"finances" poems
We are renters
Living off leased land
Never land owners
Years of finances poured into revolving doors
and recycled down into intricate designs creeping beyond the
comprehension of the reasonable woman
(or man)
Why do we fear so much the need for one another?
Desperately flattening desire into hardened emotion
We can't even breathe properly anymore
Oozing smoke and conspiracies out of our pores;
anxiety became our lifeblood
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
healthy relationships can never be developed overnight. Conscious efforts, thoughtful gestures, quality time and sacrifices are the keys to become a healthy couple. Developing strong relation with your partner demands effort and time. And to make your relation everlasting, a consistent positive approach is a must.
Healthy couples always keep a positive approach towards their relation with each other. Healthy couples build their relationship with everyday efforts. They agree to the fact that relationships need regular nurturing.
At times we get caught in the negative spur of everyday life. We are having problems at job, finances are failing, kids are sick, arguments with colleagues and many such turmoils of daily life influence our emotions and ultimately our relationships.
Healthy couples always focus on the positive qualities of the partner in rough times. Whenever you are frustrated, make a conscious effort to focus on the things you admire and appreciate about your spouse.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
Not all men insecure because their spouse makes more money.
The man just happy to have a loving partner.
It's those males with sensitive egos.
Who complains about his lady bringing home more bread?
Who let the old role of a man dictates to them?
While many males isn't lumped together with them.
Take those ladies at the top.
They don't brag about it.
Because they earned the position to be there.
And don't need anything or anyone to uplift them.
They solely believes action speaks louder than words.
Yes, many males comfortable with a working spouse.
That's just more percentage of money to assist in helping the finances of the house.
You might read an article of two.
Boasting of a woman in a man's field.
Or, what it use to be?
And look closely at the writer.
It's mostly written probably by a woman.
Who first brought up the subject of making more than most men.
Except , many aren't upset.
If they know she has the experience.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
***
Way to fleece…
A taxpayer
They’ve got us singing the blues
And we’re not down for all that jazz*… leave that to the Sax player
We remain mind boggled by these selfish ‘leaders’
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… ‘Dude! Way to bleed us!’
We’re already scraping the floor for crumbs… are they trying to run our finances into the ground?
“You work for us you pompous ********** it’s not the other way around...”
Midnight meetings in secretive silence
We preferred it when their nonsense made a sound
We’re ashamed and infuriated
But what makes it worse is that we’re not surprised
It’s like they strive to be truly hated… and yes, they've gotten themselves despised
More and more by the day
As each day goes by
We would throw them all out if we could
And our actions would be understood
Unfortunately we can’t do this for they are skilled at defiance
Masters of political science
And at it they are that good
Liars
Cheats
The campaigning politician...
Seducing us with deceit when he comes out on the street
To make his energetic speech
And then...
The elected Member of Parliament...
Only campaigns for his financial gain
Once he’s assured that for a whole term his position is permanent
That’s where they've slipped up, and I thought they were a smart lot
Schemious at least
Such a wrong move in an election year
Do they not fear… getting dropped by the voter?
Two hundred and twenty four MP’s… dead weight in deep water
And can’t swim
Should they have asked for my advice prior, I would have told them to simply cease and desist
“Do not dive in…”.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
the girlie man of Australian politics
had the term coined just for him
the tough man Arnie Schwarzenegger
from California was thinking of him
Bill Shorten is a *****
when it comes to fiscal matters
that's why his statements
on the budget are all in tatters
soft approaches toward
spending will never do
the nation's finances are in need
of a tightening *****
the treasury office stats
don't mislead of go awry
a salient tale they tell
about a well running dry
there are no Jesus Christ figures
in Canberra to divide the loaves and fishes
a certain amount is in the nation's war chest
which must fulfill the people's many wishes
the Shorten alternative economic policy
has great sieve holes in it
the nation's well being under it
would be rendered unfit
at the end of the day
the taxpayer always pays
so the ledger should be in balance
without any stalling delays
fiscal responsibility
is good for a nation's health
marshmallow centered Shorten
has no interest in stock piling our wealth
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
Who controls our banking?
Ruinous fees for money lending.
Who questions their investing?
Why so dear for money dealing?
Who does profit from accounting?
Our finances they're controlling,
While our economy they're ruining,
They're amassing fortunes pecuniary,
Big business for them, commercially.
Let's question their accountability
For our faceless Australian economy,
Profits overseas they're sending---
So much for Australian banking!!!
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
I think often
Of breastfeeding
The tip of my ****** tickling his skin-thin upper gum.
In my imagination
It is many minutes of calm
I cup his head
Which fits into a palm and a half
My body is full
With his quiet innocence.
I imagine trying to imagine
How much he doesn’t know
All the ***** things
This action may mean one day
How he doesn’t know
What a kitchen is
Or a mortgage or an income
His fears are not boring.
Mine are of finances and guilt
His involve teethed creatures and deaf silences.
He does not know what it means
For the time to be 3:15
Nor can he comprehend
The recentness of his existence.
I and the cat are nocturnal
He lives in intervals.
We associate babies
With a soft pink
I imagine
Looking into his eyes
Two wrinkly slits
Wondering how to
Confirm this.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
"You're ******* your life away Bobby," screamed Auntie Abhaya in her native tongue. Malayalam has many nuances and maybe a better translation is, "lightning currents from your privates and blast River Ganga, streaming your soul away." Dravidian poetics go as such and Auntie Abhaya seemed to have quite dramatic flare. In any case, cousin Bobby was once again, drunk. Auntie Ay, as we lovingly referred to her, in her fearless way, was having nothing of it. Worse yet, seems Bobby had funded his ****** with rupees stolen from Auntie Chhaya's purse. A storm of tears she was, in the corner of the humble hut they all resided in, in Kerala.
Kerala's backwaters wash in from the Arabian Sea. Tropical delicacies abound; markets filled with fish, pineapple and coconut groves, and an array of spice that keep the main agricultural commerce of India most enticing to the rest of the world. Yet, life earnings are hard and for some hard habits easy to pick up. This was truest in Bobby's case, though he did try and try to make his family proud.
As I was only a guest in this loving but burdened home, and recognizing a family crisis at hand, I and my traveling partner put forth finances lost to ensure our safe return to Mumbai north in Maharashtra and not embarrass our host family any longer. Though we had touched a Garden of Eden, the lesson of banishment was still at hand.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
See the Republican,
Hop, hop, hop.
Hack up the welfare laws
Chop, chop, chop.
See him getting wealthy,
Shop, shop, shop.
Watch all our forests go
Drop, drop, drop.
Teflon coated Republican,
Crook, crook, crook.
Put him in a prison cell,
Book, book, book.
Fine him for every dime he
Took, took, took.
Check out his finances,
Look, look, look.
Hear the Republican,
Lie, lie, lie.
Selling out constituents,
Sigh, sigh, sigh.
Writing up new voting laws,
Cry, cry, cry.
Cutting breaks for all the rich,
Why, why, why?
Smell the Republican,
Stink, stink, stink.
Defender and a patriot,
Wink, wink, wink.
Master of the magic trick,
Blink, blink, blink.
Hater of the common man,
Fink, fink, fink.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Red faced and wasted
I saw you naked
And fell in love
With your ancient body
Gone is the impulse to run
And all i can do now
Is to write simply
Lies and truth
Mixed together
Like oil and vinegar
We are fumigating
Our own bodies
Remove these carbon copies
And quietly daydream
About the faces of lost
Summer lovers
Fundraisers say goodbye
To yesterday's vacations
Just as we long to cry
We catch ourselves
Smiling for a moment
What do the turtles wish to communicate
Are we awake in our shells
Or have we fallen into the spell of limitation
Consternation and ************
Facts and figures receive their adulation
While we attract only tender triangulations
Please finish up your investigation
I blame you for instigating this comedy
A catalyst of abomination and dichotomy
Which followed me into retirement
Let's give banquets back to the government
And return to ancient lands
Devoted to camels and drunken apologies
It's apocryphal
Pornographic phantasmagoria
Fantastic fan-fictions
Describing sacredly sadistic rituals
Glorious duality
Radically alters our expectations
Yet manages to satisfy your frustrations
In dissimilar situations
We liberate our agitation and consternation
Over magazines and barnacles
We are more conspicuous
Than an empty gap in the sky
Made by two constellations
Taking a long vacation
Intrepid sailors raise their sails
And navigate by stars and compasses
Renaissance dancers are porous instigators
They initiate our imitations
We dream of political sovereignty
To remediate these tragedies
I breathe warfare and cleanse the air
Of apathetic non-negotiaters
Harboring criminals like butterflies
Sometimes the means do justify your eyes
Targets never argue
And bullets never lie
Finances and fiancées
Certainly have some value
Yet we underrate our skies
Miles of lost continents
Drift out from your skin
We begin an embargo
Hoping in the future we will win
Metaphysical furniture
Effects the state of mind you're in
The record players turned down
But you heat me up to begin
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 4:05 PM UTC
Dear father in Heaven,
Father I come before you as I am
I come before you as a SINNER
Asking for FORGIVENESS
In the name of JESUS,
As I reach to you father
I ask that you reach out to me
In the name of JESUS,
Father you know all about me
You know all about my troubles
You said you wouldn't put
More on me than I can bare
I know YOUR WORD
Doesn't come back void,
So father I WILL
Lay down my BURDENS
And bring my problems to you
In the name of JESUS,
Father I THANK YOU
For sending your only begotten SON
To die on the CROSS for my MY SINS
And for that I am grateful
And I THANK YOU
In the name of JESUS,
You made me in YOUR IMAGE
And I know the way I have
Been going about isn't
Pleasing IN YOUR SIGHT
But yet you still give me chances
And I THANK YOU
In the name of JESUS,
You are with me even when
I'm not with myself
And I THANK YOU
In the name of JESUS,
You do have my heart
I do want eternal life in Heaven
I do want to walk with you
I do accept you as MY SAVIOR
I am Thankful for your HOLY SPIRIT
I do THANK YOU for my kids
I do THANK YOU for my family
I do THANK YOU for life itself
I do THANK YOU for my love ones
I do THANK YOU for the lovely woman you sent me
Most importantly...
I THANK YOU for YOU
In the name of JESUS,
Father I ask you to
Heal my mind
Heal my heart
Heal my body
Heal my kids and their mothers
Heal my SPIRIT
Heal my SOUL
Heal my SPIRITUAL MIND
Heal my troubled ways
Heal my finances
Heal ALL my love ones
In the name of JESUS,
Father I bless your name
In the name of JESUS,
Father I ask you to
Watch over my kids
Their mother's
And their household's
And keep them safe and protected
And COVERED IN YOUR BLOOD
In the name of JESUS,
Father I ask you to
Watch over my love ones
And their household's
And keep them safe and protected
And COVERED IN YOUR BLOOD
In the name of JESUS,
Father I ask you to
Watch over me and my household
And keep us safe and protected
And COVERED IN YOUR BLOOD
In the name of JESUS,
Father I ask you to
Watch over others
As this world continues to unfold
In the name of JESUS,
Father as I end this prayer
I not only want to THANK YOU
For my good days
I want to also THANK YOU
For the worst days I have had
In the name of JESUS,
Father as I close my eyes
I ask that you watch over me
And that NO WEAPON
Formed against me SHALL PROSPER
In the name of JESUS,
In JESUS name I pray
In the name of
THE FATHER
THE SON
AND of THE HOLY SPIRIT
Amen.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
the invisible hand is in my pocket
pilfering everything
and there's nothing i can do
to stop it from robbing me blind
it does not guide it only destroys
personal expression under the
whims of an outmoded model of economics
capitalism
a philosophy that subscribes
to the metaphysical conclusion
that a spiritual malady
plagues every human heart
a harsh chorus that rings like a melody
of triumph in the multi-million dollar
mansions of the 1%
convinced we're born selfish
it seeks to reward us for our own malpractice
an edict predicated on social darwinism
that forestalls the possibility of future charity
as it drowns in the throes
of misanthropy and butchers any hope
of philanthropic community or basic humanity
to vanquish our more maleficent impulses
relegated to paying taxes
to ensure the illusion of security
while our money finances endless
war and police brutality rather than
healthcare or education
they know if they keep us sick and dumb
they can get away with ******
if the population shirks in horror
from the looming specter of terrorism
they can justify ubiquitous surveillance
that robs us of our right to
self-determination but
people should not be afraid of their governments
governments should be afraid of their people
they say we can't be trusted
that this is for our own good
but i'll call their bluff that
bull on Wall St. is full of ****
and like a matador i'll entice it to
lower its horns and charge
when itsjust a hairsbreadth away
i'll turn to one side and let it skewer
the slave-driver raising his whip behind me
that same skulking shadow that turns
veterans into homeless wanderers begging
for loose change in Central Park
a pale horse haunting the aspirations
of college students it
leaves the poor and
oppressed shivering after dark and
overburdens broken backs
god doesn't hold up the world
like Atlas we shoulder the globe
now watch us shift the weight
brought down by the people you tried to suppress
this is not some petty expression of vengeance
but the rallying cry of a dream deferred
exploding out to meet your injustice
mark my words
we're taking over the world
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Verse 1
on the stock market floor lay losses galore
and in time they'd be redeemed
a price collapse saw the upward trend end
it would be a long haul pulling it out of the pall
ooh, ooh and in time they'd be redeemed
busted at the seams were all the investment schemes
putting paid to fortune's prosperity
the dream run had less future's equity
New York's exchange took a hammering
Chorus
ooh, troubled was the trading
ooh, troubled was the trading
Verse 2
as we watched the steep downward slide
the money men didn't feel like smiling
a wrecking bear had hit finances in the kitty
shocking became the fiscal outlook
Chorus
ooh, troubled was the trading
ooh, troubled was the trading
Verse 3
and the homeless dwellers in the slums
look in bins for something to eat
and they've no dosh to buy a passage out
and this is their unfair place in society
once the cream could be skimmed
yet nothing is left but life's grieving
on and on the losing streak goes
there's always a cycle of poverty
and troubled was the trading
resigned to fate's course of lows
the market floor held in distress
gloom beset the bright lights in dull tones
your redeeming breath can be inhaled
an injection of capital will aid
ghetto dwellers all in want
wealth is but for the few
monied folk posses the long bond
forgotten all the people in need
values riding on a share price
who is listening to the tune
it tells of crash and of boom
this we all know too well
Outro
and in time they'd be redeemed
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
She was in a panic; her husband was dead,
while the fear of dread had filled her head.
The local creditor wanted to enslave her sons;
she desired to keep her family from being undone.
She observed the seriousness of her situation
and sought the prophet for an inspired solution.
In their meeting, Elisha asked about her resources,
to determine a course of action, for him to endorse.
“With my spouse gone, my finances have been despoiled;
all that is left, is but a small container of oil.”
“Listen carefully my sister, and I’ll instruct you
with the needed wisdom, for your divine break-through.
Seek out your neighbors, for many, empty pots and jars;
be diligent in your search, with friends, near and far.
Once you have completed your first task of collection,
lock yourselves inside, with the jars in your possession.
Then take your original vial of olive oil and begin to pour,
filling each, empty vessel, behind the safety of your door.
For once you start, you will see the blessings of God flow,
according to your level of faith, His grace He will bestow.”
One at a time, she filled a cleaned vessel and set it aside;
when she was finished, her and her family were teary-eyed.
Upon further instruction, she sold the oil, paid her debts,
and was thankful, that their future needs were… completely met.
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
2 Kings 4:1-7
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
She thinks if she travels to foreign lands- even if
it is only by dating an ethnic man- that she can
scale the high walls of the borders between what she
was taught and who she hopes she is.
Having followed blindly her predestination programmed life
she can’t resist taking squinted peeks through the
tiny open slits of vision, hoping to find her true self.
“You are losing the faith!” her anxious mother warns
as though to do so would be an inherent flaw,
not a conscious choice.
But Mother’s own faith
has been slipping through her hands for the past
30 years, and only that promised salvation can save
her from the indiscretions that fill the non-rapturous void
left-behind by mister Christian-right-wing-man.
Taught well by mother, father, and god, that men
must be assessed in a purely logical fashion,
“Agree on finances and childrearing and you will
have happily ever.”
But she feels fake, and does not know how
to peel the plastic wrap off her personality.
You can see its bindings in the way her eyes implore you
and how she clasps her hands on her lap by rote.
She is the pink peg in the Hasbro Game of Life car
with guilt trip road blocks, detours and poorly folded
directional maps. Spinning the wheel in search of tour guides:
What should I read? What should I think?
But that only gives her new mind instructors.
Perhaps instead of foreign languages and foreign lands,
the verity lies in the realization that mother
probably feels fake too.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
I am walking on a trail I am uncertain of
Reaching for the stars while hopelessly grasping for the ground underneath my broken feet
I am touching your tears afraid that if I do not wipe them away you’ll wipe me away
The thought of you in pain always makes me feel like throwing up
Someone as precious as you should never understand what it means to be hopelessly alone while surrounded by people who love you
I am afraid to understand the misery that lies beneath your more than somber smiles
I’m following a journey written out to me by the government
Spending money I don’t have
Hopelessly aiming for a future where I can provide for you and help everyone who’s ever helped me
This accumulative debt is a spark in my check book
Ruining my finances but helping me achieve something greater than myself
I could never write poems the way you write music
And every time I look in the mirror I see a missing piece of me and I cannot find it no matter where I look
I’m trying to find myself alongside you
Afraid that you’ll be another to leave me behind and achieve grand things without me
Even if I am a lowly writer
Even if I am a hopeful poet
Even if I am a hopeless person
I need a sense of fulfillment to keep me alive
I am a train and no one is filling my coal
I have stopped on the tracks of life and I do not know which way to go
There are storms rolling in and the thunder is so loud that I cannot hear myself scream
My heart beats at an exponential rate and I no longer know if I want it to finally explode
Or for it to just stop
The clickity clacking of my fingers typing away on my keyboard is music
So I am a musician just like you
Only my instrument of choice is my growing vocabulary and my lyrics don’t always make sense
But I am still walking
Sometimes I run to a destination I’m certain doesn’t exist
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
the days of the Great Depression
bought recession
Wall Street dipped
values slipped
the economy wasn't in the pink
dollars did sink
finances lost
high was the cost
the stock market in a dark well
for it wasn't well
some years it took
fixing the book
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
Targets never argue
And bullets never lie
Finances and fiancées
Certainly have some value
Yet we underrate our skies
Miles of lost continents
Drift out from your skin
We begin an embargo
Hoping in the future we will win
Metaphysical furniture
Effects the state of mind you're in
The record player is turned down
Heat me up and we'll begin
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
Who and Where in the World is Shaunna Harper?
A young poetess here at HP, a story teller, herein a Mashup, excerpts from her writings. Do not overlook her...
You hold your breath,
stagnant, absent
in the station,
trains grumbling about leaving
and about waiting,
people passing, chattering
about nothing
they are actually thinking about;
*** cheap wine, finances,
time, romances and of course,
the weather.
You stand on the platform
between two trains,
puffing fumes and
oil from its brains.
In your throat
somewhere
you mime the sounds
of a goodbye speech,
the silent, strained
words false even in
unspoken terms,
the ever-after of remorse,
the frailty of indecision.
I am somewhere either in the woods,
walking in the enormity of your shoes,
or in the water, making feeble shapes,
hoping to find you in the blue.
Not a child, ill with misfortune.
One of a kind, she dances
to her own gypsy tune,
free, enviable, fresh
to ears and eyes, not used,
like you or me,
or abused, immune to lies.
I am heading for a shock.
I am leaving home and arriving
only God knows where,
bags empty, head full,
and the place my roots took hold
is never going to look the same.
The win is not important,
only the playing of the game,
and the rules have been rewritten.
With every step covered,
I am someone else, somewhere else,
and only the disorientation remains.
I cannot make up my mind
from my dreams.
Chasing planes from buses
to cleaner places
better places
leaner places
the brittle, broken
fingernails chewed
to fray the anxiety.
America, I’m on my way.
Bury me in your deserts,
throw me to your cities
let my future do what it will
in its own sweet time.
Give me my fury.
Keep me swinging.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
I’m not a piece of ****
**** you.
I’m sorry I still live here.
**** you.
I wasn’t drinking your whiskey.
**** you.
Now I’m drinking your whiskey.
**** you.
You nearly ended us.
**** you.
You make more excuses than I ever have.
**** you.
You think you’re a queen.
**** you.
I still love you dearly.
**** you.
Every word you say is distasteful.
**** you.
I could write a book with your negativity.
**** you.
You inspired this negativity.
**** you.
At what point did you turn into such a *****
**** you.
You say I’m worthless and undeserving.
**** you.
You used to get drunk and say sorry.
**** you.
Now you get drunk and turn your cheek.
**** you.
I’m sorry I’ve been such a detriment to our finances and everything else.
**** you.
I’m sorry I’ve scared you.
**** you.
Were you even scared?
**** you.
I believe you were.
**** you.
Yes, I smoked a cigarette in the house.
**** you.
And no, I didn’t go upstairs and take your stupid ******* blanket.
**** you.
Get over it, you ****
**** you.
I’m sorry for using the C word.
**** you.
****** and **** are two words you have shamed me for using.
**** you.
Keep listening to radiohead, especially the songs on the ******* radio.
**** you.
I tried to show you a song I wrote and you listened and I appreciated it.
**** you.
I saw the number 222 just now.
**** you.
I’m not trying my best but at least I’m ******* trying.
**** you.
Spiritual experiment, my ***
**** you.
I don’t want to listen to you two ****
**** you.
I’m ending this now so I can sleep without nightmares.
**** you.
I’m tired of saying **** you.
**** you.
I love you.
**** you.
I feel sick typing it over and over again.
**** you.
But really, get a ******* clue.
**** you.
Stop living in your universally harmful demeanor.
**** you.
Go to sleep and wake up a different person.
**** you.
Not too much different.
**** you.
Just not such a nasty *****
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
The sound of silence.
Peace after violence.
A mother’s browbeaten servitude.
A child’s coerced gratitude.
The world’s most prosperous nations.
Architects of the most dangerous machinations.
Economies like never before;
A life that still leaves you wanting more.
The embezzlement of public finances.
The settlement of a case’s nuances.
Two colluding entities declaring each other free of ******
With ease, starving YOUR wallet until YOU are down on your knees.
The oath: ‘to protect and serve.’
The reality? ‘To suspect and unnerve.’
A cartel that’s in charge of the guns;
Like leaving a brothel in the hands of Huns.
The lie of representation in government.
The election, expectation of endowment.
Spending your life washing your master’s feet,
Then somehow being surprised by their trickery and deceit.
The mistake of prioritising convenience.
The finalising of our own, eventual obsolescence.
We are a species that will die
Clueless of our role in it, desperately asking ‘why?’
When it’s way too late.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
Upper right corner
Name scripted through steady paced motion
Blue development keeping her hand on track
Pulse line flat, steady paced motion
To articulate is to pull from within, to reach down and put names on your demons
Hello my name is "tired and weak"
Hello my name is "he only calls when he drinks"
Hello my name is "I smoke a habit my finances can't keep afloat"
Hello my name is "give me your aproval, but dont look for too long, it scares me"
Hello my name is "Sunday afternoon listening"
Name scripted through steady paced motion
To articulate is to recognize, to acknowledge the closet door shut with bitten lip smile
Pulse line flat, steady paced motion
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
prices for car insurance and registration are too dear
when we part with our dollars we cry an odd tear
there is little or nothing we can do about the rising costs
they make on our finances such outlandish imposts
seemingly our money supply is dwindling away
as all we ever do is fork out dollar after dollar to pay
the days of owning a care shall come to an end
we've not enough money to handle this friend
those of us who rely on a car in the countryside
are not getting a good insurance or registration ride
horse and cart transport we'll have to rejuvenate
as the cost of keeping a car on the road does exasperate
to-day at the motor registry they'll be a lot like me
who'll be miffed with the ever increasing fees
we'll have a grumble and a bit of a whinging session
about how these costs can leave our wallets in recession
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Man's love of money...
I love it too. It results in
Food, drink and shelter
For my loved ones. But...
On days when my back
Won't straighten properly,
When my carpenter's elbow, rugby
Knee and boxer's hands
Impair me
I ask myself
How many hours I've worked
To pay just
Interest.
How many banker's cigars
And Department of Finances-
Screw-ups I've
Funded with
What's left of these knots of
Muscle and bone that
Are moving towards giving
Up the guitar.
Haven't owned a new one
Since '94 anyway.
So if what I've heard is correct,
Five percent
Of the world's population
Earn ninety percent of all
Money made.
Somebody very high up
Should be fired.
When I'm dead
I'll ask to see
The books.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC