"debits" poems
Debits on the left credits on the right
balancing such wastefull transactions
debits on the left credits on the right
hating myself for youthful actions
debits on the left credits on the right
Who told you about job satisfaction?
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
A thistle is just enough
to encumber a ruff
rider through the hills
never mind the flour mills
to process and possess
and gain interest
on fervent capital gains
which are not worth the pains
for glory be told
for those who'd rather be old
and grey without headfeathers
and times naught but better
have then the vanity
to spew chicanery
to delve into the society
of anti-sobriety
and them then who lost
streetwise cost
but for the depreciated stock
which will be bought up by the flock
will credit its debits
to gangs that met its
match to the makers
and the tough men shakers
who make it possible to move
product without anything else to prove
than to their mothers
dead fathers and brothers
that one can make a living
off of ******* soul ******* and killing.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 6:38 AM UTC
Why do I still love you?
Anytime we hang out you're always gone
by the end of the night.
You never come home with me
always eager to leave,
more willing to find your
way into someone
else's hands,
than remain in mine.
I can't get enough.
You thrive on the chase,
your bountiful
promises are empty
like my pockets,
but I'm only a few days
away from seeing
you again
and I will never get enough of you.
You help me when you
arrive in two weeks time
and hurt me when you
leave sometimes only
staying for a few days.
My pockets miss your promises.
Your debits are hard to control
and your credits constantly
leave me seeking more
adoration.
I buy your lies.
I want you to love me
in the same way I don't
want to love you. I only
chase you because it's
expected,
but I want my soul back.
Why do I still love you?
I can't get enough
and I will never get enough of you.
My pockets miss your promises
I buy your lies,
I want my soul back.
A man's worth shouldn't
in (lie) you.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
I dream, I dream and morphine seems to take the pain away,
the poppy fields are my armour,
the shields against the clamours of
the day.
If I could,
I would and should awake but that takes moral fibre,
and I am just the turpitude, the crude and base, no shame,
and furthermore, I can't face the accusing looks, or
the debits in my credit books.
I dream, I dream and lean towards the light that
shines from the opthalmoscope,
there is no hope I hear them say,
more clamour in the clamour of my day,
more morphine takes the pain away.
I dream to dream and dreams dreams me,
dreams will be my
downfall.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
Setting up camp
I am caught in the headlamps of some corporate tramps with the wings of the albatross stamped on their foreheads,and quickly they come at me firing their guns at me,out of the sun, I can't see them to clearly.
Nearly got me that time
I must be beware,
corporate tramps get every where and try to disrupt me,corrupt me with credits and debits,in books I have read it that these are no good but sometimes I can't see the trees for the wood and they prey on the blinded and feeble and frail,they'll bang at your brain until they make a secure sale,it seems they can't fail,
because
we are bombarded with adverts perverting our minds,adverts that sell you all kinds of mindless monstrosities,colossal calamities and we **** on the corporate mammaries until we've had our fill,
then we burp and slurp it all down.
Welcome to the **** it and see almost but not quite free franchise town,
need a gown.a duck down eiderdown,brown shoes,black shoes anyway you think you win they know you lose but buy it here,buy regurgitated,variagated beer here in the franchise town.
'come on down the price is right'
the time is now
you're going to die so spend and spend and how you please ,use your cards and we will bring you to your knees,
Jeez
it's depressionville,third turning past the bank of **** creek hill.
It makes you want to **** something,someone,the corporations go on and on,before to long they will run out of space,then ,
option one kicks in and kicks you in the face and puts you down.
Join the rest of us.
in the almost but not quite free, buy me here,have a beer,
franchise town
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
This poem is dedicated to Steve Yocum,
author, poet, and soldier
farmer, father, grandfather,
man exemplar,
whom I honor
and honors me,
with the noblest title in all humankind,
friend.
But above all,
I honor him most,
as a tireless, truthful, harpooner
of the examined and the unexamined life
~~~
*"Be the harpooners of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody, comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders into
crinkly eye-lined smilers."*
~~~
these mine words writ many years past,
dusted off phrasings,
on dusty shelf long lain,
mined from notes,
decades steadily collected by steadily diminishing ears and eyes,
gathered most from self-taught lectures
and self-deceiving dances,
garbed and wearily grabbed
by the addict-strong
observational need,
persistent and perpetual,
to pay off fresh debits,
renewables owed
to the lovely,
to the loopy,
inhabitants who excite and inspire
my so far, rebirthing, youthful,
yearling heart
who provide the special crazy that
justifies existence
just men,
connected by a bond of sonship,
kinship crowning kingship,
blood types as different as an
A is to B
both shall weep in one blood,
I, as I do now,
while midst the nascent commencement of this sonnet,
He, at its commencement,
for a good friendship has no
beginning or end,
but is a circular track,
a loop,
familial by repeated runnings,
yet never, coursed in the exact
same manner or speed
this thought,
this knowledge,
bring a smile to this crinkly eyed composer,
that the metaphysical
will always surpass the binding physics of mortal physical,
that two man,
who have
never met,
race side by side,
not in competition,
but in the mutuality of composition,
each a candle holder,
both writers,
observing the dark illusions,
re-making each into a carrier,
a shedder of light,
each a debt giver and a
debt holder to each other,
hosts to all the loopy,
comfort caressers,
to each other
and to all
who too,
are light-bathed by being in possession
of the title
friend
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
Beside me on the table lies a small green stem;
This stem once with it carried a lovely botanical gem.
Outside the window yonder is a city caked in snow;
Such that all is cancelled and I have nowhere to go.
It's funny that this stem of green shucked clean and here laid bare
Gets mention in this rhythmic verse 'bout all that white out there.
For you see, my friends, that stem, to me's a sad reminder
Of a time (and time again) to me, that's so much kinder.
And now, of course, I have a day, no deadlines, dues, or debits
But that stem is what remains of a stash worth several credits.
A tragedy to none but those who also will partake;
To me, a dearth that stonewalls my voracity to bake.
Alas, I open this white page and 'ply my verse unto
Lament for being 'void of green...what has my life come to?
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Dismembered obligations,
I bury them in satin sheets
of denial.
Promises were left on the side of a road,
tied to a lamppost
Emaciated regrets feed on noting now.
Found guilty now of my many burdens,
handcuffed to my debits
having to reflect on obligations I squandered away.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
In the bank of humanity where Jesus saves
you can see,
saved for posterity in the house known as charity
the tidal wave of poverty
cowering in penury,
never knowing their neighbour
never loving their labour
never showing affection just the pass book
of dissatisfaction
with the debits and credits for a life
of inaction and
who's in the queue for a loan?
who would comb through their fleas and
get down on their knees to scratch out existence,
to eke out subsistence on a level unknown?
To groan inwardly
to get down on one knee and propose
to suppose it's not you in the queue with
a ring in your nose,
suppose it's not Jesus that saves.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
add this to my balance sheet as my blond accountant
summarized my assets and liabilities.
Put one more drink for both of us on my tab at the pub.
And considered how balance sheets don't consider silver tongues
an asset.
As we went over the books, till last call, I kept seeing that spark in her eye.
She gave me debits and much credit, later.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
This progression,procession,accession to the throne and all so I can bow before,atone unto the greater law,if this is all that this life's for I'll give up the ghost right now or get the most I can, and how I will enjoy my day,though knowing one day I must pay.
The requests fly in,fly here to sin and have a ball but even i cannot accept them all and so I lay them down to you and if you want,you can sin too.
Today's the way the credits play,let debits all accrue, but we all pay in the end so if you're scared and want to mend your ways,
what are you doing here?
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Sigh...
I pray for a day in a world
where greed don't exceed necessity
Even the stars can't lift me now.
I swallow the sky and cough out clouds
to numb the pain
I spat on the earth.
I sunk deep into a pool of guilt.
I wonder if steep debits
would steal my soul for free
And leave me crying at work
without company
Will I crumble to dust
or will I fight for me?
I look up to the sky
inhaling loneliness
I can't say how long death would flow
through my bones
I'm dying inside out-
death's always been repressed.
I wonder if I'm really content
with this solitude
Or how much longer I'll embody the pain
of many souls..
A gun without a bullet I hold.
Sigh...
I pray for a day in a world
where greed don't exceed necessity.
I pray for a life without debt,
warm tears and cold sweats.
I get lost in my mind
when the lights dance-
The sky sure looks beautiful right now.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
I always check tomorrow's weather,
so I can better plan the upcoming day,
and rearrange my
empty day's activities
better:
nobody tole me
they usually get it w~rong
no need to watch sports no more,
cause when I do, somebody wins
in the last second with a buzzer beater and so far, sports media still reports the "actual truth" about who won...
Save myself three hours!!!
but nobody tole me
my debits ate somebody else's credits; confusing, but not my fault
cause nobody tole me
guess I'm a mess,
but it's ok nonetheless,
hehehe, yup
be cause
nobody tole me
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:53 PM UTC
I am auto
mathematically
my own biographer
reading journals endlessly
old love letters not burned yet
interviewed all the survivors
Parsed the ones from the remainders
the lies from the strangers
how they had dinner with you
and both your ******
waited outside hearing the
fists and words fly
said they were about to call 911
but thought better
took the dividends and squared them
with being
exponential
logged all the debits against credits
balanced the sheet wrote notes to me the CEO
and protested in the streets
with bold lettered signs
saying
how my corporeal corporation
is somehow female repressive
equal rights for all
and such representations
just all mango mentally managed by
my tangled self-analyzations
it gets complex trying to footnote
all the references
as I try not to plagiarize myself
knowing I copyright
my *******
before flushing it down
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC