"destitution" poems
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
carving a few simple words into her memory
a whisper of hair drifts over her face
eyes shut she waits for the cold crisp dawn
the candle distracts
and weaves it own tale
soft with smoke and mystery
night disburses
and the redhead across the hall comes tapping
naked and sweating
looking to cop a fresh spike
my girl makes her wait in the hall
"rude" she whispers over and over
our days here are fleeting
soon to escape this motel
and its rodent festival
to the great sunshine
never snows
quiet destitution creeps in with breakfast
and lay in the corner with a soft sigh
down in my mind i want to sleep
but its nearly time to wait
for the mexicans at quality hill
with two $20's in my claw
I am not yet ready to write the words
that would seal our fate and close this painfull day
that poem is within me
it drives me out into the bright sunlight
and the redhead follows trying to make nice
and i know its dope game logic that drives her
i know i could get my girl to bed her
a ********* would be tasty
umm that thought keeps me warm
while waiting on the mexicans
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Trampling through their city paths,
Hunting ground, mean street.
They perch aloft towers of oak;
Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped
With silk leaves, soft to touch
And hard to climb.
The Sun sets over the seven lakes
Of spring kissed, freshly mown
Fields of scorn blessed by
Solitudal and beady eyes.
Gates keeping out the world that
Wishes them harm.
They sit so high peering down,
At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might!
And think:
“Pfft you all wish you could fly
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
Profit
Gross obscene
Exploiting dealing pocketing
Surplus killing debt dispossession
Undoing grieving needing
Ruin destitution
Loss
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
Far away in the castle,
Your revered echelon,
Your pure majestic skin,
And your untainted generous heart,
Have become the most appealing living things I've ever seen,
Royal blood and Highness' sweetheart,
But I'm just a wretched citizen,
Routinely as a blacksmith,
Single bread and rocking chair,
Destitution and poverty-stricken,
I have never been complaining the way the God treats me,
To me it is just enough to get to see your beauty and hearty at the same time,
The folks were saying that you are the descending angel,
Spreading your wings over the entire people's heart,
Sending the warmth with a hug,
Delivering the happiness with a deed,
They feel safe,
I feel safe too,
But feel sad a little,
For just because I'm a blacksmith.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
I
I greeted you, my inevitable day
In this shaky firmness of my hands;
Assuring me of my weakness; the languidity of my serene constitution.
The sky smeared with fright,undeed, and look, hark to how the sun closed the night!
This was but unpalatable dew, misty in its impatient greyness
Avidity for genuine sorrow and late confessions
The calm heart then wronged, and soon the war touched the light!
II
Beware of love, o silly hearts!
Loving thoughts, are indeed averse to relenting;
albeit they are always leading to smirks and destitution.
Release thy grains from yon grievous chain!
Spark thy wings, heave and bend!
Wear thy glee, ere any of the gruesome tears remain!
Shield thy mask with greater abhorrence!
III
O notions, fruit my doom and feed my sight!
From womanly misery I yet ought to emerge
and all its surly sleeves I ought to blight!
IV
O peace, fetch for me my untaught breath in vain
Keep me steady, ditch me not in the rain!
Tend me more, yet not my cheerful friend-
in pleasures whom thrives, in virtues was whom foolish!
Praising plaited hairs, swept amidst folded skirts.
Gruesome lies they carry, the finest they conspire to marry;
what a horrid, unalterable, evil concoction!
Yet pureness is the only that deserves awe;
virgins are a symbol of unrequited love, but tenderest affection!
However lonesome, hither and thither I shall bear this pain
Until my stern heart melted to love again.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 7:38 AM UTC
If I could simply overcome
Possessive nouns and vowel sounds
I would not need to study ******
Heavy lies’ beheaded crowns
But you make martyrs with your charter
School exclusive service sector
To systemically condemn me
To the destitution nectar
Of the corner story ******
Potential Cinderella caged in
The statistics of the mathematic
Overdose equation
Comatose’n like a Holy Ghost
Of tranquil ranking party skanks
Whose tanks plan out the projects
For the boys still shootin’ blanks
And then the slavers liberate
Some nation-state of god forsaken
Oil barons salivate
To taste the poison Apple’s stake in
Stock in stuffer markets takin’
All the products people makin’
Privatizing profit-docket lawless
Mother Nature rapin’
For some scarcity disparities
In wealth I can’t attain
You keep me feeding on the bottom
From the top, you make it rain
So as the brains continue drainin’
In amenity dependency
I tinker with the inner-machinations
Now the enemy
You’ve made me out to be you see
My generation’s future’s bleaker
Than the past in full HD
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
And in the waves of confusion,
we laughed as life swept us off our feet.
And in the fire of destitution,
we claimed joy amidst the heat.
And despite all our tears,
and beyond all our pain;
We sought clarity,
and danced through our rain.
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
Decimating Destitution
Ravaged wreckage,
Ruins and rubble,
Depressing debris,
Ashes about,
Sky soaring shroud,
Misery maxed,
Fallen freedom,
Corroded cache,
Pillaged poverty,
Explosive extremities,
Covert corruption,
Dystopic dynasty,
Unknown utopia,
Infinity is inept,
Forsaken faith,
Rejected religion,
Cataclysmic calamity,
Decimating destitution.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
Kenya; the begotten daughter of your poor mother
Whose children starve and stave hunger in their tummies
Wallowing in mire of food destitution and diverse others
Wondering where to get victuals from as you have none to tax
Kindly look at your state officers the tummies are bulging
Occupying space all over, suffocating neighbours to the fringe
Tax the commonaplace tummies of your state officers
For them are plenty enough to give you revenue
In combat against hunger unto your children
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
The end of our journey
on the horizon's center;
the last stop to this asylum
in the midst of winter.
Darlings of destitution painting
****** distractions on the latex;
the essence of ambition covered
within the toxic keepsakes.
Cold doors keeping out
the warmth of affections;
our bodies wrapped tightly
within the canvas of preconceptions.
The thumping of our minds
beneath the crumpling distress;
ideas illuminating our perilous
potential. ****** beads of sweat falling
into the darkness.
Crazy notions spewing
all over the floor; the
filthy piles of wasted
time is growing.
Insanity within this circle
of trust; our dreams mislead us.
No windows to expose the sun as
we recline towards amnesia.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
Under a low-hanging branch of magnolia,
a foolish young person lay breathing his last.
He bled out his guts to the soft-stirring air,
Soothed as white petals, like ghosts, flitted past.
A foolish young person believed those around him,
A foolish young person left Mother at home.
While many would say that she tearfully warned him,
She was one among many who told him to go.
She told him of bravery, bloodline, nobility,
And of destitution, tables yet to turn.
Under the branch that snows down white magnolia,
He bleeds out remembering others’ words.
Under a spice-scented branch of magnolia,
He thinks of the will of a God he knows not.
God would not wish for the sins he’s committed;
This murderer is not on his way to meet God.
He thinks himself hero, and calls himself savior,
Conservator of all that his short life has known.
To keep others underfoot, deprived, and in chains,
He gives up his body, his blood, and his bone.
Under a low-hanging branch of magnolia,
His heartbeat an abacus, he tallies up deeds.
He fought not for money, he fought not for "rights,"
That reasoning is long since lost to the weeds.
He fought not for love of the branch of magnolia;
He fought not for dignity, the saving of face.
He fought for one thing, and one ugly thing only:
A life lived as if of superior race.
One could say he did not know his own motivation,
Because he so fervently deluded himself,
And many, thereafter, denied it as well,
Till they worshipped the rag that led him to death.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
You may believe in your fictitious destitution,
You may be adrift in your false desolation,
You may be wandering a path of solitude,
And you may be drowning in ignorance.
I am occasionally condemned as such.
Our isolation like a xerox.
Synonymous of withdrawal into one's self.
Not uncommon, even cherished.
Individuality becomes enveloped.
Becoming our own worst enemies,
Among a sea of monochromes.
Exposed complexion,
Defined blush,
Vulnerable iridescence.
Recognize a promise to identity.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
907
Till Death—is narrow Loving—
The scantest Heart extant
Will hold you till your privilege
Of Finiteness—be spent—
But He whose loss procures you
Such Destitution that
Your Life too abject for itself
Thenceforward imitate—
Until—Resemblance perfect—
Yourself, for His pursuit
Delight of Nature—abdicate—
Exhibit Love—somewhat—
1.9k
Walking in circles
You were all i wanted
Just trap us in a snowglobe
Your the only comfort i need
So paupers all line the streets
There destitution is how i feel
As i watch you stranded between them
And you're out of my reach
Pick up our world and shake it up
Snowflakes from up above
I stumbled, you caught me
Are you a blessing or a curse
Two smiling faces
I recognise those people
You were my tornado came and broke me down
Inside this snowglobe
With little room to move
There's no escape from you
And that's alright with me
Look how your eyes glow
Red lipstick so beautiful
When i hold you close in my arms i know
A passion for you i can't let go
So trap us in this snowglobe
Minature people with endless love
We might be trapped forever
I can only hope
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene
sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity
the pounding and the tears through all these years
languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge
unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling
while listening to her tongue lashing and
harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words
cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot”
Not once but twice while searching through black clouds
of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.
All due to confusing north from south and east from west
reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder
Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven,
Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic
lapping and licking at the shores while throwing
her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode
the question, “how can she possibly know the children”
Even though downgraded and ebbing
the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question
and all my determination fades in the wind.
Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore
power lines and internet down, hampering communication
flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached
yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own
dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring
her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain
while brightness and candor follow her path
with her feline temperament scratched and clawed
the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath.
Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.
I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart
and begin to reattach my churning stomach
with the threads of her words of disbelief
bringing the force she was most capable of exerting
as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey
hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy
as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter
and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut
impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees
perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 2:43 PM UTC
Surreptitious incitement,
Deliberate grazes,
Salacious gazes,
Languid depravity,
Lazily gnawing at my cravings.
Nudges of adoration,
Filling my concavities of falsehoods.
Seemingly small pensive moments,
Instigating momentous intrigue.
Cavernous aches where your heart should beat against mine.
Brushing against destitution,
While we wrestle involuntary solitude.
Day dreams leave me shamelessly wondering,
For you are abstract,
Asunder,
Yet even quixotically,
You leave me enamored.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
1382
In many and reportless places
We feel a Joy—
Reportless, also, but sincere as Nature
Or Deity—
It comes, without a consternation—
Dissolves—the same—
But leaves a sumptuous Destitution—
Without a Name—
Profane it by a search—we cannot
It has no home—
Nor we who having once inhaled it—
Thereafter roam.
1.6k
Never disown hope
In the swallow of storms
Give up the recitation
Of all previous forms
I was an affirmation
Firm in someone’s grip
Hidden under doorways
Now I’m about slip
Reminders of destitution
Reaching for solutions
Running the prestidigitation
Trying to solve my situation
Never disown hope
In the swallow of storms
Give up the recitation
Of all previous forms
Give the revolution
Take your hands from the die.
I never give up.
One must see the sky
I captured the vision.
A new world inside my eye
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
It's so hard to tell
What I believe-
Because I'm smart, and educated, right?
And what I was just desperate to believe-
Because when you want a quick fix bad enough, isn't the shortcut subconscious?
How can you tell
What they believed-
Because they wore swastikas, and killed millions of innocents, you know?
And what they were just desperate to believe-
Because when you're ruled by destitution and terror, isn't the conformity subconscious?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
The children are running and stumbling
A humbling experience, but deliverance
Is only gained here by running in fear
Away from those who hate and ****
And warp the will of those too young
To see people hung and murdered.
So they are herded with the living
Into an unforgiving world of pain
None should see, even less see again
But they remain in these clusters
Mustering and lining up for food
A homeless brood of adopted waifs
That should be naifs instead of this,
Nomads, glad of a blanket for bed
On the hard ground, all they found
To call home during flight, for tonight,
Not all are children, but the hurt
From blurted out hateful names
Is not the same for the young ones
Who should be having fun and not
Suffering through this hell they got
From being born in the right city
In a time of no pity and no rescue,
No kindness the world should do,
Instead they cringe from angry faces
As if they were disgraces for living.
Nothing left for giving to them.
These are orphans now, not sons
Not daughters, what was begun
Has ended for them, permanently
While nations stand by silently
Watching the perfidy and sighs,
Ignorant of their cries and destitution.
No restitution can ever come to some.
To most there is only memory of death
And running, out of breath, nowhere
Because nobody is there for them.
It is their problem.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
When did the soil give birth to ideologies of hate?
Floating thoughts taking hold of tempestuous souls
To wreak destitution and abject destruction upon City slabs
Intangible ideas, not to be grasped, squeeze hard
On curled metal, give birth to flying shells
Hit hard on soft targets
Stories held within forms, never known to thy perpetrator
Indiscriminate fury built upon muddled theory
How powerful a virulent ideology
Minds clash in spoken wars, yet the earth does recoil
As fragile limbs confronted by flying shells
Limp, lifeless hand stretched forth
Pleading for continuation of a life not contemplated to end
Not here, in this way
Crudely broken by the stench of decay
I remember when Friday night was for play
Humanities throat pressed upon not by religion
Knife drawn not by capitalism
Shots fired not by secularism
Yet a common strain persists in all
That of power seeking
Corrupting hearts, dividing parts uneven, the spread obscene
Impose a will on another
Crush fledging life pursuing what is best to you
Oh! The clouds I plead beneath pass me by
Your ‘best’ is but yours, permit me to fly by
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
See beyond the struggle is Hannibal
eating the face of identity and smoldering the heart
the repetition of bewildering sequels
names that don't match and feelings that can't compare
the original is the peak of a syndicate to steal
where the prequel is death
being left to, cult film destitution.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 2:02 AM UTC
I no longer mind
the laughter of people,
leaves falling,
sun rising—
all is destitution,
squalor,
our dirt-clod--
Earth.
Moons snicker, too
at our moon, which,
sneering at me
becomes dizzy
from its hypocrite
cycle.
Pulling tides,
the way it has
a quarter-century,
my life.
I want you
to die;
I want you all
to die before I do.
Moons, stare on.
I want to steal an abandoned air-
liner for you.
As far as possible,
I will climb toward
your towering grimaces
crashing, directly,
into the ground
without wonderment
or acknowledgment
on this Earth.
Trending topics
of the day
could not take stock of my
demise.
Shallow conversations
sit on barstools
put off
for eternity.
They showed me love
by suggesting
“change”.
I show them
love
is coming back
to earth
and lying with their putrid
bodies
against my will.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC