"debtors" poems
The rain-Gods should
Give this greenhorn a reason
To why pain could
Appear this green-corn season,
Which baboon will make a sound
If the rich moon cannot be found?
Sometimes we play all day
Making sure that the clay
Does not decay,
But now our rock had bend
And who will lock and mend,
Ah, send the Gods a plea,
And it will end the cods a sea,
For the fear of might is oppression
Whiles the tear of night of derision
But nothing inside will look so strong
If something outside looks so wrong
Is this ice of life so conscious?
Maybe the price of life is so precious,
Men of Kush!
Have a pen for push
And never harm the Gods arm,
For their charm grows your farm,
The debtors have broken the palm-vine
Causing the ancestors to drink the palmwine
Indeed, what life sees as pain,
Must be given to death to explain.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
The rainy season is at
The door once again,
And loneliness has
Brought me a new pillow,
But who is to defend
My repugnant soul?
Can it be the Gods?
Hear this! The rain has
Began knocking at my
Slammer door gradually,
Oh no, it is knocking
And wailing so heavily,
With his icy voice
Of storm and cold
Arresting my hearty dreams,
But I will retch at his smell
And hurry for my handkerchief,
Where is my lantern?
May be, the native doctor
Has the answer to the
Cylindrical jar containing
Her eternal juniper organs,
Indeed, it is my misfortune
To go about with the priest,
For even the child of
The priest even dies at noon,
Ah, I thought she was
Vigilant and ever-ready
To make the debtors
Chew the palm kernels,
But she became the
Portion of the exterior of
The *** that skin can cover,
I have lost my heaven,
Oh no, I have lost the
One whose neck is like a
Bunch of small-fingered plantain,
I have lost the whetstone
On which I sharpen
My thirsty sword to
Perform deeds of valour,
Let the Gods weep!
Let the ancestors wail!
Let the people of Africa,
Give me condolence of
The talking drums,
For their child is gone,
The wise woman who cut
Her thumb in order to get
A wise husband is dead,
Mother, the Okro full of
Seeds of children and literature,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
The toad likes water, but not
When the water is boiling,
Send me something
When someone is coming,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
You and I exchange gift.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:58 AM UTC
my life was like a rope walk
a thin rope of sanity I walked on
and below was a thousand feet Valley of depression,
you miss a step ,you never come back.
struggling to balance myself ,
and then I met you .
the saviour ,
like the albatross
who came to save the ancient mariner.
you came into my life and with you came hope.
the rope beneath my feet widened ,
widened to become a plank.
and as you grew closer,
the plank became solid ground.
the valley started to disappear
and the fear melted down.
now I could risk missing steps,
enjoying the grass and the tiny falls.
it felt like never before ,
and there was no turning back.
but I realised, on the ground I wasn't alone .
not just mine,
but you had saved a zillion lives .
but that didn't matter now .
they all loved you and so did I .
so we all pledged :
to help you, to love you forever
and that anything that gets to you
have to first get through us .
we all are debtors of your love
and we will pay back by standing by you .
you are the nation of our happiness
and we are your A.R.M.Y.
saranghae BTS
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
We the citizens, who live as refugees,
We keep earning & see if our life is turning,
To the price rise, we lose savings,
Still we remain rock-bottom in standard of living.
We belong to the middle class,
Whose life always a breakable thin glass.
Our life remains completely unsettle,
Every second, life tests our mettle.
Life chases us with pressure, failure and useless lecture,
We are nurtured with a fear of future,
Happiness remains just a leisure,
Live with the unsecure & unsure present for a secure future.
We keep us busy and function,
We fear, when there arrives a function,
Towards happiness, we run as a pilgrim,
For the corporates, we become a mere victim.
We run like an athlete for salary, food and target,
For this globalized world, we are just a market,
Like hungry dogs, we wait for increments,
We keep running with bitter disappointments.
We live in own house, only in our dreams,
Our hearts cry with hopeless screams,
Failures remain our tutors,
Inability has turned us the irrecoverable debtors.
Our appearance has a rich look,
We have untold hidden burdens,
That keep us shook,
Keeps us forbidden and fear-ridden.
Low class think us rich,
High class always want us to be their *****
Politically neglected by the rulers,
Economically exploited by the rich powers.
We exhaust ourself for subsistence,
We remain victorious and satisfied only in our existence,
We lose our life to sustain in competence,
We run our life with a mere persistence.
More than the high class and low class, we suffer,
Our lives never progressed as governments differ,
All see low class with empathy and sympathy,
To our difficulties, we are looked with apathy.
On rich, we are not jealous,
Towards our aim, we are zealous.
Never think we are nothing,
We truly have nothing to lose.
We take risks to make history,
Our path is nothing less than a mystery,
You never allow us to come up,
But we are not going to give up.
Hello High class,
Never pretend to live like us, to exploit us,
Gone are the days, we remained fools,
You will stand a day as the super intelligent fools.
Before, we are hungry for food,
Now, we are hungry to rule,
Before, we feared to live,
Now, we are ready to win the world.
We are nothing! We are nothing
We have nothing to lose!
We won’t stop until having nothing could do nothing to us.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
Tear down the clouds, kindle the summer sun
Let the bright, flooding clarity come
Displace the darkened world’s gloom
Let all the liars speak too soon
Make the wise men start to shave
Give voice to bodies in mass graves
Shatter insecurity, staring from its mirror
Pack away the things we most fear
Spark bonfires in every child’s heart
Teach them love, the most delicate art
Show all the CEOs what emotions are
Build great ladders to hug the stars
Put bows round each headstone
Free the debtors, forget their loans
Free every convict of insignificant crime
Fill the public fountains with a hundred thousand dimes
Make all the mourners dress in white lace
Let the summer sun shine from every face
Remove the cobwebs from the sad boys’ rooms
Steal the black thread from the weavers’ looms
Watch all nightfall melt away
Into a celestial menagerie
Stark prison of the heart
Let beauty’s peaceful riot start
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC
Marigolds in bright oranges and reds;
The dead lay below soft flower beds.
What will happen if I reach too far,
Knowing I can't keep those who have crossed the bar?
The days seem vague and bleak,
Will my sins persuade and leave me meek?
What will happen if I cross the ocean,
And not care about the ripples set in motion?
Will my loved ones soon depart,
Only those younger to inherent their art?
My prayers are motionless and repetitive.
My plead is to my Pilot to keep me in the narrative.
For oft when I lie in bed,
The Negative and Dreadful fill my head.
"Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors,"
Is all my prayers are; it is the setter.
Lead me through temptation and give me a honey tongue,
To give it my all for the distance run.
Knowing that the Daffodils prance,
Throwing their heads in sprightly and cheerful dance,
Be still, sad heart! And cease your grieving!
For all through one's life loved ones must do the leaving.
For two roads diverge in a yellow wood,
And a good idea is to keep attached what is under your hood.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
I don't know where, if it will end.
Refuse to voice or recommend.
To treat what ails us is pretend.
Slips through fingers apprehend.
To help more than to hurt,
reflexive sunny disposition
which can cradle sallow sleeping stoic pride.
Distinguishing the dirt,
collective run beside conviction;
acting ladle heavy, heaping, terrified.
Leave things better than you found them
Received our debtors stand; surround them.
I wonder if to soothe what ail,
under apprehension prevail.
Therein lies each us, our grail -
our demons sinking in each nail.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
Debtors and creditors
Declining stock
High sales
heartless flock
Profit is aim
Impractical gain
Weather is good
Never cared to enjoy the rain
Captured soul
Under the debris of files
Running one after the other
Honesty dying in front of lie
Stylishly tucked in suits
And heart tailor made of wood
As only then will justiy
What we did and what we should
Hitting hard with financial indicators
Stock in hand or sundry creditors
Breathe out this craziness
Seek pleasure in the little things
And make life a lot better
Manisha
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Shall I march into the sea tonight?
The lighthouse-keeper asks.
The light is lit; the wind is wound;
I have no other tasks.
The rains have cycled fifty times
Since they last turned on me;
Shall I bar the windows shut tonight,
or march into the sea?
Who will find me lost at sea tonight?
The lighthouse-keeper thinks,
When shepherds turn their flock indoors,
And the barkeep turns to drink.
I am the lighthouse-keeper, but
I do not have to be;
They'll find another keeper when
They find me lost at sea.
And if the sea won't take me, love,
The lighthouse-keeper sighs,
No candle on my windowsill
Is watched by no-one's eyes —
No shadow's crossed my threshold's bounds
Since I was thirty-three —
With stones inside my pockets
Let me march into the sea.
Give me no pauper's funeral,
The lighthouse-keeper sings,
Though scant be the inheritance
You'll cobble from my things.
If my debtors come a-calling,
Tell them, forfeit every fee —
Or, if they are truly greedy,
Let them find me lost at sea.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 9:54 AM UTC
The growing day has
Handed over the doyen
To the dawning evening,
Yes, it is the
Responsibility of the
Father to make the
Sacrifices for the son,
Ask the son to wake up
Early on his soul day,
In preparation for the ceremony,
For Ntikuma has exposed
Kwaku Ananse once again,
Perhaps, it was our fault,
For Boakye Danquah has
Gone to the village without a cause,
Now, sprinkle the divine water
From the calabash,
Three times on him,
Oh yes, on the son,
And ask for the Gods blessings
Right after the libation,
Indeed, anyone who does
Not know the drums or horn
Message of his chief,
Gets lost in any dispersion,
Joseph Boakye Danquah,
The true father of Ghana,
We are debtors to your soul.
II
Who is this father?
Ask him to use the three
Fingers between his thumb
And the smallest finger
To smear the mixture of white clay
On his forehead, chick and wrist bone,
For Boakye Danquah has
Gone to village without a cause,
Ah, Boakye was born
In the period where
The stormy rainfall causes
Small ***** to abound,
Hmm, the nations have drunk
The water of affliction
And have eaten the
Strange bread of adversity,
Was anyone there,
To quench his throat?
Was anyone there?
To drink his blood and sweat?
Was anyone there?
To witness this transfiguration?
Indeed, the horns cannot be
Too heavy for the head of the cow that
Must bear them,
Joseph Boakye Danquah,
The true father of Ghana,
We are debtors to your soul.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
The city is shut, sparing its prey until tomorrow. Night rules, dreams creep down the street, eyes dead
Her poised being is the center of universe, that girl
She is loath to beg yet for the twenty fourth time of the night she sings out, God?
It’s two in the morning and they are sitting at the balcony, God and her, both holding a cigarette
Mother and father are in screaming colors but she is, only, the darkest blue
Two of them are contradiction, a vexing rendezvous but they yearn for each other so once in a while they talk
People talk
A boy across the house is found dead
Parents roaring, raging, crashing the ground, he’s wearing a pair of new basketball shoes. Blue.
He is one of million, a delicate kind, very comely, a subtle presence. Neighbors murmur maybe God
fell in love, maybe God enraptured by the boy. But God is peeking behind the closed door with the girl
Between their fingers still a burning cigarette
Maybe it’s the taste of Marlboro Red, the girl
wishing an epiphany, a revelation, for its been too long, the girl and God
writing each other’s eulogy. The girl has been dead for God and God has been dead
for the girl, ruptured for a very long time, there’s no way back. No long talk
can fix the burn of cigarette,
the eternal crippling affliction taped up in every cavity inside the holy temple of their body
A lady in the house with doors and windows painted blue
is murdered. She was having a dalliance and neighbors talk
behind their open bible. God cringes, God recoils, her god is a beige-tied, cigarette
scented with hair slicked back. She was in his thrall, calls her name in a mesmerizingly fetching way making her girl
again, an ingénue with a pair of chatoyant eyes. Bodies clashing, her muse, they fuse, he choose to ruse, dead,
God is amused, time is lapsed, but perhaps she was not divine. A lady in someone’s car trunk, murdered, dear God!
Inhaling. Conflating. Cigarette
smoke all over the veins. A bright blue
car parked across the street. A week since the boy died. A week since the lady went missing. People talk
about somewhere this week another dead
body is going to be found. Maybe in the park under the slide or on a high school bleacher, like the girl found God
under her bed. The first encounter of God and the girl.
God
and the girl run out of cigarette
counting the days God and the girl
Next time won’t be cigarette and balcony. God and the girl next time at a bar with blue
sign where sinners and saints sipping absinthe because God won’t talk
to anyone but the girl. God and the girl sipping absinthe because the city is shut. Eyes dead.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 2:23 AM UTC
was you could wrap a wooden spoon in aluminum and press it to the tongue of an infant. was you could smoke at work. was man was an act other men would surround. was your body would make of soul a ghost. ghost in a balloon holding its breath. was every stone was the head of a stone child. impossible. was vacation would yield vision a shore spat whale or a girl your age absently wiping the blood from her finger onto the leg of a bored white horse. was a woman would know she was pregnant and by knowing would be heavy. was gender was a kind of solace.
was you could climb a tree wearing a dress and any looking would be a gift given to kite. was a rag for worry and a rag for pain. doubling as bath towels. was we understood the Bible to be written very well. when the saying of we was more specific. we without healthcare having also said amazing things. was my mother went to prison. was tomorrow your father would visit. might she turn, be your mother, and love him.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
The atmosphere is atomised fear
Your cant full of four letters
War decreed and now we bleed
Forgiveness owns two debtors
Just hanging on a hangover
Begin the counterclaims
Each a zeppelin filled with adrenaline
Ready to go up in flames
We've been here before you / I
And this mirrored glass
My ugly reflection devoid of affection
Always a snake in the grass.
Trapped with another violent prisoner
Who torments their cell "mate"
Full of sin but, which would get in
To that approaching pearly gate?
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
Today I realized the world has gone mad,
Still lending bills to penniless debtors,
But now sending in knights with armor clad
So no one messes with debt collectors.
This is it—my Sunday epiphany,
That somehow could rattle my state of mind.
Yet looking back, it’s not very holy.
I’m starting my day, and no longer blind.
Even their stuff sneaks over the border.
Look, toothpaste! Made down south in Mexico!
They laugh at the sign “Welcome to Mordor,”
And they **** the man asking “Friend or foe?”
Dear Congressman, answer me this, big guy.
I’m confused – where does our allegiance lie?
Is our friendship with China just a fling?
I thought we trusted them with everything!
“You can make our computers, shirts, and toys.
Oh, our toothpaste? We hired that country’s boys.”
Now there’s a just reason to start a war.
Some racist fear of lead-infested paste,
No care for the kids sweating on the floor,
More worried that our nation’d come to waste.
Ignorance is bliss; knowledge is power.
A slavery that no one speaks about
Will never reach its final hour
unless I stand on a street corner, shout,
and wave around my poorly crafted sign.
Commercials are about money, and lots of it,
Not kids working in a factory line.
A modest proposal: destroy all profit!
We should either be poor or go down fighting,
At least we’ll have honor while we’re dying.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Our time is done - the party has ended
I lost one and i’m slightly offended
I tried hard to make it work
Nothing ever works
Its gonna have to hurt
On my heart he went berserk
He lied as he told me he wouldn't
He hid from me when he said he couldn’t
Why is it so hard to be honest?
Come to find out the truth is ironic…
He asks why i'm soaked after he leaves me in the rain
Words, poems.. they pale in comparison to pain
An imposter with some serious nerve...
It’s like everything said was never heard
Him, the hoes..one day they'll see their fire and feel it's heat
They'll burn up as they sit in their blazing seats
Lies and truths cannot be one and the same
Karma is strange - eventually everything will change
Debtors bear the costs from the closest range
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
In shadows cast by burdens' weight,
I wander through a bleak estate,
Where debts entwine like chains of fate,
And dreams of love lie desolate.
Oh, wretched soul, trapped in this snare,
My heart, once hopeful, now stripped bare,
For love's embrace seems all but fair,
As debts devour the joys we share.
The golden band that graced my hand,
A symbol of a promised land,
Now tarnished by the debtors' brand,
A bitter curse I can't withstand.
With each passing day, a mounting toll,
A debtors' song, an endless role,
No solace found in midnight's shoal,
As dreams of wedded bliss take a toll.
I yearn to hold my lover near,
To banish all the doubts and fear,
But in this realm of debts austere,
Our love's sweet whispers disappear.
The wedding bells, a distant chime,
Lost amidst this pitiless rhyme,
As debts entangle, stall, and bind,
Our future fades, a shattered mime.
No fairytale ending shall we find,
For love's foundation, undermined,
By creditors' greed, so unkind,
Our plans to wed, forever confined.
Oh, cruel fate, with callous glee,
You douse our hopes, relentlessly,
In this abyss, we'll cease to be,
A tragic tale of debt's decree.
So let my tears flow like a river,
For shattered dreams and love's endeavor,
As debts consume, and hearts deliver,
A woeful dirge, a love that withers.
In the depths of debt's relentless snare,
A lover's union, left threadbare,
A somber tale of love's despair,
Bound in the debt's suffocating lair.
Jun 17, 2023
Jun 17, 2023 at 4:48 AM UTC
Southern & | sufficiently clear from the
love of his children near the town
In the hill country, the rewards
to the debtors,
| for the good man
& the Dragon
World of Life; On the roof at 1 a.m. w/ the glory
as fear's guns; Knowing women kissing
& the brown leaves, him in the morning
behind the feet of the republic; watching
a soccer match fall back into the flames;
& look; Already a number of the light
of the torches in the garden read w/in
the secret center of the prostitutes; The Shade
there but until that time, call it the old sweats,
& the hot host language; the church on her |
lap is unstable, | the second motion
caught in the back office; Her list of skin
that is sufficient as a Dragon; He returns home
wearing a teenager's cloak of divinity
In the strict sense; In on the late charge &
wearing a yellow star, Barbie has a little more
than he who watches over her;
Give it includes numbers below her Uggs |
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Discover what the mind has given you,
Realize what is within the soul!
Strengthen your heart, guided by the unknown.
Discover a world from within,
Illuminate the souls of others,
Free the minds of the debtors,
For they are the same as you.
Discover what was there from the start,
For the earth is massive, therefore is the heart.
Forgive yourself of the harm you have caused,
Love instead. Forever love.
All, and always.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
Hold fast to that which is good-
sheets in clenched fists
bodies churning fast then-
minds blank as emergency room flatlines.
Render to no one, evil for evil-
spread out wide, butter on bread,
before you like a deer in headlights
humming in shared solitude.
And deliver us from debts- as we-
forgive our debtors.
Each wall collapsing as we tumble down-
down, down- a cushioned fall.
And lead us not into temptation
a jolt of the lungs- intake of air
sweet like sugar on the tip of my tongue.
Motions liquid, silky.
But deliver us from evil.
Oh God! Please save me- as hearts
pound to bones- playing nerves as harp strings.
Oh God! please save me. Save me.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC
Dear corrupt country
Giant of all African countries
International debtors
Global investors
The nation I love so dear
The kid on street you allowed suffer
Hereby presents you a hate offer
Spire Biafra o! You zoo
Britain et tu
That should encourage freedom
The undiscovered Poet you wants dead
For trying restoring a freedom dead
Lives till now and also healthy
Though he is not a bite wealthy
His life he loves so dear
The stone you cared not for
Others seek for
That little boy you rejected
You he have ultimatly rejected
For of no good are you to him
Shame is mine being your child
I quite being your ward
If I am
And I shout it loud as an alarm
To the human right restrictioner
Stop my breath if you can
For history I know can
Never dream of forgetting me
Nor poems written by me
For one or two must stand
Dear corrupt country
I quite being your ward
If I am.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC
When did we become so disconnected?
Was it when we became so connected?
To every screen in sight
To every pixel in the night
When did we stop talking?
Was it when we stopped walking?
Side by side
Across the countryside
When did we stop writing letters?
Was it when we engaged our debtors?
For everything we need to own
For every in App purchase in the game zone
When did we stop being selfless?
Was it when we became a menace?
To every man and women we see
We take what we want then flee
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 11:23 AM UTC
NEW DAY
Beautiful sunrise,it's a new day
I am blessed again to be alive
It's yet another chance for more opportunities
Struggle once more to overcome the challenges
It's a new day,some did not make it to this day
Who am I not to be grateful?!
To the Lord Almighty, I am thankful
Another chance to be surrounded by those that I love
It's yet another chance to extend love to those that need it the most
Among all His people,of course I am not the best
But he has seen it right to make me see a new day
Many that I once knew are no more
They went away and we are never to see each other here
Another chance to make more friends and enjoy life
Another chance to travel to new places and appreciate nature
It's a new day,I can smile and laugh once more
Beautiful sunrise it's a new day
The birds are singing as if to praise His name
The rivers are flowing like they can never stop
It's a new day,hills and mountains are still standing tall
It's a new day,the wicked will fall
It's a new day,my debtors will pay
While His name I can still glorify,
The temptations of the devil I'll defy
It's a new day,I can breathe in and out
It's a new day,my worries shall pass.
30/11/2019.
©Emanzi Ian.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
Our Father, who art in heaven
How long have you been asleep?
Did the angels message you about the word on the street?
Were you busy rubbing your eyes during the Holocaust?
Took a quick leak during slavery?
Blink after the project in Manhattan?
Go on break while the Native Americans were slaughtered by people
who in your name
pulled out guns at men, women and children?
Turned to check on an angel babe
during the Civil Rights movement?
Was it really your will that was done?\
Forgive me for my judgment
I am very aware that others judge me
including yourself
but also forgive me for questioning
because you seem to have given unclear instructions
according to the humans that lost the real message in translation
Lead me to love
and deliver me from hate
because it is so hard to give
without expecting anything in return
The kingdoms is yours
this planet is yours
and my body is mine
But I understand that our temples could be desecrated
disrespected
our reputations tarnished
and our beliefs and truth questioned
I know you are powerful
but can we see eye to eye?
can we
So at least I know the fight that seems to be forever and ever
is actually worth?
A woman not amen
wants to see your blueprints
and wants to know
if you still have faith
in a bunch of trespassers and debtors
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
The house had an evil aspect as
It hung out over the street,
Casting a permanent shadow there
Where the market stalls would meet,
The first floor was half-timbered, with
The ground floor made of stone,
The windows were made of pebble glass
And the window frames of bone.
No one had lived in the house for years
Til the Robinson’s moved in,
A couple, straight from the wedding church
Where they’d cleansed themselves from sin,
They’d listened to all of the rumours that
The house had its share of ghosts,
But the cheapness of the peppercorn rent
Had influenced them most.
The house was built where a charnel house
Had stood in the days of plague,
Where later a debtors’ prison stood
Though its history was vague,
They said there had been a gallows there
With a trapdoor through the floor,
And the arm of the ancient gallows now
Was the lintel of a door.
But the Robinson’s had sailed right in
With a mop and a whisking broom,
‘In no time, it’ll be **** and span,’
Said Sally, within the gloom,
While Brad had opened the shutters then
To let all the light stream in,
‘We’ll flush the ghosts from their waiting posts
With a broom and a pound of Vim!’
They dusted down the old furniture
Left sitting since George the Fourth,
And turned the old oak table round
So the end was facing north,
‘But still there’s a dampness in the air,
And a tension that feels grim,’
Sally said, as they lay in bed,
And she clung, so close to him.
‘Are you sure that they can’t get in,’ she said
‘Now we’ve flushed them out in the street?’
But Brad was trying to understand
Why the bed was cold at his feet.
‘Why are the sheets so damp,’ he said,
‘And they’re cold, as cold as sin,’
Sally was shivering, fit to burst
Though the sun came streaming in.
They sat at the old oak table with
Their bowls of soup, home-made,
And Sally reached out to hold his hand
But he started back, dismayed,
The soup was thick in the serving bowl
It was still three-quarters full,
When a swirl in the murky liquid then
Revealed a grinning skull.
Sally shrieked, but she couldn’t speak
And Brad had held his breath,
‘We’ve got to get out of this house today,
We’re surrounded here by death.’
The shutters slammed on the windows and
The doors flew shut on their own,
And barring the pebble windows were
The frames that were made of bone.
The people out in the market heard
The screams at an early hour,
Looked knowingly at each other, said,
‘They have them in their power!’
And Brad was hung from the lintel when
They finally broke inside,
While Sally was dead by a grinning skull
In the dress of a new-wed bride.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
there are pieces of me hidden in the walls that you will never forget
but that's not your occupation now
chasing down younger stars by the seas
if you were a good host you would've at least made toast
but you never did find the right combination of pills and tries to be perfect
so we all go hungry
rust-red shoulders, shark-flesh skin
in debtors prison before the week begins
you've been dying since the day divorce first came around
hollowed out syncopated, broken and unborn
I'm radioactive and I'm in love
I'm ready to go but we can't go slow
has anybody seen the gasman goin' round?
this is the day and the glory
fuel set to fire
fractals in the walls all going down
the spaces that we share were my all-time favorite hiding places
but you knew them all too well
now we're planetary alignments on rusty shocks
but you're pluto a voyager away
gold-veined limbs smashing clocks into scattered ticking parts
priceless gems from eras never passed
it's the strangest medicine we've tasted
the only one we need
is this fantasy
I learned nothing about dying this year in science
stranger medicine I haven't learned to make
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC