"dividend" poems
234
You’re right—”the way is narrow”—
And “difficult the Gate”—
And “few there be”—Correct again—
That “enter in—thereat”—
‘Tis Costly—So are purples!
’Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the “Discount” of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—”Death“!
And after that—there’s Heaven—
The Good Man’s—”Dividend“—
And Bad Men—”go to Jail”—
I guess—
8.1k
Day's end, sun's caisson doth wend
Residual rays a respite to append
Twilight's shroud dreary dividend
Swirls of gray into firmament blend
Vestments of light shed sacral veil
Luna's naked, pale orb flashes its spell
Twinkling sprites across dark tides sail
Constellation's mystical portents braille
Nyx, Erebos eclipse Hemera's blithe melody with bass duet
Earth's warmed bed yields its thermal blanket
Ocean tides move in rhythmic tandem to cadence of lunar clarinet
Swarming shadows stalk each footstep paring each dark secret
Greek gods
Nyx: goddess of Night
Erebos: goddess of Darkness
Hemera: goddess of Day
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 6:35 AM UTC
My missionary work, to an extent,
has been accomplished under grace;
most of the poetry I’ve composed
has been shared with the World,
with the intent of drawing others
towards The Kingdom and the face
of Christ, beloved Lord and Savior.
Pushed far out of my comfort zone,
I’ve taken this notion of identity,
that’s found solely in my Christ,
and pushed bravely forward with it-
at the dismay of brethren who bemoan
the label of Christian poet and author.
I can’t and won’t apologize for actions
taken to glorify God through evangelism;
Christ is the living Word; His Truth
courses through my spirit, as I explore
my Faith and understanding of Salvation.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Thes 5:19 and
"A life fully lived out for Jesus is never a wasted life, because in it the true reward starts only the moment one dies, and from that time on wards the dividend for the earthly investment they made continues to comes back without limit for the eternity that is ahead of them." —Abraham Israel
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
May we not discuss long run dividend payments model today?
Student asks.
Can you suggest which Deal Model is suited for us?
Lecturer replies:
Deal or No deal
Posh eggs or humble eggs
were not at BREXIT hands
A voice of Saint chanting:
Where there is a will there is always a deal.
Is this the best moment to have a silent choir class instead?
Lecturer announces.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 7:28 AM UTC
1195
What we see we know somewhat
Be it but a little—
What we don’t surmise we do
Though it shows so fickle
I shall vote for Lands with Locks
Granted I can pick ’em—
Transport’s doubtful Dividend
Patented by Adam.
1.5k
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light could the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
In theory, we're demoralized,
In practice, neutralized,
But with force we analyze
What happens around us.
Sanctimonious ********
Pulling our plastered limbs
To an ever lasting fight,
Against forces of evil? Where are we?!
Black veils on their faces
Dark tears in the traces
Marked by the graves that are left behind.
Apathetic pathetic pythons biting the bits and piecing the peace that pits you against your brother.
Pompous posers pushing pampered ideas into our polluted brains.
Anti-idealistic contenders competing for riches and a nice comfy throne.
Plausible pseudo-righteous imposers asking for an applause for all the ill-witted words they shed.
Rectify the wrong wriggled reason riddling wibble fed to feeble citizens.
We sit here waiting for divine intervention,
Well divinity's gone! Not to mention the tension,
All these factors and factions, the fact is we're dying, and they're not helping.
Something drives them, something we don't understand, but who has the guts to ask them what it is?
Our blood has become the dividend divided among the not-so-united lands that fall under a geographical, categorized country of hell.
In this hell we live in, we've become minions of liberal less-than-mediocre minds ironically not minding their own business, feeding off of ours.
Intertwined, undermined, understand the outer line, see the truth, feel the crime, freedom's yours. Freedom's mine.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light can the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound
In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 6:33 AM UTC
7 hours of torrential rain
driving slowly while insane
420 minutes of Country Music
which you know I hate
interspersed with idiosyncratic ads
that make a mockery of others fate
84 cigarettes flow out of the ashtray
one lit by the other as the miles
faded away. The glaring orange tip
as it burnt down to ash and died
is the only reason I lit another
thinking of you and my hope
to keep you alive
for just one more mile.
Please be ok...
Less than 1/3 of a day ago
I picked up my phone only to hear
several tears, and a small hiccup
and heard a heart trying to be brave
and I literally dropped my life
to get into my car, which is now
my home because I breathe the same breath
as the life that is now mine to save
All I said was
I'm coming, now behave
So after 7 hours of listening to
how His and/or Her heart did someone wrong
because I can't change the station
because the radio is broken and, well
I actually do like a heartbreaking song
I'm almost there but thinking of you
my heart lurched and my whole body ******
and the Cops where there, and I'm caught
I would have been there sooner but apparently
it takes longer to write a simple ticket
when they want to be long winded
about the horrors of speeding.
I want to scream at them
***Look at my bleeding eyes
Have you seen my ashtray?
Can't you hear the garbage spewing
from my radio? Don't you think
all that adds up to I need to be on my way?***
So after 7 hours of torrential rain
overflowing ashtrays and a $540 fine
I'm next to you, in your bed
as we lay under linen sheets and whisper
to each other, about how heartbreaking
Love can be and I'm relived to be here
even as you repeat you are fine
Sleep deprivation and a small stipend
to the Law and Order that protects us
is a small dividend to pay.
And the Country Music still ringing in my ears?
is pure torture but everything
is a small price to pay
when summoned by a friend
in need
All the horrors above
are suffered gladly
You call me, I heed
You cry, I bleed
Your champion in rusty armor?
Indeed!
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
Corroding off in wreckless control
Repeated lines stretching infinitely in ambiguity
Sharp muscle relaxant mistakes
As we career off the road
Into a ravenous singularity
We are unforgiving, cynical yet synthetically joyous
Quick to pardon
Whipped with a gold leash
Delicate, leaves, Celtic music
Rubik's cubes in our throats
We're ready to let love in, willing
Nova tech, drunk masks and indication
Indignation, we clutch, we fail
Partial to conditions
Stones out of focus
Accelerate
Engines bleed borders
You are the free way
Impotent with quartz remnants
Ruins to our fantasy
You hide history
Covered in my burrow
Braking until necks break & bags burst
Powdered hair, liquid lips
Let's drive home
Go beyond the limit
Break each others bones
And crush our entities
Suffocate on suffixes
Her explanation acquits the doubt
As we appear closer than we may actually be
Industrial stacks stretch towards invisibility
Letting go of their concentrate
Gelatin mind
levitate into connection
Cups turned upside down
Entrapping ego in near vacuum
Aqua ducts bouncing off feline eyes
2 & a 4
Perfect air in a foreign atmosphere
Spinned on axis, ways to conduct
Your supply
Secede madness
Eternal order
Lungs sharply inhale with uncertainty
Hydroplaning your attempts at adultery
Decision was never your thing
Unmoving at every turn
Passion with objects
Reactions flicker between humility
It gives gifts
Your skin melts to the touch
Chocolate in magma
Molten sound deafens drench
Jealous mess, dividend
Hugging and dripping black with stability
Back, holy scripture written with integration
Sealed with treachery, acetate photography
Capturing clear innocence
Boredom and sinfulness
Spiked militant
Pencil drawn neuroses, veil
Bow down to schematics, we're radar
Sonar structure solar
It's all part of the process
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
madmen fools and nothing,
the mien — brazen, stupefied glance
and hungry for light, our words gutted
like our enemies in our ill-thought.
this road dredges, the aporetic line
sifting through new divisions, something
an equation forgets the dividend
and almost always a salient permutation
of men and women and the "takatak" boy
peddling cigarettes to claptrap ***
of metal envoys,
reciprocating some chances of restive
dreadnaught, diffusion of sweat in
scalding heat of 12:41 afternoon sun
and smoking with bystanders
unaware of the doldrum and the ennui
it was a fine day in Ortigas.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
The Last Doughboy
went marching home
mustered up to heaven
to rest in perfect peace
never went over the top
when he was over there
drove an ambulance to save
the last dying bits of humanity
excavated from the craters
reeking with mud and blood
the turgid stench
of blessed death
wafts through the
muddled labyrinth
a ghastly kingdom
of rats and men
intractable mazes
of hate, hope and waste
led by inept generals
vainglorious politicians
promising triumphant victory
while begging disastrous defeat
bold shouts of advance
lead to routed retreats
global trench warfare
the sweet earthen coffins
empathy's last gasp
compassion's last stand
gurgling lungs
gagging on gas
imploding on
clotting blood
liquid ammonia
sears sensitive retinas
wafting flash of fire
burns eyes forever shut
concussive bursts
bludgeon eardrums
ripped bodies of friends
splayed onto comrades
the macabre rouge
a terrible war paint
liberally applied
with stunning result
by the industrial rattle
of cantankerous Gatlings
better minds thought it
the war to end all wars
the horrific scenes of waste
the pleading lips of starved children
the last Doughboy saw it all
a lucky Johnny who marched home
he thought the horror of WWI
would be enough to end all wars
yet all is not quiet
on the western front
Johnny's still got lots
of gruesome guns
distressed humanity
remains very busy
carting away human rubble
from our apocalyptic trenches
go to your reward
valiant Doughboy
*"leave us citizens
of death's gray land,
drawing no dividend
from time's tomorrows."
Siegfried Sassoon*
Dedicated to
Frank Buckles
(February 1, 1901 – February 27, 2011)
Godspeed Beloved
Oakland
3/1/11
jbm
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
Last tendered lifeline sought as battered psyche under your bellowing wave rips
Final act of penance remitted from bleeding, parched lips
Hemorrhaging from bandaged sorrows that only strerile soul doth eclipse
A hollow stare from deserted strand harboring the wreckage of two, desolate ships
Posture now callous bearing the scars of your shallow, superficial preening grips
Disheveled hair, limp dividend declaring inferior complex that from each emotive strand drips
Pale, drawn face; vessel sunken from draining sinkholes as our relationship dips
Pensive smile revealing the fault line of each strained shock as chasm deeper slips
Shuttering ears filtering out the rehearsed, rhapsodic notes of your telepathic scripts
Token, parting gesture from arrhythmic heart erasing each beat as your radar blips
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 10:08 PM UTC
I'm drowning in scribbled over notes,
paragraphs of novels assigned,
questions I'm supposed to know the answers to,
conjugations I'm supposed to learn for German 2.
School work, homework, dishes, done.
sleep comes easy to the overworked.
Tired minds make assumptions too quickly,
and this is my main reasoning for never speaking.
In early morning hours,
before sleep finally comes,
I'll question everything under the sun,
and answers just won't come.
It's curse of high school living.
The curse of constantly controlled breathing,
making sure to keep pace with my heart rate,
because if I don't it may spike.
Anxiety is my daily dividend,
making sure to keep me at length from any friends,
making sure to keep me at length from any progress,
making sure to keep me afraid.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
WE ARE ENEMPT
UNLESS EVERYTHING'S PERFECT
THEN WERE THE BEST
LIKE CHICKENS NO HEADS
RUNNING AROUND FALLING DEAD
THINKING YOU NAILS HEAD
MINE! EVERYDAY STOP PLEASE
GULF OF MEXICO SAYS
PLAY THOSE GAMES INLAND
EIGHT-FIVE STILL FLOWING
BIRDS DEAD-DARK SKY
ROUGH WATERS UP AHEAD
G-D: PLEASE SEND NET
DO WHICH WE CAN'T
BOTTOM LINE-FINAL CHOICE
THERE ENDS YOUR CONCERN
HOW ABOUT LIFE AROUND
PAY DIVIDEND AFTER THEM
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 1:14 PM UTC
Robert's a bad man, sister
just look at how quick he cracks to stay alive.
What's up with that **** Maybe
deep down inside he inhabits misery.
If it's not come,
it's coming.
Can't you see it
rolling in off the mountain
like a river of clouds?
Honey, chin up.
The thing is, he
knows he's gonna get wet,
and he's running
like it's coming
whether it does or not.
Robert's a bad man who's gonna get wet.
Robert's a bad man who's gonna get it,
all at once, the ***** he's been owed
in dividend.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
an important event shall
soon take place
where two leaders will
meet face to face
the dialogue being
diplomatic in tone
whereby they'll be defending
a distinct zone
Trump and Putin
showing statesmen like skills
as they navigate the
issues with strong wills
the world anticipates
successful discussions
which won't have any
dire repercussions
their summit must reap
a dividend of accord
for not to deliver would
be serious in record
stability is the key to
good global relations
thereby ensuring cordiality
between nations
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
In those first years
we spent a lot of time
in red corduroy chairs,
the ones that came with
the house on Turner Terrace.
I would sit and watch you
when you didn’t know
I was watching, constantly
looking for a crack in
your armor,
for a little snippet of the
***** you might become,
but I never found it
and it never happened.
Your little girl wonder
had me convinced that
the world in your hands
would be safe,
no death blows,
no mean streaks,
love's foundation set deep
never to be undone by
head games or hidden agendas,
and now all these years later
I am still transfixed by
your clarity,
your complete “sheerness”.
You are my priceless
dividend of peace finally paid
from a lifetime investment
in Faith,
you came to me
when Hope had gone
and Grace was silent,
and you love me
when you don’t even know it.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
The point of no return was reached
Some years ago, the dividend was earned
And spent without regard
And now at last, the fire burns
So low that smoking unseen odors,
Mask slight glimmers in the hard
Unyielding quarter of his life not lived
Contempt, he comprehends at last
Is only in the gift of the receiver
To endure. And to the giver is awarded
The right of last refusal. The obscure acceptance
Of tithes and times, the phrase that rhymes
Rings hard upon the river stones
And echoes through the empty rooms.
This is the Threshold then; the door ahead
Firm shut against the choices. The lifeless
Voices in his frontal planes, more real in turn
Than all the living may confirm, and in their
Spheres and whispers of coincidence.
There are few options after all
Above the hooded altars in the stars.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Have been harmed by me
And indeed have harmed,
You illumine my life
And my heart
And have brought me
Face to face with
Harsh reality of love,
You showed me rage
And anger and desire
To hurt and revenge,
To disregard apology
And humility and change
In order to stab again
And this I did deserve,
However change has
Happened as admitted
By you in my embrace,
The storms of rage
Are abating and the dawn
Rises clear and gentle
With softness care and grace,
Yet now even as we reap
The dividend of peace
And I am filling that treasured
Role of partner husband
And other (albeit imperfect) half,
You turn after a queue of jobs
To say you are not sure you love me,
The cruellest blow of all
Dec 24, 2023
Dec 24, 2023 at 3:47 AM UTC
I’d only been seconds,
But my son’s brow beat
Years.
I’d nearly cry come one –
Memory, “good-bye,”
Another memory –
Abandon and face never
Remembered, only buried,
My father’s back
That very day he’d left.
I’d only been seconds,
And my son smiled
The dividend away;
Tomorrow’d be there,
The mirror would be too
And what I’d actually seen
Was my reflection, the one,
He’d never know.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
Recircled czars drenched
In the blood of despotic swayers.
Encircled proteges with the
Aura of treacherous thorns
Keeping vigils in the basilica
Of authority
Year in,
Year out .
Selfsame partners in politics,
Selfsame partners in crimes,
Selfsame partners in progress
Selfsame partners in poor
governance,
Setting subservient subjects
In perilous bays of hopelessness.
Scale of disengagement
Dangling carrots of
Intimidating threats.
Recircled ideas.
Recircled inhuman governance.
Recircled personages.
Recircled wasted years.
Deluge of prognostic plans
Sinking boats of tale.
Decades of experience yielding
Inexperienced tzars.
Torn garb of treachery
Covered up blazers of falsehood.
Stench of stasis enthroned on the
Stool of power, wrenching
corruption from the grip
of guilt.
Populace sitting on sulky
directing the horse of
hardship with the
wailful whips of
perseverance.
Epochal terms of wastages
roll in
and
roll out
like a spiraling
viperine grass
snake
beneath the
hybrids of weeds
on a crest of
spring cress.
Yet, promises promoting
Superannuated gains of
Effortless dividend.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
I once dove into your heart.
I carried you with me through the sea
and time gobbled us up like
h’ors d’oeuvres at a dinner party.
We are carnivorous creatures,
wading out into high grass
to find the meatiness of the best ****
**** them with your cling and your clenching hands)
If you could swallow my love whole,
it would take you alive
and turn you inside out before me.
If time and space did not stand between us
like a dividend from the karma corporation
for all those nasty things we’ve done,
I would place my hand on your dimpled skin
and tell you that your flesh gives me breath
and your shoulder touching my cheek
keeps me alive.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Three Wise men
were dividend on money.
The First suggested drawing
a circle in dirt's poverty,
and casting fortune to the air.
If cash lands in circle dare,
give it to the job creators.
No, said the next Scholar fair.
If luck falls outside circle's care,
give it to the job suppliers.
The last Magi quickly realized
that squandered worth never returns
from Heaven, and interest earns
nothing in God's keeping.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC