"foreclosure" poems
~
*Tonight underneath debris
Family foreclosure
...
Heaven's legs dawn through window
Offer artificial hope
...
Employee to love
Dressed for escape
...
Pleasure town angel
A multi-colored pretty thing
...
Mom questions way
Daughter drives to parties
...
Empty lips talk
**** reflection patterns
...
Death inside mom and dad
Beautifully cold skin
...
War god kiss
Midnight blue people (at dinner table)
...
Young shadows flower
Final stars fire
...
Money born cloud
Raining on remnants of family
...
Is there nothing
Left to mortgage?*
~
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 9:49 AM UTC
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Peak temperature water levels fake diagnoses white psychopaths starving hunger jingoism violence [systems that deprive us] guns entitlement shots fired accidents grief/mourning choking hazard corporate mascots corporate favoritism corporate bailouts corporate people ideology without monitor nationalism patriotism conservatives patriarchy murder-rape-suicide victim silence lack of conviction religious ********** false history infant mortality job insecurity invisible hands trickle down economics union busters corporate police brutal police evil police secret police debt bankruptcy foreclosure homelessness lost confused prisoner criminal banker war preparations propaganda ballots commercials advertisements campaigns money power puppets figureheads armies genocides **** bomb gas fire no survival violence wealthy lawyers assassinations heart complications death sleep.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Things are quite rocky in today's world wouldn't you say?
Hate is growing stronger, as a consequence love is waxing cold day by day.
Celebrities are securing riches while the rest of the world succumbs into sickness.
Everyday Americans are going into foreclosure, others can't obtain jobs to pay their monthly dues. There's even a battle on the news based on who has the right to use a particular bathroom. Simultaneously there's millions of homeless people starving and sleeping on the streets.
Meanwhile it's breaking news that Beyonce is having twins!
Still, we never hear CNN mention the pedophiles that were arrested in California. Which resulted in 450+ arrests and counting, the veil has been lifted if you have open eyes to look.
There, there you can go back to sleep now... Continue dreaming about Beyonce's twins.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC
We were drinking coffee when
depression showed up at the door of the home we built, pounding.
Eviction notice in hand,
your soul parceled out into donation bins.
Foreclosure sign,
caution tape around the chest that I slept on for a year.
I sit out in the sun
to bleach the tan line from my ring finger.
I hold cold cups and shake strangers’ hands
to erase the mould of your grasp from mine.
I want to sear off my palms.
I miss even those nights when you looked at my fire and laughed.
So I make you coffee (but I know I make it wrong);
your ghost in this house still criticizes.
I made you coffee every day because it was all I could do;
my only way of getting into you, a vector.
As the hot brew flowed past your heart, I watched,
like a child at Christmas, hoping you’d feel my love.
Hoping the glaze would clear up from your eyes.
I only wish this were a bond that stayed,
that stayed when your mind put plugs in your ears:
when I screamed and screamed that I loved you,
that I’d rock every little thing you regret to sleep.
I went to the doctor about this dizziness.
He checked my ears, he asked why my eyes were red.
This vertigo--a hurricane made by the page turning in my life.
I am a bag in your wind.
The day you left I wrote you a recipe for how you like your coffee,
because you don’t know, but I have it memorized.
My handwriting changes halfway down the page, as I change,
as you drive farther and farther away.
Our love is a child I’ve carried,
now I’m bent over, sick.
Loss took your place in our home,
but it’s unsteady on its feet;
I have to walk it from room to room.
My name has been yours, possessive.
And although these days I correct myself and say ‘I’ during speech,
My thoughts are still ‘we.’
I still think about your lungs when I cough.
So I still make us coffee every day (but I know I make it wrong).
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
Steps on the barren desert valley ground,
I'd rather be in the alley.
I'd rather be in the alley with you.
Sun burnt rocks jut out at me,
They shake their fingers at me,
"You'll never get out, it's a dead end from here."
I remember sitting out under the sun,
I remember being under the sun on the roof,
And I remember screaming at the skies,
*" Mathematics has taught me nothing,
School was nothing but sociological lies!"*
I had my verbal reasoning skills,
I had a bottle of Adderall pills,
I had my quantum physical knowledge,
I've been down the road of metaphysics,
I even had foreign language skills.
Italian artistry doesn't help you here, no.
The coyote knows best,
The wildebeast and dachshund know better.
Animal supremacy, no.
Conscious human foreclosure of higher arcane intelligence,
If it ever yielded it's presence,
Jesus would've resurrected already.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
I'm at a road block,
While the clock went tick-tock
This one here is a fighter
He sets fire, easy like a lighter
Grabbed hold of that metal tight,
Not letting go without a fight.
Heavy and heavin'
He lets go to start leavin'
His mind tortures him "Nothing but talk"
Now he's in a head lock
Knees bent, shoulder back
He's a fighter that's back in his groove and sharp as a tack
Bulldozer
He won't go into foreclosure
He never breaks his composure
He'll break through this barrier
Provin to them he ain't no longer a little terrier
But a bull... dozer
And this one here is nothing but a fighter
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
Dust settles on stones,
Turned and burned to gain
The gems grabbed in greed.
Then steal again, held in hand,
Hot from the heat of another---
What
Is really obtained in this pursuit
Of provisions, power, and pride,
Where “my mountain is bigger”
Beats “can we climb it together”;
One falls, the other wins.
Did
You intend to leave a man,
Homeless and deprived,
Leaving outside a foreclosure sign
In such despicable design
To claim “what is mine”?
You
Fought and kicked down
Enemies, spitting at the body
To establish what once envied
Now become reality through
Knuckles bruised onto faces red.
Gain
All that you want,
Despite the taunted
That will haunt those who fell
To the ground underneath
Your powerful foot.
In
Less stressful childhood times,
Remember sitting during lunch
With a pack of gummy bears,
Sorting out shapes and colors,
Asking, “would you like another?”
The
Selfishness has grown greatly
Through each passing year
Planting the seeds of tomorrow...
Contemplating this newfound greed:
Is selflessness near its
End?
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
I met a Carnival Arsonist
burlap sack around her
fiery heart, force taught
to start fires
bright, to distract her from stars.
Always sat in her ashes
Marlboro hacked up her passion
until the ferris wheel called her
to get a glimpse at her burns.
Each night it's siren syringes
hallucinations injected noises
bending over foreclosure
turning up folders
found an old phone her
Owner planted to spy.
He popped her first red balloon
kept the dart pressed in her side.
Manic Panic won't let her dye.
Her highlights don't hide her lies.
"I'm Fine" always "I'm Fine".
Built thick walls of timber
to guard to try Tinder.
Tender to two tired hearts
begged strangers to beat her
"Play a game, win a prize
Play a game, win a prize"
Poured gasoline on the
carnival, watched it
burn from inside.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
Waiting for a drop to trickle down while these ***** on top drown.
The 1% ****** up the whole ratio
got people breaking their backs
like auto-fellatio.
Just to make ends meet.
Like Ricky, he was working towards that American dream but
behind the scenes life was
coming apart at the seams
all because of a fault of his genes.
Uh-oh
Couldnt afford insurance,
and there all his savings go.
Spending eighty thousand dollars on pill that MIGHT save his life.
But wait, what about
dear Ricky's wife?
She was right there by his side
Watch him rot for months
'till the day he died
now she's empty inside.
Forced to swim in high tide
with no buddy.
She can't cope, even with that hollow feeling she can't float
Starts sinking deeper in the drink.
Thrashing in the dark
with lungs burning
there's no room to breath.
Foreclosure notice on the door
Say her and the kids need to leave.
Back to the grind with
no time to grieve.
Just another cog ground out
by the American machine.
So ******* much for the
American dream.
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 10:12 AM UTC
Potholes sprinkled across empty Detroit streets
*like bullet holes in ***** bedsheets*
Found within the vacant homes of the forgotten,
alive with reminders of what used to be
Before the neighborhoods became abundant in abandoned homes
and awash with abandoned people
Yearning for forgotten yesterdays suspended far from reach,
searching for a memory of something concrete
While wandering along the crooked, cracked sidewalks
cemented with resentments;
Forgotten, forsaken, forlorn, foreboding... foreclosure
crisis spray-painted on the brick of a blown out home
Hungry for habitation despite dishevelment,
explicit with endless nothingness
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
They nickel and dime me
So money can't find me
While debt keeps climbing
With inconvenient timing
A note reading foreclosure
Spells my doom
As a realtor's brochure
Sells my room
Poverty looms
Over my head
As everything is taken
Even the bread
And what I use to bake it
They come with a gun
Demanding that I run
They tell me I can't stay here
Police presence engenders fear
So this place I once held dear
Will no longer be near
And the bank
Maintains rank
Over the poor
Locking the door
So I hit the floor
Hatred in my core
I adopt an attitude
Of eat or be eaten
This simple platitude
Will get me beaten
Money isn't that hard to make
If that's all you're trying to do
Yet they take all they can take
Like they've got something to prove
They don't mind
Separating bees from the hive
Power is control money buys
So the rich are seen as wise
Even if they're destroying the world
Forcing families from their homes
And now the rocks they hurl
Are delivered by drones
From lethality to loans
We're stripped to the bone
And feel all alone
On a planet of exploitation
It's tough to live the full duration
When we're stuck at a bus station
Called placation
Where the wealthy do what they want
Because they have money to flaunt
Giving them status and power
To build their ivory tower
By evicting delinquents
And bombing huts
A dog-like sequence
We're treated like mutts
The cumulus accumulate
Usurping heaven's gate
Creating a second rate
Decrepit estate
For us to deflate
Into a state
Of hate
And wait
For a mate
To feel great
So our slate
Has low weight
But once it gets late
We ask for a rebate
We run for the frivolous
But that fun is insidious
And it's slowly killing us
From emptiness filling us
We withdraw into shells
Of similar mundane hells
Until the bank comes knocking
Then into the streets we're flocking
While they're progress blocking
And pistol cocking
We kneel and worship them
Begging for mercy
They're the problem's stem
Yet we wear their jersey
Which is absolute insanity
But money controls humanity
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
i killed the things i miss the most
my passions
my children
my mind
i opened a box i regret the most
my troubles
my divorce
my addiction
i haven’t remembered the last time i worried
the tears in my children’s eyes
the fire spreading upon their clothing
i haven’t remembered the last time i cried
my husband running away
my house in foreclosure
i haven’t remembered the last time i kneeled
to the one who stands above me
to the one seeking my soul
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
"Hey-
You wore that shirt yesterday"
(Said the other classmate he has no idea what he is saying how much he is
hurting that my family is living in a shelter and we barely have
quarters for food much less laundry and if I so much as got a stain on
this one shirt I have clean my mom would beat me when I get back to our
room I don't even like this color it's yellow it was my brothers they
took so much with the foreclosure I wish I could never wear this shirt
again I wish you and school and everything would just go away and I
could lay down in my own bed and play my own video games and read my own
books and sleep just rest like you who have the privilege to taunt me)
"Hey-
Shut up"
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
the ancient anxiety of dogs.
has winter
no levy
it cannot call.
bread;
the saying of bread.
bald man
in a hair salon
religion.
but also, bravery.
our present loss, lost
to the foreclosure
of immediacy.
litany's take,
a rake.
treads your boy
to banquet-
passes my own
pulling a mouth
from a wire fence
and waves.
was not believed
a child
this faith.
the strength of my father
to **** his due.
the strength of yours, too.
be still. and full.
has place
no debtor
in lull.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
I'm a loser a senseless user
of much needed space get out of this place
I'm an abuser a selfish moocher
Take your time I ain't going no place
I'm confused and often fooled
By your advances upon my space
I'm a user a worthless loser
Get the **** up and have a taste
I'm a foreclosure on everything
You'll let me Take
I'm an invader in your veins
All over the human race
I'm an infection leaving you breatheless
For just a little more of what it fakes
I'm a hell fire passionate desire
To be miserable in every way
I'm a toy you take out to play
Then cover all up put neatly away
I'm a fairy for you to bend over
And give her tale the time of day
I'm a destroyer don't need a lawyer
Ain't nobody even looking this way
"AGoddessOriginal"
4/7/13
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
I built a fire and burned the baggage you left behind
I packed it up in a warm smoldering smokey haze
Divorce records with the ex wife
Joint taxes, private school bills
Mortgages, foreclosure credit debt
Child support and EDD claims
Photos of happier times placed neatly on the shelf in my closet
Air Force jacket and duffel bag tucked in corner safe
Waiting for their owner to pick them up
I would send them but I have no idea where you are
I should burn it all, but it hurts to think that way
All those years of love notes
Buried in a plethora
Of blue stripes white and yellow
College ruled and blank notebooks
Randomly ambushing memories
When very least expecting.
The only way around these things is through them
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Can't Afford
Life is slowly falling apart,
can't even afford to go to Walmart.
Can't even afford the Dollar Tree,
no window to throw out my *** of ***
Can't afford to pay my bills,
no money left for my bi-polar pills.
Can't afford to eat or drink,
I'm broke, is what I think.
No more water, no more electric,
I'm even to poor to be eccentric.
Can't afford gas or cable,
Yes, I am mentally unstable.
Can't afford to buy a pen, wrote this in blood,
in my tears, I'm drowning in the flood.
House is in foreclosure,
listen closely, you can hear the bulldozer.
Had to sell everything I own,
nobody will ever give me a loan.
I walk around in my underwear,
like Mother Hubbard, my cupboard is bare.
Not one job to be had,
can't afford to call my mom or dad.
Walls around are closing in,
no way out, I just can't win.
Can't afford to live, but afraid to die,
doesn't that make you wanna cry.
Can't afford to wipe my own ***
lets see you try to use broken glass.
If misery loves company,
where's the rest of the people with no money.
Can't afford a hair cut, my hair is so long,
my life is like a bad country song.
Tried selling drugs on the street,
things went good till I got beat.
In conclusion, I so **** broke,
my life turned out to be one fat joke.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
One day this building will become old and shabby
with peeling wallpaper, ratty carpeting, and cracking plaster.
One day the only option besides the wrecking ball will be
to sit and wait to die.
To crumble and decay,
to rust and fall to pieces.
Termites will find homes in the banisters,
moths will eat at the books left behin
by the pillaging teenagers that steal the furniture.
Chesterfields and repaired ottomans
will show up in the neighbourhood,
refurbished and reupholstered, saved for mother’s day.
No one was going to use them otherwise.
Better they don’t go to waste.
The old piano with the cracked keys
will slouch alone in the empty sitting room,
savouring what little memories weren’t scraped from this carcass
like the last of the peanut butter from it’s jar.
One day this building will disappear,
making a grave of it’s foundations.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
I am trying really hard to live in this body, but the rent is too ******* high
and the paint is peeling off and
I’m too tired to patch it up.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
Primetime TV is asinine;
Intellectual cyanide.
Empty like a home in Palestine,
And corrosive like an alkaline:
It's the software for the poor.
Subliminally shutting your doors
Of perception,
While they pump the town full of more --
More liquor stores
And two cent ******
Deadbolted doors
Adorned with gang graffiti
Where the government ignores.
So how can I sleep
When all these kids never eat?
And where's the sweeps
For the bodies in the streets?
They'll just pour more concrete
Over our homes.
Gentrified zones,
Minorities in tow.
High interest loans.
Money's dried up,
Foreclosure and drones
Dropping tear gas on the protesters;
Arresting anyone not in their homes
Please tell me, how can I atone
For the sins of a system
That riddles the world with victims?
This is the modern vista
The ghetto is everywhere
The aftermath of an affair
Between the elite
And their federal clientele.
Predatory lending,
Bailouts, drop outs,
A culture without.
Humanitarian drought.
Where's the empathy?
The love?
The care and clemency?
A solution for this endemic peasantry?
Man, I wish I knew.
I wish the numbers weren't true,
And I wish the sunrise brought a nice view,
Instead of billboards and condemned buildings,
Abandoned homes, potholes, **** and trash:
The ashes of a golden age long past.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
Broken glass of a window pane;
Broken home and a widow's pain.
Tears hang off a foreclosure notice;
The ones who are left hurt the most, ever noticed?
Easiest way is the one seen before;
Today her daughter will only be four.
Her daughter's aunt will raise her sure;
She heads for the cold forsaken shore.
Jagged rocks and gulls pass by;
On the cliffs, her last good bye.
One step, her love she longs to see;
Her limp body soon claimed by the sea.
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 10:37 PM UTC
The path was long and arduous
And night began to veer
O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates
Its' shadows breeding fear
Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round
Tombstone crosses where
Hissing its’ frustration
Loudly in despair
It sought to nourish fears
The shadows did create
Searching everywhere to find
It’s soul-less night-time mate.
Moonbeam light kissed the Night
Claiming shadows as their child
Together then in lock-step
They bent on running wild
And there, where he awaited
Their cold inspiring touch
With doctrines of all Evils
Firmly in his clutch
The blackness in his heart,
Thumping ‘neath his frock
Soon it’s rancid maladies
The Wind would there unlock
Thoughts of what’s to come
Then twisted lips to smile
Revealing stained and yellowed teeth
Trapping breath so rank and vile
‘twas then The Prince of Avarice
Rose and stood *****
The world would soon be his
To ravage and infect
His eyes of snake, both bespake
Behind their reptile lids
The embrace of the doctrine
For no Evils it forbids
The Wind increased its’ howling
Icy fingers pushing fro
Arranging fallen hopes
Into a dead rouleau
And you and I so un-suspect
Of pending alchemy
Believing we were safe inside
Cocoons of normalcy.
Our naiveté so firmly grasped
Caused us to belie
The chaos we knew not …
‘twas there, and drawing nigh
As Wind fingers touched him
He yelled out his decree:
“ The Prince of Avarice shall reign
And destroy Democracy!”
His school of ghouls, dunce and fools
Clamored to his side
Greed having won the day
Was about to take It’s ride!
Greed, first blessed the banks
And Wall Street did rejoice
The Prince of Avarice then silenced
All protestor ‘s voice
With lies and propaganda
All fabricated well
Then all the bankers rang
The borrowers death knell
Morgan Stanley, AGI,
Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs
Raking in what Greed gave out:
Billions in green-backs.
Glutted bankers,
Through laughter Greed had honed
Uncaringly showed the world
A prediction - their prodrome
Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes
Insuring that which failed
But jobs the cost, as homes were lost
And not a banker jailed.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
The grayish blues scratch and scrape
across the evening sky.
I can’t help but be distracted,
collectively, the cicadas sound like an alarm;
warning me of the approaching storm.
The orange and pink light
defines the edges,
and some idealistic amateur snaps a couple picts
before the nighttime rain.
While I’m shaping the imaginations
of children watching lambs and lions,
two eccentric lovers see the mermaid
I sculpted after some birds fly through it.
But the sky is becoming darker.
I don’t feel like coming back down.
Too many people are inspired.
I’m content, floating up here,
occasionally waving, to friends
who had high hopes of careers until
they became chained by pregnancy
while family’s are cemented to the ground
by debt and foreclosure.
I’m better suited up here,
despite the warnings. I like the wind
blowing through my hair.
It feels like Mother Nature is caressing me.
But the cicadas and a few friends
are calling, telling me
lightning will strike me down.
But the truth is
I’ve been wanting, waiting for that to happen
since I first began flying.
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 11:34 AM UTC