"bidders" poems
I'm half in love with you
And I'm half in love with him
But this story twines two ways
So where do I begin?
I knew you first
Loved him later
Emotion, confusion
Is this fate or
Something else,
To consider
Because my heart won't belong
To random bidders
I know this is cheesy
And probably cliché
But I need to find some sense
In all this fray
So bear with my confusion,
And my state of mind
I hope only for love,
And one not unkind
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:43 PM UTC
*Smart phone paranoia, contagious at best
Has the zombies a stumbling the streets without rest
Transfixed to their cellphones, oblivious to all
By the lure of the Tweet and the Facebook’s enthrall
It’s ironically depressing that with all of this spin
When you download the Apps…the Devil walks in.
They access your contacts, Your banking, your loans
Your credit card details, unravel your phones,
Delve into your Facebook and spy on your life,
Check back through your history and peek at the wife.
They sell all your secrets to bidders galore
And when you go bankrupt… they’ll show you the door.
It’s “Caveat Emptor” or Buyer Beware
‘Cos technology’s clawed onto us by the hair,
It’s the Devil you do or the Devil you don’t
It’s progress with the crowd or resist and you won’t
Compulsion is growing by systems in place
By government, banking and big business pace
Through Google and Apple and Microsoft sway
The data is mined and the marketeer’s pay.
Tomorrow is here and we don’t have a choice
Ya live without Smartphone…ya won’t have a voice.
And the dragnet for data accessed by the Apps
And the sensors and whereabouts GPS tracks,
With the malware evolving to beauteous height
Means ya privacy’s shot and ya turn out the light.*
PS: Beneficium accipere liberatum est vendere
(To accept a favour…is to sell one’s freedom!)
Marshalg
Waiting for it all to come back and bite me on the ****
Pukehana
AUCKLAND
21 February 2014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
i put myself on ebay to see if i would sell
it started of a bidding war a proper bidding hell
there were lots of bidders my price it went sky high
two seconds left to go a then someone had to buy
i was sold to someone his name was freddie jam
but the name was false i had been a scam
so now im not for sale in the ebay store
ill go back to amazon where i was before
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
A roomful of virgins
Sat before me
Ready for an auction.
The bidding began.
Allies, and other less noticeables
Raised their paddles.
Tensions mounted
As the cannons were sold off,
The arsenals grew with each arm,
The bidders knew
The value of money
Decreases as anger rises.
Truckloads of boots
Emptied into
The streets and homes.
The auctioneer placed
His cap on his head
And left them counting
In the snow.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
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Relate Articles:
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
When you’re an artist you’re taught to critique masterpieces.
“What could you change about this piece?”
“Can you identify the medium?”
“What is the artist’s message?”
I’ve gutted dozens of artworks.
I ran through the lists identifying the
flaws and pin pointing the meanings.
But then I was struck with a piece
so beautiful that not even God
himself could view it for too long.
I searched for any flaw, I looked for the medium and was unlucky in my persuit. Though my peers could easily critique the piece, I could not.
The more time I spent with this art
It became even harder. So I started
searching for a meaning.
What was evident in my search was to stop looking. I figured I needed this piece in my home, but the price was far too high for my income.
I saved every penny I had, but with he competing bidders the price just rose and I fell short. Plagued by grief I finally realized that when you crave something so wonderful and unforgettable, you must keep trying to hold it dear.
From that day on I have not critiqued another piece, I’ve found my job unsatisfying.
I’ve been given a choice to let the piece go, but how could I let something so angelic fall into the crevices of hell?
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
Take me back to yesterday
When holiness ******* prosperity
When churches won souls
Not the craze for numbers and money
Take me back to yesterday
When we taught moral instructions
Where teachers were models
Not paedophiles and opportunists
How I so miss yesterday!
Take me back to yesterday
When girls covered up
Knelt to greet Elders
Fetched from the stream
Where *** before marriage was a taboo
Today, celebrities project immoralities
Singers praise corrupt persons
Officers collect bribes
Contracts and admission are for highest bidders
Please take me to yesterday
Take me back to yesterday
When men married women
Women married men
Where we raised respectable boys and girls
Not sadomasochists and sadists
Take me back to yesterday
Where politicians served us
We looked up to them
Today, the table is turned
But from the beginning;
It was not so
Take me back to yesterday
Where we rubbed organic
You call it Coconut oil
I call it "Adi Agbon"
Where we wore "Shuku" in all shades
And adorned in beautiful beads
I miss yesterday
Hence my poetic pen drips
If you miss yesterday
Come ride with me
Let's go back to yesterday
That we may better our tomorrow
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
Tis' a tale foretold
A pattern so bitter
Your veil is sold
To the highest of bidders
The right one knows
With the mind that is clear
The left one talks
Through denial and fear
Your true beauty sleeps
Till the acting is over
When you open your eyes
Return to your lover
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
indubitably, favorably and certifiably
with minimal pandering soliciting
uber voodoo yawping woos
socially quintessentially obviously markedly
consciousness brakes alignment
defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,
hidebound Democratic
fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
slated to challenge incumbent Republicans
all to quickly accused,
sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
eyeopening ex post facto
fractiousgovernmental
harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,
and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
"The Peoples History” –
me strongly endorses
(authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
atrocious, calumnious, egregious
glaring ignominious knowledge
jackbooted, mandated, predicated
on blind trust, essentially billeted
charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation
favoring pandering "pork" via
pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
sputtering, grousing, and hoo's
flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,
(loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
he renegged promises
made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
(sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
sneezing Schnorrers
spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
It might be broken.
It might have been tortured.
It might have been loved.
Just to end up in serious trouble.
Still this heart is not for sale.
Need no pity.
Need no bidders.
It will recover and get better.
It has a self healing process to go through.
Least in me getting over you.
I just know.
Just believe, this heart is not for sale.
Don't tell people that it is.
For you'll be heading them down a one way path.
Where they will be admitting it too?
That this heart's not for sale.
And any bidding will be worthless.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
They put babies in cages,
Sell them to the highest bidders,
Build fences on stolen land.
Is it still a legal agreement if it's in a
Language they couldn't understand?
No permanent harm, they say
Of our earth, crowned in plastic,
Shackled and smothered as well.
When ***** money pays the bills
Can we believe the lies they sell?
The rich get richer,
The planet gets sicker
And the poor struggle to survive.
All these distractions and unfair transactions,
it's a wonder anyone's alive.
If a planet is dying and noone is watching
Does it even make a sound?
If leaders are lying and non complying,
Do treasonous acts abound?
If enough people collaborate and participate
Can we still turn things around?
NCL April 2019
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC
We're tagging and bagging them
delivering them to the gates
where if the truth's to be believed
salvation awaits them,
the dead cannot tell us no lies.
it's always a surprise to me
that Gabriel's as surprised as me
to see so many men in the queue.
We
who you call them are all
dead men
the bullet hole brigade, the
IED made in cellars and sold
to the highest or the lowest
of bidders
laid to rest.
In the nuclear fallout
there'll not be much point
in falling out with your neighbours
and so we tag and we drag them to Harlem
or Birmingham
each man to his home
every man for himself and
we're left all alone
we wait
at the gate
for our friends to arrive
which is always a surprise
to me.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
I was born in green valleys to the effort of strong hands
roughened by the harshness of ungentle wintery gales.
Delight permeated space as they smiled to see me flourish,
Showering me with attention, care and compliments.
Perennially making sure I had all I needed as if I was
an incomparable incomplete treasure. For me they went as far
as killing storm clouds to shield me from hail, keep me
warm and protected. I thought they loved me for too much
energy, love and courtesy were devoted to me. Yet,
as soon as I started creatively sculpting blossoms, gems
of garnet concealing ancient praise, on an autumn day,
a distinguished man came to judge me prepared.
And that is when, my gratified father gave the order
to take me to the cellar strip me naked, ****** me
in a large basin, to be trampled over and crushed, shaped
for the pleasure of others. Vampires awaiting a chalice
of blood as my lymph, delicately streamed into barrels.
In agony there I was abandoned, for years secluded until
My release, from wooden prisons to glassed cells.
They dressed me up and took me out to bars,
Sold me to the best bidders promising I would quench,
their thirst and make them forget, sorrows and worries
if only for a night. To date you can still find me at hand,
I’ll be your inebriating servant as I slither into your mouth,
intoxicate your essence with mine.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
I've met many men on sidewalks,
at jobs, in bars and cafés.
Some of these men held
strong principles. Others
sold their minds and bodies long ago,
usually to rather low bidders.
Of all these men of youth and age,
colors and religions, I still prefer
my own company the most.
-Ron Gavalik
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC