"audit" poems
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd, lives th’ executor to be.
2.9k
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
Love, faith and forgiveness principal are in
Christian school. Torrid anger thou must flay
While it's still displaying on the eastern tray
Ere its set on the *** laude of thy sterling
Prize. The other meek cheek of thine turn--
Though tough--to him that seek thy burn.
Gladly go not one but twain miles with
Him that bid thee. Distribute cheerfully
To widows cream bread and wine; the needy
And orphans--whether you're rolling in it--
Never neglect, and make no open show
Of thy charity: its trumpet do not blow.
Make mammon thy master nay. Believe
The Bible though you cannot It fathom
Out--the Spirit thy heart will guide. Kingdom
Eternal chiefly pursue; to goodness cleave.
Both parents and priests honour, and men
In authority obey. Keep the Lord's pen.
Fast and pray, playing not to the gallery.
In heaven's safe thy treasure store, where
Robbers and rust have no access nor share.
For worldly wants, soul, never you worry--
Jehovah-Jireh above knows thy very need,
Who gives in season due to the sower seed.
Salt and light on earth be. Thy righteousness
The Pharisees' must exceed. All differences
Reconciled, lest thy balance draws offence
By heaven's audit. Loincloth of faithfulness
Wrap. At a lady be weary to leer, and thy
***** bridle. To God thy heart wholly tie.
The log in thine own eyes first remove
Afore thy brother's speck you see. Grudge
Not but ask, seek and knock. Don't judge.
Such measure from others expect to them give--
Golden rule. Strive to enter in at the narrow
Gate: the rough, rugged road to the end follow.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
with flowers for the moonlight
the fright she bid goodbye
stars and leonids sparkled the night
like a wino in the midst with acquired dreams
I audit this blinky blue eyed sunrise
the two little satellites melted away
musical notes insured by a common man
harvested by the embraceable grim reaper
in this bizarre love pentangle
they arrive with their swarm of locusts
the thieves of silence!!
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
I gave you the softest parts of me—
not to be etched with your absence,
but to be held like something sacred.
You mistook my silence for surrender,
my patience for permission
to translate my worth
into your dialect of deficiency.
I kept shrinking,
hoping you'd stop asking me to stretch
into shapes that broke me.
But even silence thundered
when it was you echoing inside it.
You wanted me holy—
while you played god with my peace.
But where was the audit?
Where was the reckoning
for all the times I arrived
as more than you deserved
and still left with less than I needed?
I begged the universe for balance,
and it gave me you—
a lesson wrapped in longing,
a storm disguised as stillness.
I wore almost like a second skin.
until it blistered:
almost loved,
almost safe,
almost enough.
Now, I gather the fragments—
not to rebuild you,
but to remember me.
Because healing isn’t ornamental,
but it’s mine.
And this time,
I won’t apologize
for the fire
that finally burned you out of me.
I’m tired of drowning
in the shape of someone else’s healing,
tired of being the altar
where guilt is laid like offerings.
So I take—
not out of want,
but necessity.
To stop giving to ghosts
who never learned how to stay.
This time,
I light the match,
watch the echoes burn.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 12:56 AM UTC
Classic bier pose: eyes closed, arms folded over chest, everything aligned perfectly.
Peaceful, opposite of the turmoil in everyone around you.
You never did think about others at all.
In the flames I can see your body still.
Peaceful pose: gone.
Now: contortionist.
Eight-year-old Chinese gymnast,
perfect 10 I’d say, but perhaps I’m biased.
Over there the judge says 7.99;
stingy, just call it 8 even (or put the taxes in the **** score).
I think it was the stress of the audit.
That’s why your wife left,
the audit. And the hookers, you ***** *******
I’d **** on your pyre,
but all the alcohol would catch it on fire
and send it racing up to light ME,
instead of one of your nasty cigarettes.
Tax evasion, lying
(eight, count ‘em, eight dependents:
birds #s 1, 2, 3 (bird feeder pays for itself this way, don’t it?),
chipmunk, dog, the mouse in the cellar,
bird number 4 (only in the summer, not domesticated),
even the random fox), you name it.
How did you run that for so long?
Hero’s funeral, the great pyre, a pile of ashes.
Something a chimney sweep would leave,
and about as important. Did they ever find
cause of death—the wife?
Good, I helped her.
She needed a shoulder to cry on after you died,
and you sure as hell weren’t there (typical).
A pile of ashes,
ashes to ashes, etc., n’est-ce pas?
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Called to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity—
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desart,
And this my hand, against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part.
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since why to love I can allege no cause.
1.6k
One check of my accomplishments,
But furthermore a verification for skills,
The art of conversation shall be my judge,
And my experience so far my partner in crime,
As the master of this angelic pen I'll suffice,
Even if they find me underwhelmed,
Or leave with disappointment without another word,
It is only proof, I have too much to improve to give up!
One way or the other, I find my hand guide the way,
With gentle movements, a delicate caligraphy has been created,
Thus, a deep breath, calming my tired nerves, helps me relax,
A clear mind is required for a difficult task after all,
And so, my hand gently, softly calls for the cover of this pen,
Time flew past without distraction, confidently,
Handing away this work I wait for the results,
Starting to become nervous down to my very core,
What if it wasn't good enough?
~ Umi
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
Write everyday.
Write everyday no matter what.
Write even at a loss for words.
Write down the sounds.
I make notes of the plane crashes
I've never heard, the brook trout
that never shook pond water
onto the brittle grass when I didn't
catch it, or the thunder cup coil
I keep kneeing trying to give the overcast
over the mountain something to compete
with.
And I'm not sorry.
I'm not. I'm not sorry that my
reborn Christian best friend has seen the light,
and I still scoff when people pray over potatoes.
And I only believe in plastic Polaroid postcards
from last decade timestamped in the white space
with Bic black ink.
I'm not sorry for that.
And truth is, I've never washed this black shirt;
just hung it hoping that moths' would ****
the sweat spots and leave
the fabric.
I clenched the gold cap beneath
my ring finger from the glass green
bottle occupying my lips driving
down the Marsh Creek bridge.
I wanted to relate / to be relatable /
relative to the sedans, and seatbelts
too tight to breathe, passing me.
At the end of the bridge, where there was no chance
of drowning and the road color changed, I parked
in the driveway of a wooden house. Its blinds
were up, shades pulled apart with two hands
like gas station freezer doors, leaving them
vulnerable to the hiss of semi truck tractor
trailer high beams slicing through fifty +
raindrops per second going a few miles shy
of sixty-five, yet the people inside moved so freely.
I sat Indian-style—a term I learned at four
then learned it to be racist at fourteen—
in their driveway, and ate the gravel
they walked on trying to taste security
because all I'd had in the last few hours
were plates of refried fear.
Fear of audit, of my teeth breaking off,
and of ending up like Eric Garner
when I heard that wailing
Voice of Justice
coming for me in the distance.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
Took a trip on the Belafonte,
Bound with Cuba to forgotten Sanz.
Dinning on tin canned Del Monte,
A glass of Suntory always in hands.
Lloyd Faversham gifted salacious devices by John Cleese.
Used as props in Mike’s next gin stained showpiece.
The drum-line seemed irksome to J. Jonah.
He’d heard Zach Hill before.
Given limited time, despite the persona.
Interstellar fault found in a **** metaphor.
A swift change to an even more marketable sound.
Sparks didn’t fly when trying to appear profound.
Tiny teen dreams tending to tiny skirts.
Fidgeting with the hem-line.
Their just unintelligible flirts.
Stripping to avoid the breadline.
Dystopian fiction led to dissolution of fact
Can’t seem to see their world isn’t intact.
Atwood to Collins, Collins to a stupid ******* maze.
Alternate choice being a criminal thrill.
Simplistic fantasy whose only benefit is praise.
Popular opinion seems to be well over the hill.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
Man's love of money...
I love it too. It results in
Food, drink and shelter
For my loved ones. But...
On days when my back
Won't straighten properly,
When my carpenter's elbow, rugby
Knee and boxer's hands
Impair me
I ask myself
How many hours I've worked
To pay just
Interest.
How many banker's cigars
And Department of Finances-
Screw-ups I've
Funded with
What's left of these knots of
Muscle and bone that
Are moving towards giving
Up the guitar.
Haven't owned a new one
Since '94 anyway.
So if what I've heard is correct,
Five percent
Of the world's population
Earn ninety percent of all
Money made.
Somebody very high up
Should be fired.
When I'm dead
I'll ask to see
The books.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes ****
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
1.3k
I'm again in a transition,
A non-medical scientist by my schooling,
A writer, singer-poet, and author by passion,
These days I'm at Gorakhpur to join a new job,
For another new opportunity that I grabbed,
One of the many exams I cracked,
This job is that of an Assistant Audit Officer.
I marvel at what life has shown me,
Educated at school in non-medical sciences,
Physics, Chemistry, Math, English & Physical Education.
Then I undertook the first paradigm career shift,
Started my Bachelor degree in Biotechnology
Met with the unfortunate cataclysmic road accident,
Survived the 23-day coma against all odds.
Oh the odds, do you remember, oh life?
200+ beats per minute heart rate in the coma,
104°F+ fever accompanied the ****** injuries,
Fractured cheekbone just below the left eye.
Brain stem injuries sent the global doctors in a Tizzy,
Nobody was certain about my survival or the recovery,
But I survived.
The second paradigm shift here was my survival.
They had said at the hospital,
"Only the most serious cases come to ICU #2,
And the lost cases come to HDU #7."
BUT I DIDN'T DIE.
I survived everything that you threw at me,
Everything, even negative people,
Who made weird recommendations.
What did they recommend to my parents after the accident?
— to make me join an easier degree course,
— to make me train for weaving baskets,
— to set up a toffee shop for me to earn bread,
— and what not to discourage my family,
— my parents had dreams for their only child,
— all the whilst I was in the uncertain coma,
— and the pitiable vegetative state for 30 more weeks,
— where I endured immense pains.
Oh life, you've been so hard!
You gave me COVID-SARS in 2012,
I didn't die,
I completed my B.Tech in Biotechnology.
More loneliness followed,
I still didn't give up on life,
Completed my M.Tech in Animal Biotechnology.
The third paradigm shift was next,
When I cleared 4 recruitment exams,
And joined as a Probationary Officer
With the State Bank of India.
The fourth paradigm shift now comes,
I have shifted to the job of an Assistant Audit Officer,
With the Comptroller & Auditor General of India.
I defeated death,
But I seem to be fighting a lost battle
Against loneliness in my life.
Mar 12, 2024
Mar 12, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
you called me trash, a piece of garbage
so i collected myself and analyzed what
i brought to the table.
i thought about what i could manage
and determined the effectiveness of
my current strategies
but i concluded that i wasted my
time sorting through my problems.
© Matthew Harlovic
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
This quiet night is too pure,
And the envious one is about
To sow the seed of jubilation,
Evil has overtaking me,
And my love one is about to
Bleed the tears of contempt,
The struggle is real,
And the jealous one is about to coat
The motion portrait of euphoria,
Why was this price not accepted
Before my first moan?
This breathless peace cannot be the
Place where my heart calls home,
Oh life, spite my weightless star
Over the southern hyaline,
I cannot not believe that my inept
Name is about to ration the little
Palmwine with the prelate ancestors,
How long will my wife’s
Womb continue to yowl?
Fate could not even wait
For my fondness to breathe my sun,
Beat the overt drums of time
And give me a *** of warm water,
For my blank soul has no other
Value except endurance and rejection,
Blow the covert horn of endless time
And let me ride over dawn and dusk’
For my greatest traitor has come
To hint me of my beholder’s score,
My sacred cloud waves are now
Pregnant with dry rain of gold dust,
What have I done to
Wound my own ghost?
I have nothing more
To sacrifice except my morrow,
Alight my irrevocable paean at the
Potent door of my inescapable darkness
And let the Gods take possession and audit
My perfect price of ornate fragrance.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
the state audit office claims,
emotional maturity,
social skills,
expressing yourself
are girls’ traits.
schools reward us
but not the boys —
they are traumatised,
underperform
not just because of a bra stap
but because they need
more risks, space
and maths
as if
history is feminine
and language
is something
only a girl can speak.
they said, boys need
a strategy
to prepare them
for adulthood
as if we aren’t already
living it,
patching holes
in our own lives,
carrying the world
while no one
teaches us how.
researchers however
consider it justified
to dig deeper
and find out
why boys can’t keep up
hoping to tailor a way
that fits them better.
so tailor it.
add a hem.
cut the cloth
but leave us out.
we’ve been altered enough
to their taste
since the dawn of time.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 12:36 PM UTC
*i hear the sound of a voice
a voice true and enigmatic
and in its magical presence
comes visions of beach and sun
sand, foam and jumping fish
palm trees laden with fruit
and ancient canoes battling
waves all through the night
oftentimes i hear that voice
carrying my name on breezes
and showing me where i go
as the days roll into the future
and i look back and linger
wondering who's to be pitied
and who in the end envied
that voice is like an auditor's
wanting to know why and why
these many columns remain full
and how come my fun account
remains solid and untouched
that voice, life's inner throb
makes me sore unfulfilled*
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
Oh, Joel,
I see you've gone the way
of HP vanity
with your two score & eight cantos
pdf-ed
and
covered
in Escheresque!
============
Wishing you brisk sales and an IRS audit :-)
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 3:23 PM UTC
Our faults shimmer before the public
Like lies in the eyes of teens
But our good hibernate from others
Advertising our wrongs and sins
Friends and trust are what blaze our hearts
To hurt us ere our sights spot
And it takes us long to hang lens
To audit what's dense to float
We hardly contend our lacks
That lay fresh and young to cure themselves
And our needs emigrate the earth
After the betrayal from what we thought helps
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
How long will you stay uninterested?
In this relationship like me, even you have invested.
My idea of intimacy is based on my lifelong emptiness.
Have you too felt the pangs of loneliness?
How long have I been lonely in this world?
Well, essentially since my lonely & difficult childhood.
And now you might ask me another counter question.
If I had my parents along, why this notion?
Now, tell me, is having parents sufficient?
Surely, we need siblings, friends, and a joint family.
Grandparents help you endure the pangs of loneliness.
Dear, have you ever been directionless?
I grew up without their guidance,
All I had were my busy parents.
How can you judge me based on your experiences?
Come to my world, but take your time to assess.
You say that you chose me as you hope maturity,
But now you know that I'm impulsive like you.
I rhyme a lot,
I whine a little.
I write a lot,
I speak a little.
Allegorical reiteration of my story,
It keeps happening, I keep repeating.
Either you like me,
Or maybe my life.
Or maybe you don't,
Either way you're mine.
Time will bring us close,
Like you say, like you say.
Time will teach you how to love,
Like I express myself, so will you.
Yes, so will you,
Dead sure, so will you.
No, you won't be scared,
For my soul is more scarred.
Than my imperfect body,
My mind is more beautiful.
From my jobs,
I earn money and reputation.
I audit the Railways,
Working for the Government.
Comptroller & Auditor General of India,
My employer.
Indian Railways, the North Eastern Railway HQ,
My paymaster.
While we audit their expenditures,
They even make our paychecks.
I invest in the money market,
And even in the Providence.
But I have reached where nobody speculated,
No, not even I could speculate this.
While I knew that I must succeed,
Even my mother was unsure.
Nobody else knew this for sure,
Well, nobody, nobody except for my father.
Whilst I prepared for the exam,
My mother provided food so nutritious.
Only my father had faith in my potential,
He laughed away all the speculations.
They suggested weird, insulting alternatives,
Sadists the people are oftentimes.
I thank my parents for bringing me here,
And it was my father who gave me the power.
He remained calm throughout,
And his oceanic calm is contagious.
My mother did convey the speculations,
But my father invested his hopes.
Although there is no need to reiterate,
Hope is the most powerful of all the words.
I'm on a train right now,
You might meet me soon.
Aug 14, 2024
Aug 14, 2024 at 4:09 PM UTC
Tantum tempus temporis
quoniam aliena femina in meo cubiculo dormivit;
ecce illi quantum dulce somnus est.
Quanta etiam libera somnia sunt.
In alia aetate mundum certe rexit
vel optimo regi in matrimonio fideliter ducta est
qui iuxtus flumen psalmos luce lunae scripsit.
**** me iri foras egressum et spatiatum
Nihil occurit hic, nihil umquam fit.
Praeterea si incedat iam volat me narrare;
habeo nihil, praecipue erga quicquid erat.
Viam cepi aviam
qua celeres non superant;
dignis praemia sunt
qui verbum veritatis distinguere possunt.
Hospes solus me docere potuit
praeclaram orem iustitiae contemplari
et videre oculum pro oculo, et dentem pro dente.
Nisi duo homines in mansionem,
Est nullus in viso; verem exspectant,
proinde quasi ver plaustro accederet.
Mundus deleretur ea nocte
sed meae amicae aequum esset;
illa meo cubiculo dormiret *** revenirem.
Meridiano me promoveo
adhuc in obscura parte viae;
in angustos corruere
et constans manere non possum.
Alius mea ore dicit
sed solum meo animo audit,
calcas omnibus etiam tibi feci
quibus tamen careo.
Ego et ego
In creatione quo ingenium alicuius
nec alicui ignoscit nec excolit.
Ego et ego
unus alteri dicit nullus et videre
imaginem meum et vivere possit.
From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Love is not a subject
for any audit
it belongs more
to the heart than wit-
it follows no formula
no peg but its own does it fit
analysis would its very beauty mar
and shatter it bit by bit
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 6:29 AM UTC
I'm shouting just to shout,
or I think I'm shouting for you to hear me.
I want to be loved but I don't want to force it,
I don't want to pry like a banker doing an audit.
I, I, I, am stuttering,
stuttering because no words seem right.
And you, you, you, are someone I can't fight.
I don't want to pressure so I'll just write it in a letter.
Maybe if I hide I'll feel so much better,
but I found my walls talking, and they are always bitter.
I should hide for now and try again later,
I can, I can test the water and try not to falter.
My words come out wrong,
I talk too long,
I yell out of frustration,
and, and, and push you away in fear of inflation.
I will try and work things out,
I can't say I won't shout,
and I will pout,
but, but, but, baby I can't find the right route.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Has All the Gold Been Stolen from Fort Knox?
Elon Musk encouraged to crack open Fort Knox
and audit the gold reserves
-New York Post, 16 February 2025
President Musk will now make an audit
Of the gold in Fort Knox, down to the dime
But all he will find (he may have already caught it)
Is the missing TP from the covid time!
Feb 16, 2025
Feb 16, 2025 at 6:30 PM UTC
Radiant like basquiat
Throw my every thing at nothingness
In hopes of achieving..
No job holding radicalism
True expression
Why fix a flat when you (walk) amongst stars
Obscure..
Real inspiration
No concept of (madness)
repeated (method) Vicious cycle
Timeless chaos..
Seconds of every hour
(Countless) inspiration
Untitled..
New thoughts entrance into old minds
Wisdom of having knowledge
the jewels of life
shine
Without ever noticing
(Omniscient) (translucent)
A diamond in a goats ***
The rose that grew from concrete
Unexplainable
The art of being
existence
Just words to a page of no readers
(Blind audience)
audio visuals
Brail the (real feel) a noise for those whom cant hear
Emotionless pit
The deepest depth
Never to be touched upon
Seek and you shall find
Stagnant
(Negative aspect)
First time ive scripted a composition
In such a way scholar
No scholarships missed out on the college creds
(low credit)
Middle class
Irs out to audit a poor man thumb tax
Little ******
(Play on Words)
Romeo n Juliet tragedy
Alcoholism
deep rooted (Jean pool) Denim
Faded new terminology, wavy
Turnt up
Burn bluntz the essence of mother earth
Sweet aroma
Quit smoking its bad cause i say so..
Well ive done so
at free will but felt enslaved
(Irrational thinking)
Conspiracy
Subconscious
Third eye awakened
Opened chakras Encoded language
Aspirations
Untitled...
Simply Untitled
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:16 AM UTC