"choosers" poems
True equality is what is wished for
But what if you really opened that door
What would be on the other side?
I’m not sure we’d enjoy the ride
Individuality dies with equality
There are no choices you see
If everyone has to have the same things
No one gets to win the brass ring
No more people like you and people like me
If the same is all we ever get to be
The same model car and the same clothes
The same old food in the same homes
The same haircut and the same color
Or we are all clean shaved so much the duller
The same education for everybody
You’re paid the same as anybody
Sports would all end in a tie
If there still played at all… sigh
No more winners, No more losers
No choices so no choosers
There are no differing opinions you see
When you’re a victim of true equality
No reason to strive
There is no ladder to climb
No reward for hard work
Are you feeling the irk?
No matter what, you cannot get ahead
It’s almost as if you are full of lead
But that just it, no ahead to get
When everyone gets what everyone gets
The Thought police are out in full force
No one is married or there is no divorce
No kids at all or everyone has 2
There is no longer me and no longer you
When equal society is the important thing
Everyone gets to feel every sting
Orwellian yes
But truth none the less
The only people different are the ones in charge
While everyone suffers they live it large
They get to decide how much you’re alive
And they can tell you 2+2=5
So how does this strike you?
Will that work for you too?
I’m not a fan
Of this little plan
Because not everyone is the same
No matter what people will claim
We don’t think the same thoughts
We don’t call the same shots
Not even twins are exactly the same
And if we all were, what a boring game
Just a bunch of clones, going nowhere
Just dull and drab, no bling and no flair.
Yet that is what current society prescribes
Even though were all from different tribes
If we ever achieve true equality
Remember sometimes wishes end badly
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
I have work to do
have work to do
work to do
to do it well I must concentrate my thoughts upon this task in hand
and
I have work to do
to do it is a chore
a bore but beggars are not choosers
just losers
but
I have work to do
to do work at all at any time
is fine for me
on being homeless I could see
the workings of the work
priority
a majority of folk I know
don't go to work
go to work
to work is but another reason to go on
and go on I will
until the work is done
and my Sun sets overhead
and I am dead sure that
it will.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
There's now proof, that a Russian flesh-eating cannibal is in the good old US of A
He would offer you toxic ingredients, including gasoline and lighter fluid, I'd say
But, because its tell-tale scaly sores, are similar to another well known leacher
They initially played down concerns, saying, "they're not seeing signs of the creature"
My boyfriend had maggots coming out of his leg, after a recent foreign scare
I know people don't want to hear stuff like that, but it is really happening out there
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all
They fall to the charlatans, that promise you a crystal ball
A little at first and then some more, that's for sure
It will make you snap, give you curls and dance you a little twirl
Star gazing thru the sun ray and day tripping into a wayward night
That's why if you use crocodile juice, it will do more than shake ya loose
Destroying our souls, creating huge holes and build mountains out of moles
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all
Mr Jeffrey Vint has become less popular among his abusers
I say, "they're all losers", but I guess, beggars can't be choosers
Some mother's even gave birth with two thumbs, but those babies are now total ****
Others think the monster could be at large, maybe roaming your neighbourhood
Put a stop to this croc's chomp, before it destroys everything in the swamp
Get your doctor to prescribe a stronger drug, to conquer that evil imposter
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
sister sinister
mister sinister
sinning through the day
no work and all play
living today, leaving behind
a trail of breadcrumbs too close to mine
the birds pick and choose and I am left a loser
thanks to sinister games and pleasure
the crumbs are gluten-free, but the bread devours me
I am baked, no candied apple tree, not if no one waters it
retracing my crumbs is impossible when birds are pick-and-choosers
better to use inedible yarn perhaps
then getting lost in a labyrinth of hopes that trap me
would be fine if I could find a fine line to walk
but I would only trip as the bull feasts and talks with it’s mouth full
if only I did my research, I could teach a preacher
to ****** a bull and bind him, burn his trail of crumbs behind him
Even then my crumbs would turn to ember
My next loaf won’t finish baking until September.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
When I was young
I learned how to dive into my emotions
I learned how to wrap myself
in my regret and fill myself
with relics of isolation,
I learned that my tears
were to be compared to the bottom of the ocean
for both the saltiness
and the amount of them.
I learned how to cheat my way
into straight A's
because suddenly I wasn't at the top of the class
I was diving to the bottom,
with the druggies and the criminals.
I learned how to move my fingers
along the fret board of another man's "love"
and how to make him sing louder than a microphone
would ever allow for
I learned to dive into what most would consider immorality.
I learned to inhale whatever I could,
tobacco, *** and whatever lingered in the oxygen in between
and I learned to dive through the labyrinth of smoke
that it would produce.
I learned to steal for what I needed
because I didn't have the money to eat lunch
or for new clothes
I learned to dive into the world that I'd scoffed at
a year ago
the world of the beggars and the choosers
the stealers and the 'losers'
called out by self-proclaimed winners.
I learned to trace raindrops on a window
and recite my dreams in the form of broken hearts
and song lyrics
I learned to dive into myself.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
I moved in with Mr McGoo , he seemed a pleasant bloke
a bit chatty for one but then beggars cant be choosers.
He gave me the guest room and a skeleton key and
a King James Bible. He left , mumbling something about an
Optometrist's appointment as he stumbled through the door.
The Flivver coughed, spat and rattled.Mcgoo was in control
and of he roared away still mumbling about pork bellies and such.
Herky jerky relic with a hurdy gurdy horn.
The winding stairs led me hither so down the rail I slid
In search of McGoo venture. To suss where the safe was hid.
Rumor has it that He struck it rich one day and promptly
sailed west and bought the House of Divine Pleasures
overlooking Frisco Bay. Who knew.
As luck would have it, he forgot to close the safe so
there it stood wide open a square hole in the southern wall.
The Standing Shiva glared at me his arms like deadly serpents
One named Beckon the next on Call. The other six arms bristled
with bronze and iron death.The Shiva winked his middle eye and
tears streamed from the other two.
The safe still hung wide open McGoo was such a bounder.
He knew me well and he could tell the weakness in my soul.
for he and I had broken bread and severed heads in youthful
days of yore. He knew I was a scoundrel and a thief.
The Shiva had a weakness for women and the drink and
him with eight arms and such became to be a bit much at the
pleasure spot in Frisco. He had to go. So
I turned and returned from the liquor cabinet a bottle of
McGoo's best bathtub Gin in tow. The Shiva came a running cross,
a smile a mile wide drooling. With arms outstretched, boy he could fetch.
Could not hold his spirits though. Never could. Out cold in no time flat.
The safe gaped open like the grave six deep.
So. I walked up slowly to it and strained to look within
There sat old McGoo's ear trumpet and spare glasses
a handful of rain checks stacked neatly in a corner.
Along with his last will and testament written out in Braille.
Just then I heard the Flivver pop. I had to stop.
close the safe. Empty the flower vase on Shiva.
Up the stairs I bounded. closed my door and started
Sleeping.
Oh McGoo , you've done it again.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
Sitting, restless
In this changeling
Sensation
Of freshness and renewal.
Running
Rat on a wheel.
Each passing day
A different way
Of feeling,
An altered state of mind.
Seeking
To find
A man within the boy.
Hoping to see
The real me.
Alive and kicking.
Hot flushed, this post determined puberty
And the desperate need to feel.
An urgent angst to Be.
Short fuse and temper flare.
I’m not really there
Yet still somehow
Everywhere and
Everything;
Else breathing.
Dysmorphic chest
Heaving
Exigency
In this
Juncture
Soul puncture,
And bloodied bandaids
Cast off
My heart
Once worn on my sleeve.
I am finger skin,
Flesh and nail
Torn
And jagged edges
Peeling.
Perplexity kneeling,
I am deeply lost inside of me.
Begging to be found.
Compund; unbound.
They say that beggars can’t be choosers
Only losers left to dreaming.
They also say
That I may be a dreamer
But I’m not the only one.
I will come undone in this undoing.
Eschewing
A life lived unalive.
Slow unravel
To once again
Begin
To belong in this
Skin
Stitched bleeding riches
To my bare and brittle bone
He is not alone
I feel him
Running
Waiting
Sating disquietude
With an attitude
Unshackled
He is not running
Rather feet flying
A rat inside
A wheel.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
Yo I'm tryna hear some new lines, some true lines
Maybe in this darkness I can see the Blue Sky
Like Common Sense, tryna get us out the dirt my friends
But instead, we choose to listen to those who abuse
Those that sound like an alarm clock snooze
Brainless, in ten minutes we'll hear the same ****
Y'all love to make music? That's not what it seems
Cause its apparent to the people, you had a dream
But betrayed that dream once you saw some C.R.E.A.M.
All that paper for a couple of lame joints and some haters
I wanna hear a rhyme about the government, or at least the truth
Like how it's our time to shine a light for the youth
That way, one day, they'll know that wisdom is what we follow
So they can stay away from the darkness before it swallows
Cause once you get in it, there ain't no escaping
From the sky scrapin', paper chasin, devastation, soul deflation
That can occur with the exchange of only a few words
Its absurd how so many let producers be the choosers
You may win that Grammy, but to us you're still losers
Now tell me, is that how it has to be? Cause actually,
The artist that works the hardest never get credit
What I loved so much is no longer respected
So unless you to plan to change and stop fronting
Do us all a favor and don't say nothing
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
Arresting artificial bloom from a make believe garden,
Oh! magalomaniacal face of ill gotten glamour,
ribald queen of the kitsch, with endless variety in store,
age, cannot wither your, unmistakable garish taste-
or sadistic delights, each you do organize is outrageous,
than the one before, no doubt, how do you manage?
I'll forget all those in an instance, but, that kiss, oh! that,
the one you gifted, to show you were pleased utmost,
stealthily away from the eyeshot of your posse of lovers,
other cannibals and party animals, under the darkened staircase,
was the last godforsaken straw;
what a poor camel can do? if you so desire,
beggars, never were the choosers, you'd tell yourself,
in a self congratulatory note,
that much I am aware, my dear tormentor!
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
Wandering around
Nowhere to go
Nothing to hide
Empty
No one wants to help
Think I'm gonna hurt them
But, they are so wrong
Just searching for acceptance
And a place to sleep
A warm place
With a soft, comfy bed
And maybe a pillow or two
No one wants to help
Think I'm gonna hurt them
But, they are so wrong
Just searching for acceptance
And some food to eat
Preferably some home-cooked
But, I quote:
"Beggars can't be choosers"
No one wants to help
Think I'm gonna hurt them
But, they are so wrong
Just searching for acceptance
Maybe a bit of money
No, I'm not gonna buy *****
And no, I don't smoke
Just want to get to a long lost relative
But
They think I've got some hidden agenda
To **** them daughter
Or suddenly pull out a gun
Maybe run away with stolen goods
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
My demons come when I am weak
wounded lion spirit
hyenas scratching at my bloodied sides
fingers pushing at cracked glass soul
corpse of decayed love whisper vile insanities
once kind life voices mewling crowing
over fresh ****** wounds to new for rotten
push your grey fingers in through my split skin
fish hook tenderness as you disport in my misery
defiled by the profanity of soiled joy
black shapes flap and rattle at the thin glass
break through with the shards and pierce my soul
my heart is frozen by your lapping rising tide of eversore caresses
too late to cry for help if death comes to me in a demon's red eye
it will find a fallen spirit of light burnt by close flame falsehood
and regrets barren embraces
held in the grip of the twisted gone
it is the crack-scabbed tomorrow that mocks my today
wounds cry tears of knife edge expectancy
arms shrink at cutting-shrine memories
God cannot stand against you but vomitting can play his role
4004 6015 numbers list your mocking horde
to late for redeemers blades
reject and defile the war cry of the un-dead
choosers of the slain cross skies of dead hope stars
No dandelion seed would stoop to carry my soul
too twisted for heaven's soil
rotted leaf shrine heat of decay warmth
no hell for demons to dwell carried within heart-carcass vessel
sail through eternities baying grief this reward
cherish fear and pain marks the hours of still alive
window of thin despair ready to crash but striving still
gossamer molecule threads still cleave to me
fight against 1916 cloying of death-sweet expectancy
shell hole camaraderie with last summers corpse gas kisses
twenty-eight pills later summer needs to come soon
at four degrees I can be water ice or gas can I be alive
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 1:57 PM UTC
I awoke to my conscious talking me today.
She said: "You were talking in your sleep again, when will you learn?"
I apologized.
Then I asked her, what I said.
She refused to tell me.
She said: "Your subconscious is a dangerous being, I'd rather not make them mad."
I left it at that.
I don't think I want to know.
I just wish I could rest when I need to.
Even my sleep seems to come with interruptions
I wish I could tell you all that I think,
but there aren't enough minutes in the day,
to explain.
I wish I didn't have to have these conversations,
constantly having to remind myself who I am,
and why I'm worthy.
Trying to shut out my disappointment in myself,
I carry it like a bag of bricks everywhere I go.
If I could I'd build a house with them instead,
to protect me from my thoughts.
I tip-toe around every word that comes out of my mouth,
trying so hard to make sure it sounds exactly like I need it to sound.
Kicking myself for the stupid things I've said,
the stupid outfits I've worn,
the stupid mistakes that I've made.
I've heard some of the things said about these other people,
the ones who wore their hair wrong,
or made a stupid joke,
but,
when I'm not around I must be "other people" too, right?
My conscious tells me to cut it out.
She tells me:
"Life is worth more than the things you've said, and the way that you've looked.
It's all the sunsets you've watched,
the stars you've gazed at,
the people you've loved,
the people who have loved you.
This life is worth more than the things you say in your sleep.
The things you want are not tangible,
they can't be held.
You want to look in the mirror and smile at your reflection.
You want to wake up to someone who sees the stars in your smile,
especially since you can't see them yourself.
You want to love everything,
beggars can't be choosers and you know this.
You have to love it all,
which is an impossible task I know,
but it's worth a shot.
Maybe if you tried just once,
you could let me sleep without any interruptions."
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
we are beggars
we feed on scraps and wear tatters
we have nothing that matters
in this world
we cannot be bold
they say
"beggars can't be choosers"
we can prove them wrong any day
we didn't choose to live like this
we were forced to do so
corruption and lack of proper governance
we were the first to burn in the furnace
of human misery
no government makes us their priority
please pay attention to us
even we want to see our kids
board a school bus
and make a fuss
on which phone they want
even we want to flaunt
our cars and houses
we are beggars
and we want to live better.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
Beggers cant be Choosers,
Winners won't be Losers,
Early birds can't be Snoozers,
Dont'ers won't be Do'ers,
More or Less but jus not Fewer,
Ugly is ugly.. It won't get Cuter..
If it's Old, it ain't getting Newer,
Roses are red &
Violets are Blue'er,
If you give them an Inch..they will take the whole Ruler
This world is Cold
And just getting Crueler .
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 5:04 AM UTC
Until the rain melts
and clouds bump
into the sun,
you can try
and elude me.
Until rabbit ******
is outlawed and
Alice grows up,
you can try and
outwit me.
Until horses
stop galloping
and cheetahs are fat,
you can try and
outrun me.
Until beggers
choose and choosers
beg,
you can try and
turn on me.
Until down is up
and up is down,
you can try and
outreach me.
But I will continue chasing you,
around landmines,
hopping rabbit holes,
and fighting currents,
until you are mine.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
They say beggars can't be choosers
And truer beggars there never were
Blessed with able minds
Bodies
Souls?
Lively and lithe, blessed by chance
Complaints for your coil;
an affront to existence!
Breathe easy, it's what we have
Stardust and daydreams,
pandering --
benefactors of infinite fortune
The stars have graced you
(once!)
with immutable form
So find grace.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
The beggar sits on a *** of gold
Yet he never looks inside.
He only sits on it
Asking for a coin here
a coin here
a coin here
We as humans have forgotten the love of life.
I as a human am ready to open my box of gold
and look inside.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
black-eyed child of the morning
sings blue-eyed hymns in the afternoon,
chokes on black water at night
pouring from the ceiling
depression waterboarding her small cheeks.
black-eyed child of the morning
paints red smiles on her thighs
running down her knees
heaven on her mind
looking for the tormentor in the ceiling.
blue-eyed child in the afternoon
lets sunshine soak up her irises
turning the light rose-colored
laughs drunkenly just under the
feedback
lies in bed and finds worlds in her mind
stroking their edges
closing her eyes
black-armed child of the night
resurfacing at last
shaking on the mattress
talking
screaming
to her thoughts
telling them to stop
trembling under the black water ceiling
crying because she's suffocating
begging because there is no choice
black-eyed child,
blue-eyed sometimes...
beggars can't be choosers
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
I remember
The tasteful sips
Of our young
Teenage lips
Before the tongue of men
Had slithered its way
Drinking sweet lust
Until none remained
I remember
Timid trembling hands
That took what was given
With need, not demand
Before beggars
Were choosers
And winners
Became losers
I remember
A December
When our warmth
Was enough
When a boy and I
We're young
And made love
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
It's sad to say this
We live under umbrella terms
On some kind of spectrum
Abiding by Murphy's law
Being read our Miranda rights
Numbers on a scatter plot
In other words it's an open invitation
For one trick ponies
To sideswipe us
Knock us for a loop
Knocking us down a few pegs
Making us a laughing stock
Sieg heil the zeitgeist
Study the hermit's manifesto
It speaks of finicky beggars
And groveling choosers
Honor slayings
Oscar-worthy faked *******
First rate blood baths
Second rate novelty acts
Bending over backwards
And knee **** reactions
Cooking up something abominable
Having it hit the fan
To ensnare and entrap all who are near
Hot off the knock-off stenograph
Tack on another ten thousand years
In other news...
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
Losers Can't be Choosers
My love is at stake my brain is in conflict
My rivals are clever my beloved is my force
I am reinvigorated by taking it but intact
I am but just nothing but my stance is source
I believe in fair play I take but my stance
Which is straightforward,frank and straight
You can play tricks but do not take chance
My enemies are in darkness but I am in light
Light dictates me the way to which proceed
I will be the winner and they will be the losers
My love is my quality and my strength indeed
Let me declare the fact losers can't be choosers
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 4:10 AM UTC
I lay awake in bed holding my breath
grippin the sheets feeling close to death
Dreamin a world without you will have me feeling helpless and worthless less of a human being.
You make me better
I wish I known you sooner, I woulda never had let you get hurt,
having ya feelings growin in dirt,
like other losers.
on my knees tellin beggers cant be choosers,
on my knees with a promise ring tellin at least my love wont bruise ya.
Cause people took you for granted,
but no longer will you need a fistt,
all will you need is your lips cause ima have your hand in something to be,
future maybe?? Have another baby?
its crazy but thats life, when you pushin up daisy.
Mamita im lazy,
but my heart is not, it stands on two feet while holding its own just like you baby, it wants you as its crown.
So you can be held on top.
On top of my world and on my mind,
cause thats where you are in reality almost all the time.
Pardon my feelings that grow ahead of time, pass the ceilin thats just life on a heart monitor,
always on a thin line, cause you take my breath away , barly breathin.
So dont mind my-
my sweet Dear, i only fear for for my heart to be taken or mistaken for something its not so I reveal my soul to you, cause thats all i got,
you on my mind alot and i think?
see I cant stop!
I dont know why? Ima hot head , with you in my mind im hot
in the skys like a star that been shot,
and the heat is commin,the hots for you have me burnin,
and im alil concernin i hope im not being played cause then from this will, you defeat its purpose, and ima be back at square one again,
feeling worthless,
i open my self ahead of time,
so i pull open the close curtains so,
you can see thru my eyes in time you will know for certain,
that i am the realist! but i am not all perfect,
im just ahead of the curve like script cursive.
By: Emmmanuel jv Hernandez
7/6/13
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
I'm "going hard" no I'm not alone
Ain't found a place yet to call my home
I'm hungry call me an animal
Looking at humans like a cannibal but I ramble though
leave your thoughts jumbled in your cantaloupe
I've lost hope for the past because it our future
Living in a world among leeches and moochers we call them losers, dead beats and abusers
Funny how beggars can't be choosers
But I write to save the world you see
I may not seem phased by all this gravity
So let me put this weight on you
What can a no name writer do
Write on brother and sisters
The pen is my weapon
Paper that ammunition
Make an impact on a million lives is the mission
So I take shots here and there daring and dizzy
Put my words on this paper could it be that easy?
Sticking to the grind till they miss me
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC