"bankruptcy" poems
646
I think to Live—may be a Bliss
To those who dare to try—
Beyond my limit to conceive—
My lip—to testify—
I think the Heart I former wore
Could widen—till to me
The Other, like the little Bank
Appear—unto the Sea—
I think the Days—could every one
In Ordination stand—
And Majesty—be easier—
Than an inferior kind—
No numb alarm—lest Difference come—
No Goblin—on the Bloom—
No start in Apprehension’s Ear,
No Bankruptcy—no Doom—
But Certainties of Sun—
Midsummer—in the Mind—
A steadfast South—upon the Soul—
Her Polar time—behind—
The Vision—pondered long—
So plausible becomes
That I esteem the fiction—real—
The Real—fictitious seems—
How bountiful the Dream—
What Plenty—it would be—
Had all my Life but been Mistake
Just rectified—in Thee
3.7k
Peak temperature water levels fake diagnoses white psychopaths starving hunger jingoism violence [systems that deprive us] guns entitlement shots fired accidents grief/mourning choking hazard corporate mascots corporate favoritism corporate bailouts corporate people ideology without monitor nationalism patriotism conservatives patriarchy murder-rape-suicide victim silence lack of conviction religious ********** false history infant mortality job insecurity invisible hands trickle down economics union busters corporate police brutal police evil police secret police debt bankruptcy foreclosure homelessness lost confused prisoner criminal banker war preparations propaganda ballots commercials advertisements campaigns money power puppets figureheads armies genocides **** bomb gas fire no survival violence wealthy lawyers assassinations heart complications death sleep.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
I See. There is a Channel you Subscribe
And plan your Craft with these High-End Personnel
Promote this Sport; From The Cliff's Humble Dive
And boost Ability you know so well
So does it Groom even more with your Age
And fix your Profile to this Pineapple
Eyes locked perpet; And skipped the Skillful Page
For Economy you chose to Stumble
There are Others below; Watching your Board,
Hoping this same Posh Meal they could Partake
If only they had - Quids and Statues - hoard,
Which in Bankruptcy their Moments forsake.
Only one Word, which will dry their Sore Tears
Flex their Rosy Cheeks; And live-out your Years.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
There is ***** for sale and wombs for rent
For same *** couples it’s cash well spent.
While heterosexuals breed their own
Gay couples, as yet, cannot clone.
A lesbian couple who had the itch
is suing their ***** bank for “bait and switch”.
They wanted a Caucasian baby
and had requested ***** from vial “380”.
The donor of that ***** was white,
Handsome, smart, just “not their type”
They were given another’s ***** instead
And an interracial child was bred.
It seems they were given vial “330”
The vials, it seems, were marked unclearly.
An honest mistake by a nearsighted boomer?-
or one with a twisted sense of humor?
A civil suit will go to trial
seeking damages for a mixed race child.
If their motion to dismiss should meet denial
The “bank” will suffer premature withdrawal.
In which event bankruptcy looms
For the bank that supplies the ***** for wombs.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
I guess executives like people major in excuses.
Everytime something drastic happens.
We know the comment or generalization is coming.
We know when gas prices arises.
That an excuse is coming our way.
Do they think we were born yesterday.
If a forest fire happens.
If rain never comes.
We know prices of fruit will be like a track runner.
Excuses.
Some legit.
Some just given.
We constantly aware of that late employee.
Where you're just waiting to hear that one news.
Traffic was bad.
Or something else given to cover up being late.
Excuses.
Some confirmed.
Others unconfirmed.
A honest days work for your boss.
Just to hear them say get out.
Because we filing bankruptcy's today.
Excuses.
We all can't say we hadn't used one.
Because we are only human.
Late for a date.
You better have a good reason.
And, we complain about the lateness of the seasons
Excuses.
Something we never get use too.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
I am the void left by hope.
I am the frantic scrabble,
the gasp for a mirage.
I am the empty box,
the joke with no punchline.
I am the end of the road.
I am the face you thought you knew,
the parcel for someone else.
the missing last page.
I am the second,
after the second,
that you knew it was over.
I am the coup leader
shot at dawn
I am redundancy
bankruptcy, lonely
I am the king
with blood on my arms
From the nails
I am the logo on the trainers
on the heels
of the one in front
I am the vibrating molecules
Of the sound
Of the door closing
I am the dawning realisation
That you are not
as good as you thought you were.
I am disappointment.
I am the sun reflected
The gleam of polished brass
I am the lace of frost on leaves
I am the newborn laugh
The vibrant flowerbed
I am the happy child
chasing the rainbow
of a bubble on the breeze
I am more than the sum
of the gaps between dreams
I am the strength
In the arms
That hold you
I am the other side
where mysteries are plain
I am the miracle
the rank outsider,
the last to be picked,
who scored the winner,
I am fresh hope.
I am unwavering joy.
I am the rock.
I am.
And I choose you.
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 8:57 AM UTC
With you
I am a tourist
You carve your smile
Tell me I’m welcome
And hold out your hands in demand
I know something is wrong
But this place is so masked in serenity
I do not care to understand it
You grab and you tear
Here
Love is a currency
I will pay with my heart
Then inflate to bankruptcy
I was nothing special to you
Just another tourist
Like the dozens and other hundreds
And you care about them
But not for them
Just as you do not care for me
You value what you receive
And how much you can grasp
But give newspaper to blind beggars
And insults to the depressed deaf
You care not for what you pass around
Only that what comes back to you is what you desire
So I am spent
Spun around
Turned away
And asked to leave
And you welcome your next tourist.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Why do artists **** their arts?
Journalists obey corporate bosses.
Doctors peddle drugs for status.
Lawyers work for robber barons.
Bankers' havens for barons' taxes.
Kings start wars for hefty profits.
Charity's done for the sake of publicity.
Vanity today is a thriving industry.
Shopping's done with borrowed money.
Bankruptcy levels; not seen in history.
From hazardous things; profits aplenty.
Poisoned wells we leave our progeny.
These lunacies have a common cause,
To win 'the rat race'; at any **** rate,
Even earthly mother, we brutally ****
How much is enough, to be content?
Pharaoh's wealth was greater than most,
But while he drowned, it saved him not.
Instead, strive for a righteous life,
Bonded to mother, free from desire.
For we're not islands, or rats in a race.
And when we stand on Judgement Day,
Our wealth that day will have no say,
Our deeds that day will lead the way.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Well where do we start?
Bob,
That answers a lot of questions before asked.
He was a vegan, kind of?
Never did he linger on thoughts of animal flesh,
vegan you could single him upon in certain words.
He would not linger on the animal nutritional formalities.
Could he linger on the repulsive tastes of pork, beef, lamb.
He would heave at mere thoughts of digesting these
peaceful recipients of the plant we delve all upon.
But even fish was out of his lingering taste buds.
He did how ever have a taste that differed from the
palettes of most, for it was of those he called friend.
He contorted on the repulsiveness of what his hunger
desired in wanting attention, but as those around waited
for there inevitable ending. He lingered on how they were savoured.
Bankruptcy of morals was his downfall, he saw others as
just meat sacks. Things that were as wanting in consumption
as those they fed upon, There screams were so inviting.
Have you heard an animal scream. No they don't, they
just look cynical in why your ending, their existence and stare.
Where we cry like lambs to the slaughter of our ending.
Emotion makes those that tear salt upon features
taste that much better than those unintelligent creatures
that just except there oblivion with eyes of so be it.
I have a sickness that thrives on the taste of you superficial
fear that I will not end you. No I will cease you light and
endeavour to feed on you lifeless carcass now silent.
*"Hi I'm Bob I'm a vegan struggling with the concept of
no meat in my diet, I don't eat animal, but I still linger
for the taste of meat inbetween of my moist lips and teeth.*
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
Eat Venison
strike fear into his bones
appeal to his intellectual bankruptcy
make it run
make it hide
under his own verbal garbage disposal
conquer him
little man
squash egos into fertilizer
for your plants
turn his nothing
into another form
negative
to positive
as he decomposes
inside his tinfoil crap
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
You three believe in creating scarcity,
NOT union.
You build HOV lanes for your luxury cars,
caring less how efficient they are.
They roll royce cross your game board,
fuming trails of money.
Bell Atlantic bought Madison Avenue,
you bought all the properties.
Now tenants can't avoid
the traffic or the noise
of an internet rolled in palms
and diced
spiraling
to speed limits
...
...
...
...
and red highways
...
...
...
...
and orange traffic cones that
block hybrid cars,
already swerving
to avoid bankruptcy.
We
STOP
the
STOP
people
STOP
moving,
our preamble crumbles to a
STOP,
becoming a eulogy —
an ideal dumb to power trippery,
after Time Warner and Comcast merged,
allies on opposite sides of the game board.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
together you own pretty much
everyone but Fox and Disney,
(yet have invested in them heavily).
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
your oligarchy is
NBC, Universal, CNN, Warner Brothers,
and now FullScreen,
family-friendly nepotism
that inbreeds bearing
deaf drones bored of flying,
over
Why Beyonce is a Feminist.
or
Why Ferguson was racist,
media's offspring
just keep clicking,
the headline genocide victims
basking in concentrated lamps
for a sliver of attention.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
Now you want the backend buffering,
bulging eyes and emptying pockets
of those Spocked into believing,
hyperspeed was ever necessary.
No choice when the exits are slow
and there are no backroads.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;,
offspring of the
Bell Atlantic Company,
we will not let your
****** populate the internet.
Call it Capitalism,
but your playing Monopoly,
yanking the carpet underneath
to the wood of Tyranny.
You shamed
Bell's invention
by stringing together
telephone
internet,
and
entertainment companies
until you could be lazy.
Monkeys who spent millions
to shriek at government parties
about the communication machine,
a system downloaded so slowly,
we
did
not
act
on
cons
piracy
theories,
when Amazon made online shopping so easy.
Dear Internet Service Providers,
so called ISP's,
WE ARE DONE playing Monopoly.
Our collective voice
will shout blasphemy
on your streets,
hashtagged
net neutrality,
till you're counting pennies.
So empty your Washington banks
cause it's 3 a.m. and
no ONE is winning.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Took 287 South
to a Borders
Goin Outta
Biz Sale.
Books may be
anachronisms,
relics from
yesterdays
analog age,
but literacy's
bankruptcy
does have
advantages.
Take an
additional
30% off on
any orphans
pleading
release from
the discount
racks.
Snooping down
the literature isle
Samuel Beckett's
somber face
arrested my
roving
eyeballs.
A stern stare
printed across
5 spines of
his shrink
wrapped
oeuvre
commanded
my arm to rise
to liberate the
face from the
dismal shelf.
In mid flight
my reach
was hijacked
by a Kris
Kringley red
snow flaked
trim tome
standing
open face
next to
earnest
Beckett.
It was "The
Christmas
Sweater"
by NYT
Best Selling
Author, Glenn
Beck.
Clasping at Beck's
book, it inflicted
a nasty paper cut
to my ring finger.
My mind recoiled,
thinking, "serves
you right. Like
Martha, I shoulda
chosen the better
thing."
I'll never
make that mistake
again.
Borders Books
Riverdale
2/20/11
jbm
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
Cal-i-fornia (verb) the state of being golden.
Can you see the way the sand sparkles on the shore?
Golden shards of glass, or broken dreams.
Who possesses the Midas touch now?
The crushed gates of Atlantis on our shores.
Aphroditic bronze goddess of the sea,
Hair blown by the breeze.
Sea air & salty &
more than anyone could need, or was used to.
Giant sequoias stand
As mighty and proud protectors
Behemoths of lifetimes past.
Explosion of seeds inside
Fireworks waiting to explode
Pinecones, little grenades of life.
Ghost towns reminiscent of the Wild West
Mining camps from the Gold rush days.
Tumbleweeds & reptiles & powder fine dust.
Some say the earth is red from the natives’ blood spilt, and sunk in,
Reality – Oxidation turns iron in the dirt to rust.
So that’s why Mars is red.
After a bad storm in San Diego
Dollars lie broken & shattered on the shore
A bankruptcy of marine proportions!
Just go see for yourself,
The sand dollar apocalypse.
We were echinoderms too.
Life gone dormant, and violent beginnings.
As if Calliope’s harp needed to be retuned,
Sun god, Apollo & Helios with his chariot in the sky
When did we become so heliocentric?
Solitary white cross on the hill.
Never did anything to harm anyone, yet they fear you so
Enough to try to remove you from our presence.
Mount Soledad, or their SOLEs-are-DeAD.
- You know San Onofre is a power plant right?
- Radiation, is that a problem?
- Only if you want to have kids or stay cancer free.
- 25 foot sea wall -- To keep the waves out, or the kraken in?
- 4,000 tons of nuclear waste, who’s gonna get rid of that?
Ghostly tendrils of death
Blown fifty miles down the coast.
They call it SONGS, how quaint.
A symphony of catastrophe.
The greatest arias of death and destruction.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Besotted bones blanketed by a burning semblance of abandonment;
Barren bodies, buried in bankruptcy. Blood birthing blurry abhorrence,
Blatantly boring bowels with trembling butterflies; brittle, gun-shy bullets.
Beastly bugs scrambling between blackness, buzzing behind blind eyeballs.
Bend my vertebrae, bowed like a blossoming babe. Bound embryo
Breathing- bawling, cries reverberating invisibly in the womb.
Abort my breath in its bland, bottomless tomb.
-SLuR
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
“Listen honey, I don’t think
you’ll be able to support yourself
with this art stuff.”
“I’m just not sure
how much money you’ll make
if you start your own business.”
"Are you really sure
you’ll be able to provide
on a teacher’s salary?”
“Is that really what
you want to be doing
for the rest of your life?”
Why does everyone want
to be financially wealthy
but emotionally bankrupt?
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
You had me at
“I didn’t know you had brown eyes,”
the day I wiped my security locks of hair
from my face
to get a better look at you.
Look in my eyes like mirrors.
The reflection of my sentiment
made you Narcissist.
And the osmosis of our gaze
blessed you beautiful.
You are welcome.
I gave all.
Eyes, and ears,
and mouth, and rainbows.
Until you left me Mr. Potato.
My barren anatomy makes for a
raw piggy bank of deja vu.
Your silver dollars clunk through my Hollow.
Never rust.
You wonder why I
never let go.
Bankruptcy has me petrified.
Putting park walks into penny stocks
waiting to cash in on
two kisses during Christmas time.
Hoping you invest as much in me.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
There's one cat who meows
in the alleyway but mimics
a fowl dog who ate
larval staged meat. There's
two headless horseman
racking leaves to find their heads
that teenagers rolled
down the country hills.
there's three furry bears
in a cave testing hardness and
softness while four bats
hang backwards to avoid the light. The
five cowgirls had six cowboy hats
each exactly. They're going to run
out if they keep throwing them at
groups of seven boys. Eight dentist chairs
were rolled onto stage so the
nine musketeers,
multiplied by three,
could get ten root canals.
The doctor said he could have
given eleven more of them
but he heard twelve whimpers
of pain and gave up. There were
thirteen bounced checks and fourteen wrinkled
foreheads who were lost in eternity
for fifteen years. Sixteen world banks
filed bankruptcy to drive dollars down.
Seventeen hands were squeezed
from an angel holding glowing
red lips. eighteen hearts and
brains switched spots
anatomically leaving nineteen
grown men sprawled on the
ground like they drank twenty
or so too many.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
Our hands and mouths are like boats, they flip about in the turmoil of the sea's final storm.
so indecisive
knowledge is key; key is bankruptcy.
only if you have the key...
can you antelope, I can elephant, in the tetris island.
YOU FOOL. of course not. try again.
The beeper is left cold.
Only because you have to answer. you could change this you know. there are other possibilities.
like what? ranger ice?? I don't think so.
haha
no I laugh at your incapability of answering this question which is ,oh, so simple.
I'll give you one more chance
Glen.
One more chance.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:14 AM UTC
Connection involves a reciprocal flow where being detaches from nothingness into an inseparable unity.
So, let us acknowledge the colours and feel the vibrations as they transcend the parameters of compartmentalism, into an infinite and unified whole.
Attempts continue to socialise us into the abyss of perceptual bankruptcy with materialistic carrots where the fabric is truly frayed despite plausible and intellectual argument.
So, I want to talk with you as we swim in deep rivers of generational statements, which are released from the conglomerate of necrotic unions. I raise my glass to realms which lie beyond tangible and finite chords.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Here we go again
Back and forth about the flaws I need to mend
Just because I tend to enjoy the thought of my end
And that I'm always dressed in black when I'm out with my friends
You sit there and wonder what could've happened
to that boy oh so happy
Now a lover of anarchy and a hater of society
How grandmother do you see such beauty in conformity?
Have you taken into consideration this reality?
The idea of order and balance is rapidly
Turning into a travesty
Because of mankind's brutality
and false sense of morality
There's vanity and inhumanity
Against ones own sexuality
And people have the audacity
to critically antagonize those for their God given nationality
While this wonderful country
Goes further intro bankruptcy
So continue to live your keen little fantasy
That we are all living happily and equally
Your views have such opacity
That I can see right through your irrationality
And your thinning mentality
So please continue to criticize me
Please provide some amnesty
Don't listen to me I'm just crazy
Remember? You can't trust me because everything I say is blasphemy
So excuse my insanity
And allow me to gulp down these pills so carefully
Not to take more than I should be
And I'll just vegetate amongst people like a cavity
An outcast to your perfect society
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
An army
in flower-print
dresses
resides in our backyard
on a guilty clothesline.
Their bloated bodies
float in the water
of the wind.
In our tiny gestures, we tell potential buyers
that we had two beautiful daughters
who left their clothes everywhere,
and we have finally killed
them.
In small voices
they sing for justice
on the clothesline.
But the dresses
are our own childishness,
and not our fake childrens'.
And we tell our buyers these things,
because we want to leave this place,
but on our own terms.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
an automatic response, an unimagined answer.
is that really what I want?
true love would be nice.
someone to hold hands with,
to share uncensored passion with.
I didn’t answer that.
the right job would suffice.
a feeling of being needed,
bankruptcy not needed.
I didn’t answer that.
I told her I wanted to
get away
from here.
She wanted to know
where
but I didn’t know,
didn’t care.
only far
far
from home
But more,
to find a Place where
i belong.
the words flew from my mind,
evading my brain,
involving my mouth.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
*Ever since time immemorial
Even before the existence of now defunct phenomenon
Society’s had a stranglehold on “goodness”, a fact not entirely circumstantial.
On the high pedestal of “moral high ground” it’s stood, a loose canon
At the behest of “moralists” and “immoralists” alike
Malleable to all manner of situational conundrums
Rubber-stamping all manner of questionable theatrics with lord like
Patronage, this artistic fashioned manner of duplicity detailed in compendiums
Of information passed down from generation to generation
“For posterity’s own good”
Rhetoric construed
To imply the wellbeing of every individual born.
Subject to the above I implore society to effective immediately
File for moral bankruptcy in the court of public opinion, humbly.*
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
"Would you like your groceries
bagged in paper or plastic?
will you be paying with paper,
Or plastic?"
Rock paper scissors
has been replaced
With something
more rudimentary
But essentially,
Neither have intentionality.
No matter how far you try to move
away from synthetic
you're still drinking out of plastic
eating out of plastic
driving, walking, buying, ********
out mounds of it.
You put your plastic in plastic,
leave it outside
until a man swings by
throws it into a pit
with all the other wasted ****
to exist
for all eternity.
Would you rather melt or burn?
Bankruptcy is a hard lesson to learn
But the ashes of this economy have been
Touted as prosperity
Instead of resigned to an urn
To relearn the transparency
of democracy
As it should be.
I'll trade my plastic smile
For a fistful of paper
I'll exchange it for something physical,
Something bigger
Something somehow better,
Sans the improvement.
The reanimation of the market
Capitalism! Ah,
The dream land.
“Build your monopoly
Crush your enemy”
Oops I mean your neighbor
They're all the same
in this day and age.
Community has been sold
for pennies on the dollar.
Now we’re fighting tooth and nail
To be the one
wearing the shock collar
Bzzzt!
I have the most likes on my photo
Bzzzzt
This minor annoyance
has become my addiction.
I’m shopping and sharing
And living within this tiny television.
This is post apocalyptic
You just can't see it
Because you're living in it.
Things are better, yes
But 6.7% of Americans are diagnosably,
incurably depressed.
37% are oppressed
44% are over stressed and
81% are in debt.
Let me just say this now
From my white-privilege-podium
That keeps all adverse effects
Of free speech
From touching me
****
YOUR
AMERICA.
**** this corporate greed
that grinds itself down
and repackages itself into
“The American Dream”.
and **** us, right?
For thinking anything here was free.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:26 PM UTC