a few scars
Made some babies and bought a car
Where are we going? Where are we now?
I'm just a character in your bed, and I'm a little voice in your head
And I'm a petty little man in a suit and tie
And you haven't left your head for days I can barely leave you alone
But don't you worry darling I'll be home after my nine to five
Just eight hours honey won't you turn on some turkey music and jive
Try and remember when we used to be alive, yeah?
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
Poet: Good Morning Darling! Can you hear the birds? The sun is creeping up, too beautiful for words!
Accountant: It’s 54 degrees with a high of 72 predicted. You won’t need a coat.
Poet: Ah, the warmth of afternoon sun, won’t our picnic today be fun?
Accountant: We should leave by 10:30. I have to get gas. Have you packed our lunch?
Poet: I have chicken salad for our lunch, potato chips to add some crunch, I baked the cookies that you liked last time, and bought a bottle of your favorite wine!
Accountant: I set the GPS. We should get there right at 11:15. Do you have a blanket?
Poet: Yes, a blanket to lay upon the ground, at the edge of the woods that we once found, while lost upon a country road, turned the fortune of our day around!
Accountant: I charged my cell phone and the ball game starts at 1:20. A win puts us in first place. Are you sure we’ll have cell reception?
Poet: Ah, but I will read you poetry about the love I have for thee, leave the city’s crowds and noise behind, to all else but ourselves be blind.
Accountant: Honey, why are you talking like that?
Poet: I just joined Hello Poetry, now all the world’s a verse to me, to read and share with HP friends, ecstatic when a poem trends!
Accountant: Yeah, is that what you showed me the other day? Looked to me like you guys all ‘like’ each other’s poems, and 95% of the people that read yours don’t even like them.
Poet: Really? (holding back tears)
Accountant: That’s what I calculated. How many of those cookies are you bringing anyway?
Poet: I have a dozen, but I can bake more.
Accountant: Nah, 12 is plenty, and by the way, Baby, I just love your poetry, it’s filled with creativity, each word picked out is absolute, with premise that I can’t dispute, I guess one more thing I should say: I’d like it more if it would pay!
PwL May 3, 2015
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
I haven't been writing much lately.
My vault is being emptied into you
Instead of into poems,
I think.
Maybe I'm running low
And need to go to the bank to get some change.
Maybe I need to
Diversify my portfolio, so to speak.
Maybe
I need to go to the casino
And take a gamble to see if I can refill it.
But I've never been good at any game but slots
So you'd have to come help me.
We can count cards all night
And stuff my safe with the anticipation
And risk of getting caught.
Maybe I just need an accountant.
Maybe I need a loan.
Maybe I need you to be my loan-shark.
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC