"coffers" poems
125
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ration
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years—
Bitter contested farthings—
And Coffers heaped with Tears!
5.8k
O,Thou lands lovely afar, across
Those blue oceans,gleaming deep
Odd shapes in my old atlas torn,
Gazed wistful at, dreamt longingly
Of honeyed milks and coffers rich.
Having now made you mine by mind,
Heart,Faith and an allegiance soulful
I kiss your Earth, breathe in the Air,
Tasting somehow the same as a yearning
For the motherland quit so long ago.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
All the experiences
from life's coffers
I'm willing to take
To commit into text
with deliberate romanticism
My brand of unspoken poetry
with sense
only I can make
To rebut
my mind's
skeptic cynicism
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
midnight dark
is my true love’s kiss
of clove and citrus scented
cradled in the subtle
woven voices
of the conspiratorial night wind
soft as the silver-blue
edges of light
cast from nocturnal lanterns
sharing in silent thunder
secrets held in coffers
of crimson jade
blazing with the vibrance
of constellations
blown before celestial storms
full as skyward Luna
rounded and buxom
heavy with desire
veiling my worldly sight
so her truth can pierce me
blinding me
that I may see
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 11:25 PM UTC
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement
There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb
still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above
they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars
but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim
their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers
alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins
the world is not enough
because we are not enough
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Stopped into a back roads diner
Somewhere just off Carolina
Highway thirty three
Sign said "open", I went in
Pushed the RC handle made of tin
Not a soul around that I could see
Waitress came out from the back
Name plate said her name was "Jack"
I'm glad I came in
Ordered up some milk and pie
This waitress sure did catch my eye
Pushing that RC ad made of tin
Told her that I was passing through
Not staying long, had things to do
Smiling, she said "You'll stay"
I said I'' need a place to rest
She named one place...the best
Out by the bay
There's not much to do round here
We only serve three kinds of beer
and the Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
It goes down as smooth as ever
Turn your insides straight to leather
That Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
"Jack" sat down and asked my story
told her, "lots of pressure, lots of worry"
Don't worry *** it'll go
I asked her how she could just say that
Took off my coat and then my ball hat
Just how was she to know
She said "I read people when they're here"
Some folks stay, some disappear
You'll be here a while
She said "you're driving time is over"
"I think you'll end up, as the new owner"
"Of this place"...with a smile
I said "there's no people here to sell to"
"What the heck would I do"
owning this with no one here at all
She laughed and said "I am agreeing"
But you are looking but not seeing
Money's made behind the yonder wall
There's not much to do round here
We only serve three kinds of beer
and the Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
It goes down as smooth as ever
Turn your insides straight to leather
That Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
She said it was a truck stop diner
That sold the best ***** in all Carolina
Carolina zoom zoom in the back
Recipe's been here for ages
Brewed real slow, distilled in stages
Always forty jugs out on the rack
We've sold to Robert Johnson and Bocephus
You may choose to not believe this
I wouldn't lie about that fact
The diner never makes much money
But, the back room, there's the honey
sure as i know I'm called Jack
She said she lived in an old trailer
That she traded with a sailor
For a case five years ago
Moved it back on up the hill
There she could watch on the still
If I bought, she'd have to go
I thought a while, made two offers
Money to fill up her coffers
And she had to stay
She smiled, asked me if I'm certain
Did I mean it, or was I just flirtin'
I told her I was set to pay
There's not much to do round here
We only serve three kinds of beer
and the Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
It goes down as smooth as ever
Turn your insides straight to leather
That Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
I've been the owner fifteen years
I changed my life, by changing gears
Jack is still with me
Thank god I stopped in to this diner
Back in the back roads off Carolina
Highway thiry three
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Give a Centimeter, taken is a Light-Year.
Ask for an Inch, you're lucky to get a Centimeter.
Buy an Ounce, get a Gram.
Sell a Gram, taken is an Ounce.
Corporations are the ****** dealers of modern society:
Subsidized and Multi-Faced
Financial fronts for the Military-Industrial-Propaganda Complex.
They seek our cognitive tranquilization.
They seek our placification.
They seek our pacification.
They seek our inurement.
They seek our inurnment.
They're in it for their own profit and that of their friends,
as well as the perpetuation of sociopolitical-economic stratification;
not the happiness of the customers, or anything so ******* quaint.
-
"Satisfaction Guaranteed" doesn't mean ****
in this materialistic world.
A corporation saying 'Satisfaction Guaranteed' is like Monsanto saying it's milk is Organic;
A paper thin lie designed to get your money out of your hands and into their coffers forever.
Of course, their "Satisfaction" is "Guaranteed";
they have our money now,
and all we have useless, expensive toxic waste. (Literally and figuratively.)
The Swinepeople love that **** of theirs to roll around in.
The overwhelming nature of our Crapitiolism is underwhelmingly superficial.
-
"Time to bring it down again.
Don't just call me pessimist; try and read between the lines.
I can't imagine why you wouldn't welcome any change, my friend."
-Tool, Aenema
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
fifteen years through adolescence
fifteen years to build a man
fifteen years to raise a family
another to know who (I) am
fifteen years to pad the coffers
fifteen years to tinker, and rest
fifteen years to reflect on the moments
before the Sunday best
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:03 PM UTC
The cauldron bubbles and sputters and pops.
Odors from a foul witches' brew
Fill the mansion. It's called the Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
A ghoulish warlock babbles gibberish,
Spreading deceit, anger, and fear.
He summons his lackey ghouls to his chamber.
They bow to the ghastly profiteer.
Their incantations reverberate
Through the rooms and down the halls.
The din stifles the voices of reason
And bounces off the windows and walls.
Witches assisting the grisly assembly
Grovel and spew nonsensical chatter,
While friendly ghosts, horrified,
Grab all their belongings and scatter.
The leading warlock raises his staff
To silence all the ear-piercing shrieking.
"Our work here has barely begun,"
He shouts, "in a manner of speaking.
"We have a lot more poison to spread
To circulate anxiety and doubt.
All we must do is stir the ***
To give them something to worry about.
"Fan the flames of division and discord.
My techniques are tried and true.
Keep 'em guessing; then you've got 'em.
And then you cater to the chosen few.
"We have more rivers to poison,
Coastlines to alter, lands to sell,
Coffers to fill, coffers to rob,
And voices to quiet. Welcome to hell!"
The glowering sycophants dance and cheer--
Thirsty for blood, eyes agleam.
"Dishonesty is the best
Policy," they fervently scream.
Oh, it's a frightening Halloween night
When one's worst nightmare comes true:
The gruesome, macabre, spine-chilling Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
-by Bob B (10-31-18)
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Life’s an upward struggle, and it makes it so much rougher
when the ladder you find yourself climbing is beset by lonely weather.
When every other rung is off doing other things,
the solitude and altitude bring to mind desolation
and the emptiness that brings.
No matter the genius emanating from ivory minds,
the smartest man among us often finds
that brilliance unfiltered clogs up the system,
when others must consume the lonely perfume
of conceits kept alone,
while the common thoughts stay collected
like so many sheep in a pen that’s separated
from self-same lonely thoughts,
that genius oft encounters,
left only amongst the happiness
that fills up life’s happy coffers.
So it goes that lofty ideals become frostbitten
by snowcapped mountains of emptiness.
Others seek the heights together only during pleasant weather,
while those who trounce through snow-packed trails
must brave the climes alone tempted only by fate,
to descend to summits more frequent
than the peaks of accomplishment.
Gangrenous lips cannot utter
the chilled revelations of those left above too long.
So it is left to those below,
not inferior from the altitude,
just more likely acclimated to the difficult, dull journey
of those who spare pristine slopes
for the sullied, muddied slush on the tourist trails below.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
MY LOVE IS ETERNAL….
I wish you come back to me someday for a while,
tell me your love for me is real,
that ray of hope of keeps me still alive,
you parted professing it was infatuation,
never fathomed my devotion,
you were my inspiration to live,
you were aspiration of my life,
left me in lurch for greener pastures,
leaving me entangled in your love shackles,
questioned the allegiance of my love,
shattering my profound feelings to live,
Years passed away down the lane,
in your thoughts and dreams alone,
in deep agony my heart bleeds ,
in memories of your cuddles and nibbles,
All these years, eyes tired in your quest,
my heart and soul always were at unrest,
Spent days and years persuading hard
my heart to evade from your thought,
it fortified my evasion, firm in its conviction
my heart is no more in my possession,
Spell bound in your compassion,
It is hard, yet have to make a confession
my love for you is beyond my imagination,
no stone left un turned in your pursuit,
no day,no moment passed with out your thought,
you were there always deep in my heart,
captivated me with your kindness
enthralled me with your sweet voice
to love you more was the only choice,
spring has come all the way again
flowers of my love has blossomed again,
though you are far away from me
your love has made me feel you are there with in me,
All these years of my penance for your love,
my goddess has blessed me with her love,
there in my heart and my soul, being the only reason to be alive,
your words soothes my heart and your smile makes it (heart) skip a beat,
you are there in my heart, air I breath, smile on lips,in tears when I weep,
the only ambition I have in my life, to part from this world in your lap,
My love for you is eternal, I would still love you from my coffers…
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
Even the beetles
know
how to roll dung
uphill
to make a living.
I can't believe
those lazy mofos
hanging out
to collect our spoils,
with us toiling daily,
spilling more dough,
into the coffers
for easy handouts.
They're lazier
than shit-beetles.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
for Nave
Busyness makes one idiotic and forgetful. And we nearly sunk the night
didn’t we darling, leaning on the wrong swing.
(It is always the peach tree.) Katrina doing her Harpy on Fullblast thing
with such deftness and professionalism she leaves us no room to respond
to legs and offers of spread cheese. And poets cave in like lonely black holes
if they cannot response as fully as they have peaches in their coffers to do so,
or at least they think so and so do we so I escaped to shower, and tried to make
the water hot enough to round me straight again, but my skin still gets in the way.
I wanted to peel off everything and douse my soul straight in the hot and the lavender, questing
for a readiness beyond the pale, some state rare, and infinitely usuable.
It was only when, and this is true, when I decided to make a list of
why I love you that the water went in
and the lavender grew instantly between my toes. And Rosemarey Clooney
danced you in to me and you were a happy Papa at last, and we knew enough. And there
was finally room enough to
mambo home.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
**Unload your vetted earnings
in the collection baskets,
small price to pay
for holy water's kickback,
God thundered an indignant snort
'pon gold filled prospered coffers
within corporate excesses
of enriched gaudy churches
wondering when HIS word
had begotten misconstrued
in clergy's interpretations
of powers' self-aggrandizement
and pontificating gratification;
whilst the huddled masses
were starving midst the pews**
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
the dregs of your spotted smiles somersaulted in an elegant arc
fell in helpless array and landed nine planets away from my feet
and something slightly old still feeds my anger at your impatience
I forage through my grace to keep my tongue from spilling mess
and my heart feels all squiggly as I sneeze my way to your mocking silence
I gladly offer sweet indulgence while you openly despise my faults
I forage through my fantasies, not wishing to appear so trivial
lesions swell on the plastic head of revulsion
let not depression eat at your sweet magical pulse
still strongly beating in the sometimes sepulchral coffers of life
scorn not the honey bee buzzing or the hummingbird flitting
embrace the nuisance of calamity
for it helps along the way
to make vigorous the spirit
to wedge a cardiac space in place of pillowcase full of stones
where giants sleep in silent meadows across the land
sensing no sharp slingshot from no nifty bottle legged creature
and disappearing into the thicket would be the right time
on a heavy back, a child carries a burden made of toxic crayons
to melt away the awful prejudice of its forbears; undo the chains
the bringer of rain stands alone in a puddle, or is it a lake?
are YOU awake?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
For I've another soul to help me bear it.
The walls were built about my heart
But they were only tinder burnt away by first-glances
The eyes
Glacial blue piercing as the two edged sword between my ribs
Hair flame red long cascading upon her marble shoulders
The steeple of her breastbone shall I worship
Burning incense to the name of her lips carnation petal pink
Her Laugh as an hundred bird songs caught within wings flapping
Honeysuckle lashes droop curled dancing in a summer wind
Cheekbones apple carved blushing at my foolishness
Her hands well known to children
Sewing needles and pens
With hips seaside water crashing
She bumps against me in the ancient dance
Testing me to see if I'll withstand the winter wind
Who am I to boast?
What have I to offer?
She looks into my eyes only
Not into my coffers
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
This is the most expensive poem I will ever write
It cost more than you know to burn this bright
I’ll be using abstract character and archetypes
Bits and pieces of brilliant bright lights
You’ll get your monies worth
Of rhymes and rhythms
You’ll tell your family and friends a new muse has risen
Treasures will fill the coffers of your spirit’s journey
A golden key twisting within your heart eternally turning!!!
Now that you’ve been paid….
Keep the change and have a beautiful day!
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 6:01 AM UTC
On yonder strand
In bridled land
A motley band
With vigor fanned
Across hill, lowland
With self righteous brand
Seeking brigand contraband
From each licentious hand
To forthrightly remand
Every highway spanned
Tolls, tribute to demand
Each pilfering cleric did reprimand
Then every bloated collection was panned
Every royal vestige scanned
Gratuitous coffers to expand
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
So much avarice
Brings existential crisis
Race to fill coffers
Depriving others
Living a deception
Rancor spills over
Darkness has
Never been darker
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
What has happened to this city?
Why is everyone afraid to live here?
Why are all the faces pale?
Why is there an eerie silence all around?
Why is there a sense of fear in the air?
The markets are empty
The schools are deserted
The fields don't have no visitors
Many people don't even have food and water
The city seems like a person wrongly
locked up in chains
Waiting to set itself free and flee for it's life
The city which was once a hub of peace and joy...
...has today become a haven for crime and violence
Each day witnessess violence
Children are killed
Women are molested
Men are shot dead
People are afraid to venture out of their homes
The police no longer protects
For it's duty has now become to oppress
Daily clashes with the public is something they are accustomed to now
In fact it scares me to think that they actually enjoy it
The government watches all of this with a blind eye
While the city continues to burn
They are busy filling up their coffers
People are afraid to speak out
And those who do speak out are silenced
Each and everyday the sun sets upon this city with a heavy heart
For it knows that in the dark the city suffers even more
Today the city is like a scared child
Afraid even of it's own shadow
The air has become polluted...
...not with smoke but with hatred
It pains me to see the city like this
I hope and wish that things change
This city deserves better
The people deserve better
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
why yes
i am
the one; of many.
the prince; of pennies.
counting copper pillars
that cage tiny
dead symbols
of Lincoln
of freedom
i invade quarters
and pillage coffers
hidden in dry wall
and buried in floorboards
those secret panels
where you also hoard
i am also moored to
and if someday
Charon, extends his hand
and gravely states the price
i just may finally be able
to afford an eternity:
of laughing at this carnival;
of screaming on this ride.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
Calais was a small disappointment,
And Ams-too-damn good to be true,
So while the red orb is yet to set,
I'll clear out my debt,
And try to forget,
And gather fresh hope on the morrow new.
Vesoul, that was my destination:
I gave up Quebec and Madrid!
Gladly forsaking old
Constantinople, for
Paris awaited my trip.
But I can't make a living in Bangkok,
With poncy jazzmen such as these.
The coffers of kings are busted and broke,
And my heart craves more
Than ashes and smoke,
So tour Guatemal', if you please.
Goodbye to pretty Latakia,
I turn from your shore with such sorrow.
Your flowery air I long to breathe,
Instead of standing alone in the street;
I want to return in a golden-fringed dream...
And gather fresh hope on the morrow.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
Errant heat to the star
And the rain let in
The hawser rolls, the vessel's whole and Christ, it's thin
Well I'd know that you'd offer
Would reveal it, though it's soft and flat
Won't repeat it, cull and coffers that
For the soffit, hang this homeward
Pry it open with your love
Sending lost and alone standing offers
It is steep, it is stone
Such recovery
From the daily press, the deepest nest, in keeper's keep
All the news at the door
Such a revelry
Well, it's hocked inside of everything you said to me
It was found what we orphaned
Didn't mention it would serve us picked
Said your love is known
I'm standing up on it
Aren't we married?!
I ain't living in the dark no more
It's not a promise, I?m just gonna call it
Heavy mitted love
Our love is a star
Sure some hazardry
For the light before and after most indefinitely
Danger has been stole away
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
NEW YEAR INTROSPECTION PART ONE
when is one grown up?
a question, asked and answered,
in wise words already written,
for tis when those gifts
with which we are,
have been,
so imparted are
returned,
imparted,
used
for selfless ways,
gift received,
becoming
gift re-gifted,
not only shared
but given away
many-fold,
imbued,
without expectation of
return in one's own coffers,
on those dear souls
within one's reach...
tis then the measure
is measured
and the cycle complete,
having ridden,
rode,
far enough down the road,
for the rubber to have
not only met the road,
but even more,
leaving for others
who come behind,
bits,
pieces,
chunks,
living, breathing matter
that matters,
the impartee becoming
the imparter,
each being
its own proof,
proving that,
yes indeed,
in deed,
gift and giver are one,
and one is all grown up.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC