"discounts" poems
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Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
The stereotype of the female type/ packing more than you give yourself credit for/
Spineless, backstabbing ******* in backless dresses fronting to impress dogs who are/
Barking at ******* that are easy to prey on/ hoping to get a good **** to sniff/
While your tail is out there waggin/ makin’ their tongues turn stiff/
There are many who live in that dog eat dog world/ And boy it can get pretty rough out there/ catch that innuendo?
You see, effing around is simple and it works like this; you F what you see/
Sometimes you find what you think to be ‘the one’ only to be deceived/
Because you believed what you saw and didn’t take the time to dig deep/
Next thing you know, your heart has been sunk in the pool of tears you weep/
You resort to a resolution to that’s easy to keep/ rectify to the erectified/
Yes, maybe some of this is harsh/ but if you cant handle the truth/
You wont know the difference between what’s right and wrong to do/
There’s a difference between a princess and a queen/
A princess who’s prince-less will settle for the frog/
While a queen knows how to stand on her own two feet/
Royalty is respected and they stand tough even when they’re rejected/
It’s hard to see something beautiful be used by a tool who’ll/
Only add her to the collection of his tool box/ then look for a new one/
But the reality of realism is/ reality can be pretty unreal sometimes/
And Miss Congeniality secretly believes the fallacy/ she wasn’t born to shine/
Selling herself at a price her mom would hate to see/
Giving out discounts because she can’t even count on herself/
The worst part is, it’s all manipulating her moral health/
And it’s demeaning her demeanor, being treated like Miss Demeanor/
But she didn’t mean for/ her life to turn to this/
She made three-left turns/ only to find the fourth right doesn’t exist/
Maybe a forthright person is all it takes to set her straight/
Boost her confidence/ make her feel great/ and tell her it’s never too late/
To find a new place to start over/ and get your mind in a better state/
That’s why this poem is called Tulip Teaser/ your own two lips are teasing you/
Impeding you from being you/ misleading you through your own garden/
But you’re better than that/ and there’s more to your garden than you think/
Just stick to your roots and let yourself grow to be the beautiful flower everyone likes to see/
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Sunday's newspapers
come on Saturday,
coupons spill out
torrentially.
weekend manna
from
publisher's hell.
makes my breathing heavy,
from studious inspection,
so many needs unmet.
I fall to pieces
every weekend,
securely knowing,
I'm lacking in
so many things,
feeling my
insecure neediness
keenly.
my Target is
feverishly simple,
solution oriented.
no can find any discounts for
new rhythms,
new rhymes,
life high fivers
to satisfy,
adhere,
and revere,
that would be my
Best Buy.
but I'm clipped,
the coupons, not.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
'Thats true self harm' she said
proud and self announced
like she could comprehend the universe
and that it left her no challenges
that in her 50 years, she had learnt all people
all feelings
all possibilities
and could now group us all like colours in a jar
i left, because it hurt
to think that after everything i go through to explain
the simpleness of 'some people'
discounts all the effort
there is no wrong and right way to hurt yourself
there is only a future
which we endeavour to make hurt less
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
The mystery deepens with slow steps
down the drive to that green mystery box
that holds the secrets of the universe within its grasp.
Besides the bills that need attention
invitations to church services
'fresh cuts' from butcher going down
products the clothing store discounts
power bills powering me up
water bills wetting me down
local rags headlining unknown street corners
filled with rage and graffiti
police searching for crims
(not on my street-No)
preachers discounting heaven for a tithe
car license rebirth
warrant remake
local school financial support
what else is new?
I've recently installed another box next
standing beside green box
flip all of the above next box
for recycling.
I only keep the one
which says in small print
No ******* collections on Labour Day.
Author Notes
Do you have the same problem and solution
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 months ago
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
They keep asking us where we were
last night and we
Could tell the truth
but where's the fun in that?
The world wants answers and we've only
got big dreams and
empty stomachs.
So what do you want to be when you grow up?
Your smile is all teeth.
Someone.
Getting high,
Getting loved,
Getting glamorous on
thrift shop discounts.
Getting plastered.
You'll write your confessions
in the fog on windows,
and worship
deaf gods.
With quicksilver tongues and
eyes like mercury,
We can't wind
the years back
but
we sure as hell can try.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 9:39 AM UTC
Winds whipping certainties into,
Tiny hurricanes,
Spinning around every drop of thought she
Disowns, discounts.
This turmoil, the only survival she's ever known,
Keeps her in the air, suspended, ambiguous, beautiful or terrifying?
So she shakes and cries in fear,
Of the day she stops spinning.
Surrounded by biting cold fronts,
Pushed around by sparks of warm relief,
She's a hot mess, sticky, humid, and alive with electric charge.
Her pleas bellowed into thunder,
Static shock breaking her voice,
Into something massively engulfing.
The kind of sound that makes a grown man feel small.
You can feel her coming from miles away.
She knows the weight of her presence better than anyone.
So lonely and heavy is her grief,
So bright and menacing is her capability.
Ironically, just the right balance of
Hot,
And cold,
Positivity,
And negativity,
Swiftly reacting, turning, changing her,
Into this rain ridden,
Angst swollen,
Ferociously complex storm system,
Stealing the heat she can,
Clinging to any energy she once drew on.
Never releasing her festerings.
Standing above a world she cannot touch,
Without destroying.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Poetry with simple rhyme scheme
isn't really poetry at all.
It takes all the artistry of language,
and crushes their greatness
into something rather small.
It belittles the sharp peaks of your smile,
that peek through porcelain veils.
It takes the beauty of your eyes,
and brings them down to scale.
The rhyming ruins all seriousness,
true poets take in pride,
it leaves their work in ridicule,
though their emotions are implied.
It vastly understates
the warmth in your cheeks,
and incredibly discounts
the lions of your dreams,
making them seem weak.
That is why I will never write a poem
describing the perfection of you
in a silly little rhyme scheme;
that is what I shall not do.
I will, however, jest
at what rhyming cannot describe,
although it tries to do its best,
it falls by the wayside,
For limericks cannot contain
my pretentious heart and soul,
and cannot compare
to the magnificence you hold.
Because if I could contain your spirit,
in matters of stanzas and rhyme
my talents would be wasted,
this atrocity a crime,
But you make my writing worthwhile,
and give me ideas to muse,
instead of the dull and dread,
the pretender's butter and bread,
with none of my talents to use.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Parents are the weirdest - of God's creation.
I mean, who on Earth would desire the responsibility of another human being from the time they **** in their pants to the time they leave saying 'what have you ever done for me?' ?
Who would, of all the things in the world, like their homeroom stuffed with stupid CDs and stuffed racoons, waterguns and Legos, dried acrylics and miniature utensil sets, ugly pyjamas and strange half-knit sweaters?
I need to know why parents don't object to their kids pooping everywhere.
It's either the kids are super cute or the parents are super crazy.
I'm sure it isn't the former.
A certain lack of imaginative faculties, in parents, is evident to me,quite frankly.
Think of it this way- if it weren't for us - kids, our parents would have been carefree playboys and playgirls, and 'living their lives' - cliché.
What weirdos really!
Their standards of children's safety too possess a particular oddity.
It's only the exact moment of physical contact during a hug that our parents feel we're safe.
Their sense of economy and finance is oxymoronic.
They love discounts. But they'll pay extra for whatever their kids wish.
I wonder how they resist TV shows of most sorts just because they won't have their kids watch remotely explicit content, visual or auditory.
I bet their sense of direction is most unnaturally affected too.
Why do they even follow their kids, when they know kids don't have a working GPS?
Do you have any idea, to what lengths parents go to make veggies seem delicious?
Veggies, Really?
Parents will have you take disgusting syrups and painful **** injections,
And claim they love you.
Parents will have you hit the books,
And claim they love you.
Parents will ground you because you do something they don't like (but they too did it when they were kids),
And claim they love you.
Parents will stop you every time you say a swear word (but they swear all the time),
And claim they love you.
Parents will claim they love you,
Maybe, because they really love you.
Oh, their weirdness never ends.
Parents may seem eccentric,
Their ways might seem a bit too bizarre,
Maybe that's how the people who really love us behave!
Yet, we're always rushing away from them.
If you have ever traveled in a bus, you'll know how absurdly keen the passengers are, to get off, when it stops.
That's how keen the kids are, to leave the laps of their mothers, quite literally the most comfortable place in the world.
Parents really are - the weirdest of God's creation.
And the loveliest too.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
times are tough
more than ever;
bills come at the speed of bullets
taxes gather like summer flies
and debts ricochet against our walls;
the banks want more and more
but there's just air in our pockets
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
the jobs dry up and
the dollars dwindle into cents;
permanent becomes temp
and temp becomes non-existent;
full-time goes into part-time
and part-time into casual
and casual into zilch
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
nature conspires with the economy,
sweetheart:
she sends rains and fire and landslides;
she claws sands off the beaches and
all we have left are
government ******** and *******
who care a hoot about our fish and chips
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
time's not on our side either, sweetheart;
mind you, with mighty puffed cheeks
he blows H1N1 flu round the globe
and so sends people and customers away
and those who remain turn cheap and nasty
and all these pigs want are discounts and freebies
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
the collection agencies are knocking, dear -
it sounds much like the knock of death
in Beethoven's ninth;
the mortgage barbarians are on their horses
and they send writs and auction threats
and re-possessions
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
O hang on, sweetheart,
hang on tight:
many will fall, many will bleed
but those who hang on tight
and those who can love
those who can dream together
they will ride the nights out into clear day
hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
**Christmas lights dangling
from the roof to the floor.
Mistletoe hung up on the door.
Christmas is coming get up
and decorate your lane.
Don't leave it blank and
plain. Rudolf's nose is
pomegranate red. Must
be from the cold the people
said. Hang the socks up
stuff them with candy
and be a little handy.
Gingerbread cookies
aren't baked yet. Should
we worry or just get in
a hurry. Christmas is
coming. Christmas is
coming. Oh Karl would
you get the door i think
i can hear Christmas
Carols**
Oh dear the cookies aren't baked yet
And I’m looking bad too
*Stop worrying about that honey
I’m always here for you*
Oh don’t forget to set the mistletoe
On our old oak door
*Right so please stop worrying
I’ve place the socks too*
Come on now, come on now
We got to go
There’s tons of discounts
For us on that store
*Can’t we just stay, just stay
Inside of our house
I’m freezing cold now
So timeout of this winter wonderland*
So now it’s 12MN
People outside are calling “Yoo-Hoo”!
Come out now
‘Cause it’s quite lovely
To stroll around with you
*Let me drink this med
Then I’ll come with you
Though I’m kinda sick
Let us enjoy the evening view*
**Settle down with me and help
me out with this eggnog. We can
gather around the tree instead of
strolling out endlessly and free
while the snow falls on our blood
red cheeks. Dinner is ready on the
stove. Tell me if it’s well cooked
or a bit raw. The Holidays make
the adrenaline kick in. That explains
why we’re over stressing on everything
since the day had begun. Now settle
down *** and sip your eggnog with
me while I turn on the lights on our
lovely Christmas
tree** ~
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
with bodies relaxed,
but eyes observant,
they sell
five dollar bags of
***** weedy poetry
mixed clientele,
there is no age or gender or ****** preference
discrimination,
certainly none requiring critical taste,
in the buying and selling of
***** weedy poetry
commercial savants,
organized by topic,
available for purchase
love, depressing, rants and whines,
discounts for pre-owned
anti boyfriend rhymes
in his day, they say,
Whitman partook,
ferried up from his Brooklyn nook,
William Carlos Williams too,
from New Jersey came,
better to understand
the most common patois
they'll do custom stuff,
the suppliers,
mix and blend all
kinds of ****
their database exponential,
give them the
requisite hashtags,
and within it,
in it,
thirty minutes,
no more,
they'll requisition,
providing an acquisition -
you'll get your
name-your-own-hash,
Freedom
to entitle your own
***** weedy poetry
or you could grow you own
on the window sill
in the earth of your discarded
despair
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
A Long Long Time Ago
Came a Man without an Ego.
He would Sell Fine Lemonade.
And as Time Passed by
Many Many did accolade.
As time passed by
His clients got bored
And slowly dwindled.
So he had to offer perks
And good discounts.
Soon came many more
who would offer Lemonade and more.
The Market Place got Crowded
And Thousands also doubted.
The Original Seller
had to do something
Else would be wiped out forever.
Retorted to Brainwashing his Clients
Spreading Lies and Deceits.
Some came in his sway.
Soon many Sellers went away
And a few still decided to stay.
Now the Original Seller is still selling.
The Old Lemonade in a new way.
But is always so scared of a few.
Aware that the lemonade has to change.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC
First poem of the Day: Yes Ma'am!
The discussion that follows is pertinent,
If you are over a certain age limit,
Whereby, having survived, you are entitled
To certain discounts that shall remain nameless
(Still reading? cool)
Having recently entered said stratosphere,
I became painfully aware,
There is no precision tool created that
A man can call his woman in public
Without setting off fiery eyebrow raising
Let's state the facts:
She gorgeous, she's hot,
She goes tango dancing after 10 PM
With bad boys from Argentina and the Ukraine
But that is not the problem, for she loves
Her poet's nookery, like he adores her cookery
No, my issue is more conventional,
Indeed, not boundary breaking sensational,
It is ticklishly delicious,
I don't know how to introduce her in public,
Or in a quaint phrase, in polite company
She has rejected
Lover
GF
Mi amore
Woman,
Companion
Hardly indiscreet and something the world has quite accepted,
Tho she dances nightly, on this particular dilemma,
She provides no guidance, dancing here too,
All around the problem
One day she intro'd me as her fav poet,
To which I acknowledged by addressing her as
My number one fan,
Which seems to have stuck,
so I acknowledge her as such,
And always add a polite, respectful, winking,
Yes ma'am!
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
integrity must've been a four-letter word
seeing how you can only see syllables
as you stole every last bit of sense
that anyone around you ever heard of
just to make some sense of your own
honing the skill set for nothing in life
but the simplicity of generalities
overcompensation for the lack of love
and loving the compensation all give
unknowingly, robbed blind; now blinded
shouting every four letter word
they count for the actual lettering.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is November’s poem. Enjoy!
Thirty-three years old.
A brother lost.
A father fighting on.
A mother standing tall.
I feel brave.
Only death can defeat me.
It nearly did.
Still, I stand.
We all do.
We are like trees in a windstorm.
Life discounts me.
That is its mistake.
We've been to the brink.
We've stared over the cliff.
Edges are nothing to be feared.
Life defined in two parts.
My own personal B.C. and A.D.
Before destroys me.
The next is mine.
With bated breath.
I turn the page.
I begin writing a new chapter.
Much will be said of this time.
It is my beacon of hope.
These hours are mine.
Numbers on a wall,
Each with a purpose.
Let's use this story.
Let's save a soul.
November 3rd can change things.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC
No need to worry, they really do care
They'll fight fires with floods, droughts with monsoons
If things go to **** they'll go to the moon
If you get too hot, they'll smoke out the sun
They've even got discounts on water and air!
No worry, no fretting, no fear
They won't tolerate hunger
They'll beat sickness with numbers
They'll hire us all on
To build them a new atmosphere
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 6:28 PM UTC
Anything for a friend
Means not only petty favours
Or discounts on coffee.
Kindness, is it really?
At 3am, holding your hair back
Mouth waters, yearning for a taste
Of the promised land, so close.
Kindred matchstick kindle
Almost small enough to slip through the cracks.
"Malady, my lady, I have none."
Only silver strength and iron will.
Killing you with a smoulder, caressing lost lover
As surely as the nuMbing cOld finally maKes you feel anything at all.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
this world is a tough place to make it.
for artists striving and struggling, in every corner of the artistic world, it's tough everywhere.
so, friends, strangers...
I wanted to share with you my newest expedition.
Hand-picked vintage finds from across the world.
By yours truly.
https://www.etsy.com/shop/spectrallightvintage
Check it out,
tell your friends,
maybe you'll find exactly what you've been searching for.
Stay tuned for new product, updates, and exclusive discounts for my fellow poets.
Thank you so much for your support.
xoxo
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
The crowd has waited since 5 am
there’s been much talk
about the discounts at 8.30
So there’s the long queue and this man
comes right up to the front
and the outraged crowd punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the impertinent man gets up
and walks again to the front of the queue
and the justifiably angry crowd
punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the determined man gets up
like Rocky
and walks again to the front of the queue
and again the no-nonsense crowd
punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the obstinate man gets up yet again
and he mumbles, like Rocky:
“If these idiots hit me again, I’ll not open the store for 'em!”
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:24 AM UTC
Time runs through her promises
and discounts them
one by one
for such are these cart wheels
made to unravel the stony path
and yonder the Ash
jowl to cheek
their longevity snaps
soiled by the wood-colliers
we tread pebbles
that fornicate with the dead
laying haphazardly
to unburden their endeavour,
de-fragmented
a Memory of un-feasibility
proclaims the broken Path
and purchased here for eternity
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
Without fail, I receive plenty of coupons in the mail
Everyday whether it's rain, snow, or hail they're delivered and received like wind to a sail
These discounts add up to savings of tremendous amounts
Of dollars, euros, or pounds
If I was a vampire on Sesame Street, I still couldn't count
What they say out loud never explains the fine print
Cause the pay won't make you proud and the left over pain charges rent
A trip to a dream world only ghosts imagine
The script seams curled and only boasts something tragic
You were promised a trip to heaven
And heaven is where you end up right after your murdered in front of 7-11
But before your ascension to the pearly gates
A pit stop in hell is what your contract states...
The neglect of human life is what you didn't expect, but despair shows no regret
Don't forget... before you accept
Your ticket to heaven promises a pit stop in hell
-J.A.M
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
Everybody wants a piece of him,
His stride eats away at my sleeve,
Handsome sickness discounts urgency
And that’s a tough row to *** today.
Everybody wants a piece of him,
You can keep your feelings to yourself,
Handsome sickness discounts urgency
It’s true y’know you’ll spark mouth tomorrow.
Don’t talk, don’t talk back
Don’t talk, don’t talk back
There, there,
Our work is never done
There, there,
Our work is never done
Never done, no
Everybody wants a piece of him,
Can you keep your secrets to yourself?
Fix your gaze, you’re not bleeding
So what side are your urges on?
Everybody wants a piece of him,
His stride eats away at my sleeve,
Handsome sickness discounts urgency
And that’s a tough row to *** today.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC