"gratis" poems
Dear Friends, this poem was composed many years ago and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Time here is compared to the money lender and miser Shylock in Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant Of Venice’, where Shylock insisted on cutting out a pound of flesh from the merchant Bassanio, for having failed to pay back the loan taken from Shylock! Hope you like it, - Raj
TIME THE GREAT USURER
TIME the great usurer, is a great miser too,
Always knows the cost of things to be paid
back by you!
It readily loans you the desired amount in
number of years.
Smilingly assures and allays all your doubts
and fears.
It makes the loan to appear like a free gratis,
So you hardly bother to take any notice!
But with the passage of growing years and
life depleting with time,
In paying back your interests, you got to
default sometime.
Precisely at that moment, the usurer knocks
rather loud,
And through death takes back its’ principal
amount !
Alas, Time the great Shylock knows the cost
of everything.
When will it learn to appreciate the value
we attach to things?
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
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Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
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Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
This cosmos, indisputably, a sheer wonder
We cannot but bow before its grandeur
To what strange terrains opens its doors
And what secrets, hidden beneath the stars
From the merciless emptiness sans light,
From the deep silence of the horrendous night,
Was heard the bang of hammers
On the anvils of eons like thundering fire crackers
Abruptly through a gas cloud burst of inexorable force
Life emerged from stardust, our energy source
This is what the exponents of Big Bang assert
Life, from cosmic egg was hatched, some others purport
No doubt, this universe is an infinite stretch of lattice
Woven in the loom through billions of years by gratis
Where myriad wonders exist in the intergalactic space
And man has been on relentless effort to trace their course
As the wheels turned and as the fires burned
Through cosmic vapor the first atom was churned
How, over the eons, life here has flourished
With man’s wisdom and efforts nourished!
Galaxies are scattered in infinite space
And our planet Earth is well balanced in place
After the day’s vigil, when the mighty sun sets
The stars invariably take over on their night shifts
Multitudinous stars glitter and twinkle, a wondrous sight
As branching chandeliers, shedding luminous light
They are gems donning the night sky with their splendor
Where meteors dash and star light dances in nebulous glare
Some extra terrestrial hand has set the Earth in tune
And everything needed to hold life is benevolently strewn
Through countless dawns and sunset
Endless generations did come and beget
Just as this universe was born, it would one day die
With all the planets, stars and starlets of the sky
Who can predict how it is going to end
With a bang or whimper, or is the end impend?
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
Bump bump bang bang
the world goes numb.
Numb from the cold.
Hearts aren't for love anymore,
just blood.
Blue blood like the rest of us,
we can't get enough oxygen to make it red.
The drugs do it for us now,
do everything.
We barely have to think,
we barely have to move.
Drugs do our jobs, we used to joke,
but our bodies are still there.
We just aren't sure where exactly
there
is. It seemed like yesterday we were alive--
we think.
We sort of remember warmth.
We sort of remember laughing.
We sort of remember nostalgia,
a memory for years past and
lessons learned from previous failures.
We remember once when a man
said he would do something and did it,
gratis,
out of the goodness of a loving heart.
Hearts aren't for love anymore.
Just blood that spills.
We see it all the time now.
We know what it looks like
dried and cracked,
stained on our clothes.
We don't run from blood anymore
because we understand that
soon
our blood will leave our hearts
and stain our carpet or street.
This does not scare us because
we understand it as inevitable.
We remember when death was frightening.
We remember when blood was uncommon.
We remember the sun.
Clouds, gray and bleak,
rain putrescence down every day
on the homes that used to be warm.
We sort of remember warmth.
We remember feeling
things,
any things.
Temperature, moisture, emotion.
Love.
We remember until the bump bump bang bang-
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
Arctic and Pure
cups emptied of Western laziness
gratis
Sapphire tears and sparkling beams
gathered from the fields
shining Pez and elecution exercises
Hey Miss, Tell me something
a poem
about everyplace
no fooling, You're so serious
and the serfs of the modern hovels are well behaved
and none
fleshen bodies
heads full of squishy wishes
consumme
my amusement is like a panacea
a corporeal healing
Flying who-I-haven't-people
someone down in my
constant solar blaze,
one who I devote all clear evidence
all the right answers,
fairness
Ignorance always harms our potential
reveal deaths inconsequence and void
flying through tunnels
creating opportunities for life.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:22 AM UTC
.as i once explained the concept of a seasonal diet to a pair of english pensioners, citing the Essex strawberry harvest, counter the Spanish winter imports... certain graveyards, in winter, can unnecessarily compete with museums, stressed as focal points during summer.
who is here,
to, expect...
comfortable?
i sacrifice the
aspect of museum,
in order,
to find a second tier
of peace...
within the confines
of cemeteries'
exfoliation
of statues...
weathered,
slightly hidden...
in guise,
of half living, half dead...
yet all the more:
ever watchful,
that persistent...
prosecutor stature...
with death...
the sole "ambiguity"
of a...
jury;
a jury...
with a persona non grata?!
mon deus!
but one answer:
je suis mort!
since?
it is really hard.. to re-appreciate revisiting
museums at this point...
whatever the ancient in modern
terms focus for the pre-Byzantine
marble...
the open air extravaganza
of statues in a Slavic cemetery?
weathered, chiseled by a shyness?
teased out of existence?
primordial in a focus
of being haunted?!
well... museums have nothing to offer,
given this fleshed out
excavation.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
She was smoked
salmon so spread
Like his creme of
the crop
Smoking hot circles
0-0 0______No-No
The points... Dots
And shoe size petite___-
The whole website
To love and honor
Whats in her moves
The private Dancer
May I never be dropped
To be overly loved
I am not asking for more
The score more or less
can be
The greatest dancer
O yes, so many pretenders?
More spread like_______
Mr ((Mayonaise__meeting
Handsomely Hellman
Falling into your
embrace Tango-Tie
I- Apple creme pie
to phone U
May I tango 4-U
Sweet lips of mango
Don't shed one tear
Listen to what is said?
How her dance step
to be read
next year to be wed
Like your hot rods
and hubcaps near
your bed choices
To sweep me off my
feet well said
The tango soprano voices
The Hub
Rubbing my
dancer's feet his treat
Wildflower Salsa beat
Emotional dance
The Tango
Graphically
Cool______ design
Contacts to sign
To his excitement
Steps are well
worth
the dividends
Drinking tapas
The fine tip of gratis
Sign sealed and
dance delivered
In an instant
dancing contract
Two bodies dance
as one__________*
Flaming intertwined
Brazilian Silky- hair
Mr. May-0 tango pair
Mr. Hellman
merci beaucoup
His desires came with the loop
The mixture mango scoop
May-0, not the May Day
No clouds passing
in grays
So festive never passive
Well made beaded
Peacock Miss Marrietta
The Birds of the feather
Expression of sensual faces
To impress the right man
Distinctly dressed
Explanation point
May I interject my
point______________
Tropical sandals high-point
Tango dancers have a
the certain way
The lovely maiden
Names day and age
Eyes engage contest page
He to her side fancy
May- 0 in her Prime
(Hello)
Another Day-Oh!
Don't move her dancer
days to sail away
Sea breeze perfect per day
Her fancy dancer
shoes not on
layaway
* * * * *
In the now a dancer
nowadays taking flight
Every day always
the dancer's way
You Amaze so blessed
Like your possessed
* * * *
Titans in a blaze
How it may arise
He was dancing to her
movement ****** salsa
To her toes up to her
Tango lips amazing dips
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
Four frantic fingers flicker
Over parallel strings
And a classical lullaby
Thrills the ears of passersby;
Chopin du jour
For the masses
Served gratis by a diminutive maestro;
A fleeting fixture for traveling eyes....
And the random audience of curious strangers
Heaves a collective sigh,
Touched by the uncommon brush of a diminutive maestro...
Plucking parallel strings
From a busy sidewalk in Soho....
~ Pablo (#ABSIS)
1/15/14
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I think their skin is thin
When it comes to Mexicans
And their immigration status
Though Cubans can come here gratis
They’re among the baddest
When it comes to having compassion
They act like compassion's old fashion
And so they’re continuously bashing
Others who want to come here
For the same reasons they hold dear
See the Green Card was a gift
For those from the Mariel boat lift
Though they were among Cuba’s worst
They got a path road to citizenship first
While law abiding Haitians were kept out
Tell me what was that all about?
Some want to send them all back
Like a matter of white and black
To the places that they come from
Even if that notion is real dumb
I think they’re talking out of their ***
Cuz who’s gonna cut their grass
Or watch their children night and day
If we take them all away
There are other beside them ya know
They might want to encourage to go
But nine times out of ten you’ll find
That never crosses their mind
So they can go ahead and build their wall
Make it ten or fifteen feet tall
But remember we’re all on the land
Of the indigenous forgotten Red man!
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC
Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
Well he's certainly no wussy
When groping a *****
What more to expect from a gump?
In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
"Global warming's a myth"
But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence
We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
A trained atomiser
No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin
The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
Hating free education
Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.
The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
He seemingly cares
More for foreign affairs
While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions.
Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
The Goldman Sachs Bankster
Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon
Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
(His work as denier
Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just ***** it"
The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
With boundless expense
For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis
The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought snobby -
Now set in the saddle
They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby
Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
The Mafia boss
Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
Ivory towers like third appendages flipping of the sky. Profane.
Rivers run cris-cross beetles in the bog.Traffic logjam.
Instant grats. Gratis time bomb ticking.
Age is an obstruction. mindless pursuits of Material security blankets.
Thumb suckers rule. Knuckleheads telling tales out of school. Glass house myopia.
A cornucopia a chorus of jabbernows. Verbal diarrhea on wax. passes for reason.
Sin-taxes pay the way
Syntax gone astray. What the @**# did she just say ?
Novocaine mainlined. Numb all over talking heads on the hill.
Need a few meg-volts to jolt flat-lined hearts to do the people's will.
War is raging, storms are raging. Quiet storms.
Oil. Fuels from long dead fossils. Habit handcuffs.
Cant get enough. Lites out soon.
Powers that be.
Juggernauts...Battlebots... Taking giant steps backwards.
Chaos is local until in your locality.Doomsayer.
The Giant slayer kneels to place his head in the guillotine. Appease the ruthless.
Know it when you feel it. Babylon is falling.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
it's when it's small
that the cucumber
gets twisted
merely talking about
a difficulty will not unravel it
there is no accounting
for taste an ounce of fortitude is worth
a pound of brains nobody can fully understand
another person's need when something
seems too good to be true
usually it is if fortune thunders
beware of being
snowed under
in a hundred years
we will be dead anyway so what if you humiliate yourself
the pillow is a good counselor as the priests sings
so the congregation responds judge not
the umpire at first sight delay
is preferable to ‘‘in no way’’
much bran and little feast the only gratis
cheese is in the mouse trap
there is no rule
without an immunity don't suppose
anyone to change his ways
by telling him off pay no attention
to what people shout about you
the remedy is often
worse than the complaint
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
things I know nothing of
things I know little of
things I know more of
things I know all of
where should I wander?
where should I linger
seriously?
lighten up. time I know, little
enough,
now is, then was, soon
we see
we note
we mark the place on this horizon
that big star rises
or seems to rise
from, but now we know,
some how that star is moving in
time, same as me
how can any knower know
the sweet influences of pleides?
look closely,
------------------
this time, this generation
here,
we're smart, we can do math in poems
12800 years ago, 1280 decades,
128 centruien measures in each
of which, lay remnants of four generations
of **** sapiens,
of **** sapiens sapiens, and
of **** sapiens sapiens augmenticious,
all mixed up and tangle tongued.
Now, 512 generations of beings of our genus
since the
speciation of we, the people of earth;
this time, this generation
now,
we're smarter, more able to know and use
the knowing, than any
we imagine real
before us
in these past five hundred and twelve steps,
from mitomom,
to you. Individuatible you.
to you, thinker of thought things,
to you, thinker of thought things augmented
by with for through witty
inventions, for instance, example gratis, et al
the Vitruvian man made the Vitruvian wheel,
tapping the flow of rain returning to the sea, pulling, nicely, with thanks, at first,
to the river,
power at a rate of two kilo watts per hour,
The old mill stone groaned as it ground seed
that could'a' been boiled
and chewed, but for the lack of knowing
how a fire could be started,
after all the ashes have grown cold.
Oops, time skip. Now, then back
Gen one, post all hell breaking loose
who knew how to start a fire?
was it a secret kept for the few who knew?
Was prometheus as real as jesus,
had we any evidence of things unseen,
had we any substance of things hoped for?
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 1:13 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I think their skin is thin
When it comes to Mexicans
And their immigration status
Though Cubans can come here gratis
They’re among the baddest
When it comes to having compassion
They act like compassion's old fashion
And so they’re continuously bashing
Others who want to come here
For the same reasons they hold dear
See the Green Card was a gift
For those from the Mariel boat lift
Though they were among Cuba’s worst
They got a path road to citizenship first
While law abiding Haitians were kept out
Tell me what was that all about?
Some want to send them all back
Like a matter of white and black
To the places that they come from
Even if that notion is real dumb
I think they’re talking out of their ***
Cuz who’s gonna cut their grass
Or watch their children night and day
If we take them all away
There are other beside them ya know
They might want to encourage to go
But nine times out of ten you’ll find
That never crosses their mind
So they can go ahead and build their wall
Make it ten or fifteen feet tall
But remember we’re all on the land
Of the indigenous forgotten Red man!
Cedric McClester , Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
Through my window
Nigh on midnight
Falling snowflakes
In the moonlight
Swirling, falling
Something calling
Me toward another world…
Each exquisite
Crystal lattice
Gifts from God
To us, por gratis
Hidden meaning
Knowledge gleaning
Knowledge of another world…
Something stirring
Deep inside me
Heart and Spirit,
Join to guide me
Toward the door;
Toward something more
Portal to another world…
Slowly, surely
Fog is lifting
Veil dissolving
Snowflakes drifting
Diamond whiteness
Mirrors brightness
Shining from another world…
Very close now
Drawing nearer
Misty vision
Growing clearer
Throne room glorious
King victorious
Conqueror from another world…
Music deaf’ning
Church bells ringing
Roaring, tolling,
Angels singing,
Ground is quaking,
Trembling, shaking,
Glorious, wondrous other world!
Veil descending,
Vision fading,
Crumbling, ending,
Fast abating,
I am grasping,
Clutching, clasping,
Yearning for another world.
Road before me,
Doubts behind me,
I implore thee,
Lord, remind me:
You have sought me,
Found me, bought me.
I was made for other worlds.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
jeg går på knæ for dig allerede inden du spørger og jeg lægger mig på alle fire så du kan tømme din rådne samvittighed ind i min forladte krop, udover min livløse hud. hvis du ikke kvæler mig, så beder jeg dig om det, og du skal stramme til og lukke din hånd om min hals indtil du kan mærke livløsheden i mig, så jeg kan mærke at jeg er i live.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Cuando uno se enamora las cuadrillas
del tiempo hacen escala en el olvido
la desdicha se llena de milagros
el miedo se convierte en osadía
y la muerte no sale de su cueva
enamorarse es un presagio gratis
una ventana abierta al árbol nuevo
una proeza de los sentimientos
una bonanza casi insoportable
y un ejercicio contra el infortunio
por el contrario desenamorarse
es ver el cuerpo como es y no
como la otra mirada lo inventaba
es regresar más pobre al viejo enigma
y dar con la tristeza en el espejo
1k
*don't worry, you're not watching ******** **** but it might be equivalent, given the stature of the words... i never knew why Hebrews complained at the word Jew sounding yuck, and the Poles never minded, even with Pollack... funny... anyways, you either accept this wording or you accept ******** **** your choice.... but censoring spelling is like inbreeding anti-literate farmers who have tractors instead of horses these days... bake that macaroon slightly more, i want to see a suntan on it; chance of a bagel thrown in gratis? i thought so... happy Hanukkah.*
Hier stehe ich mit den Händen voll Blut
Und trage in mir eine beißende Wut
Du sagtest du wolltest den Körper von mir
Und ich gab dir alles gerad wie ein Tier
Ich kann nicht ertragen zu sehen dich leben
So komm her zu mir lass dir den Todeskuss geben
Viele lockte ich schon in den grausamen Tod
Und auch du wirst verfaulen in der Kammer der Not
Winsel um gnade oder schrei es hinaus
Es gibt keine Hoffnung du kommst niemals mehr raus
Denn hier ist dein ende und ich werde es lieben
Zu weiden dich aus am Bunkertor sieben
*Bunkertor sieben
Am Bunkertor sieben*.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
(Spanish tongue)
Soy la campesino querubín esclavo
En mía reina serpahim de amor-jaula.
Y incluso si ella fue a diere yo la llave
A descubrir mineself y ser gratis;
No habrías wanteth de todos modos es ,
Me encanta ser su sirviente ......
Me ama ser su esclavo .......
(English version)
I'm a peasant cherub slave
In mine queen serpahim's love-cage.
And even if she was to giveth me the key
To unlock mineself and be free;
I wouldst not wanteth it anyway's,
I love being her servant......
I loveth being her slave.......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Der var engang hvor jeg stjal bøger, i protest fordi jeg synes at poesi og litteratur skulle være gratis, så alle havde chancen for at læse og få nogle smukke og inspirerende ord, sætninger og fortællinger ind i deres liv, men jeg gjorde det egentlig kun fordi jeg ville føle mig rebel for et kort sekund
også var jeg fattig.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
The day’s hours were worn down and a sudden sunset, that resembled a master’s painted glimpse of Valhalla was upon us, its majesty of deepest blue, blood red and black.
From our tenth-floor skew, the river looked, for all, like a wrinkled sea expecting a storm. Boats moved to tie up before the dark body of windswept clouds arrived trailing a wall of downpour and flickering, electric thunder.
Our study group had run over, as they tend to do. Most of the members urgently moved to pack up (they’d be campus bound). An unpropitious rumble and fierce flare of light revealed that mild twilight had swiftly faded to a darkest stormy night.
My pinched-pleated curtains thrashed before this tempest for the almanacs, feigning a life they do not possess, like twin ghosts stirred to wrath.
“We can order in,” I offered, waving a menu from the downstairs bistro, as I closed my French, glass doors. “Why not eat here and wait it out?” I shrugged, “My treat,” I offered, “and I have wine.”
A pleasant embracement of relief and consent followed. What held more power, I wondered, the society, natures coerce or the gratis fare?
Later. as we parted, a young man paltered, repaying me with a quick hug and cheeky kiss. The valueless touch, was itself rewarded with a small grimace of a smile, but the sin did not overset the mood.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riders on the storm by the doors
Stormy by Classics IV
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 7:01 PM UTC