"incomes" poems
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Floating with a neon cross
I plug your neon holes.
I gross our incomes both
But watch you do it up your nose.
I wish you knew how much those boys just
want to *** on you then leave.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
(5/25/12)
They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.
They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.
With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now “ they had all the power”.
Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night , being drunk
They would start to fight.
She started feeling some ************ pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.
Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.
He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.
She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.
She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you’d ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.
They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.
His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
The falling stars in this ironic night
make majesties
out of those cubicle-ridden New Yorkers'
routine Tuesday night daydreams,
where they make macabre escape routes
out of every perfectly-placed window
piercing the concrete sentences
that escalate from Ground Zero.
Your law offices,
corporate ******* headquarters,
are all bursting at the seams
with these drones,
the falling stars of the human race,
all composed of 14 different shades
of grayscale;
could've been
should've been
could've been shootin' stars
that year they were promised
lives of upper middle class incomes
and Lexus dealerships
bought to dent their status
on the neighborhood,
but that sparkle's been emaciated
by the truth,
the underwhelming spectacle of realization
accentuated by the clicking
and the clacking of company keyboards,
each little click
gnawing more at their patience
than the next;
the faceless brush strokes
gawk through that window,
their plans less hypothetical
over the calendar years.
"I can hear it calling me
from miles away,"
says Copy #90045280,
"see, they
SPEAK
to me, man,
tell me to transcend
the hurdle of the windowsill
and make my rendezvous
with an asphalt avenue,
to join the other casualties
of this rut-infested nation
in a life with the real stars,
falling and shooting
and jettisoning alike,
throbbing lights through dark sky silk
and into the hearts of even the most
robotic of this catalog culture,
and I frightfully,
excitedly,
must listen."
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
Dragon – a reference to government or a leader with such great powers.
Economics can determine the future?
The decision making, which can force millions to abide to the law established by government, can determine the future. That’s it.
An extension of affluence for all,
But where is the long term?
Poverty and high unemployment,
Now an argument?
With two years to educational progress,
Juan Dela Cruz drew back and recoil.
Humankind’s race,
With such declining economies..
A need for taxation of the working class –
To stay number one, or should I say, the Top 10?
For those capable to success,
No full-time salaries.. No livable wage..
A further education..
Would it be worth it when a full-time was offered?
For the move of the dragon,
Is there a downgrade forecast for the nation?
GDP has been calculated, water dragon may not be drown..
Meagre realm’s tyro – for their incomes deduction.
(4/2/12 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
In West Virginia they dig tunnels or a great big hole,
to extricate from Mother Earth the substance known as coal.
For centuries the coal was burned and smoke would fill the air,
but coal became outmoded and demand's no longer there.
So many miners were laid off as mines did stall or close,
and in Coal Country incomes dropped and unemployment rose.
But Donald Trump made promises to fix the miners' strife,
by saying he'd bring Old King Coal a-roaring back to life.
So Trump reduced the regulations that bring jail or fines
for harm to the environment from power plants or mines.
But all this is irrelevant - Trump has no magic spell
to make the world want coal again. To whom will these mines sell?
Trump may as well have promised to bring back the horse and cart;
for tinkers, whalers, schooner sailors, a rich and brand new start.
For Trump will promise anything and sell his very soul.
Next Christmas his reward should be... a big old lump of coal.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
Get impassioned, get informed, get involved, because our ignorance makes us impotent, irrational, idiotic invalids, incapable of inquiry, and strips us of our individuality. Time to step up and take back what's yours. Hedge fund managers and securities brokers hold a cumulative trillion + dollars in assets. While you're living on minimum wage, working 2 jobs, struggling with job security, or drowning in student debts; they rake in 9 figure incomes by gambling with other people's money, and get tax breaks that come out of your pocket. Your voice is not insignificant, you are just as important as the people you idolize. Believe in yourself and extend it to others. We are the collective majority, and we have been conned. Together, we have the power to make a change for the better, so spread the word, and tell em you heard: get impassioned, get informed, get involved.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
*The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.
We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time;
We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.
We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; we've added years to life, not life to years.
We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.
We've conquered outer space, but not inner space.
We've done larger things, but not better things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.
We've split the atom, but not our prejudice.
We write more, but learn less.
We plan more, but accomplish less.
We've learned to rush, but not to wait.
We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships.
These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.
These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. *
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
At the apex of the Empire State Building
Beneath a resilient misty gray sky,
A perfectly dreary day to die
She's at her lowest low
In heeled shoes a mile high,
Youthful skin, but nothing behind dead hazel eyes,
Rose red lips which never spoke their mind,
A purse full of pills she'd rather leave behind
Beneath rich chocolate curls,
Helena's madness quietly unfurls
Her courage to jump, her fear of death
Weighing the outcome of future incomes
Against the agony of piling debts
She came down from her delusional high
When daddy's substitute for love called money ran bone dry
With the sky the limit, her mind is trapped
By the lie they told Helena as her life was mapped
Line by line they fed her from birth:
"A scholarly piece of paper and a lovely figure will define your worth
Choose wisely little princess, or your life will be hell on Earth"
Turning her back to the street below
Her courage to end it begins to grow
She closes her empty hazel eyes
Cranes her neck towards the sky
And whispers "Death do you hear me? No longer am I shy"
In her delusion she heeded Death's reply
"Come now dear angel, let's see you fly"
A rush of adrenaline was met with demise
Now nourishment for the maggots and the flies
Antidepressants mimicked the body of their owner,
Fractured bottles, tops open, pills strewn all over
Beautiful bones shattered against the pavement
Released she was, from her own mental enslavement
Trickling down the drain, carried by unrelenting rain
Into a New York sewer towards the darkness below,
A bright crimson flow
Quenches the thirst of a starving rat king
Entangled in thirteen tails as he lay dying
Grateful is the king to Helena's sacrifice
For he is trapped in this sewer and awaits his own demise
A glimpse he tasted from the world above
Bitter-sweet is the blood of a girl without love
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Airwaves awash in the new gospel barrage:
calling forth the neighbourhood hack,
Abe Lincoln toon in towering hat,
the corporation is coming -
will you not
collaborate my friend?
Everything good that you ever dreamed of is here:
Marbonite floored flats with self-terraced roofs;
The swankiest of cars, in imported hues;
Your arm candy drools,
now, brands, bigger brands!
All in your grasp, now, in community gates
shut safe as society decays.
Skies spitting frogs? Pestilences amass?
Listen to the Gospel according to Bane:
in the desert, smell octane. Hallelujah,
everything we make, from watches
to headscarves - your underwear is cheaper
sourced from the next so-lala-land.
Forget your sources tiny of incomes varying:
Bakers, cobblers, tinkerers, we also have
a uniform for you. Oh you rustic
tradition-bound bandy bumpkins!
Abandon your alleyways, and
welcome to the ghettos...where
What you eat, to where to retreat:
we cure everything from heartache to panache.
Wash away your sins in wonder medicines;
Waters can part, yes, see how the Pharoah
is disarmed; Big city dreams, dream
global manna beams. All that is needed for
salvation, is a little bit of classification. Are you
left-wing or right? Center-left or center-right?
The powerdrill tearing down edifices
resonating through noon. A crane arm's shadow
hovering high by the moon. Tablets from skies
now proclaim the new gospel for the land,
the airwaves are awash
of the miracle of Witwatersrand.
The corporation is coming, to a store near you:
Amen! Will you not, then, collaborate, my friend?
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
he's a ******** addict
he can't get off the stuff
he's got to have plenty
he's into a dose's regular cuff
tax is his drug of choice
how he loves its high
every person in the land
he bleeds absolutely dry
tax
tax
tax
our pay packets are getting slugged
harder and harder each week
with the balance of our low incomes
looking decidedly bleak
ten percent then eighteen percent
he's extracting more and more
from our stash
which we're all invariably feeling
in the gross amounts
of leftover cash
the hit is so sublime
his government cannot refrain
as he so delights in our tax revenue
coursing through his veins
tax
tax
tax
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Everyone,
take up your pencils and paper,
guitar strings and shoelaces,
bow-ties and tuxedos,
your make-up and plastic,
and ready yourselves for the hardest fight yet.
Everyone,
paint on your smiles,
spray your last drops of perfume,
eat a hearty breakfast,
be sure to grab your briefcase,
and ready yourselves for the final battle.
Today,
we fight.
We fight for the rich and the poor,
we fight for the victims of natural disaster,
we fight for your low grades,
your six-figure incomes,
we fight for ourselves,
for a brighter future,
we fight for genocide,
we fight for holocaust,
we fight for disease and famine,
and for religion.
Everyone,
take up your weapons of choice,
cry out your war cries,
dig deep down inside yourselves to summon the rage.
Fight for me,
fight for yourselves,
for everything you believe in.
Fight for love,
fight for war,
fight for peace,
for hatred.
Everyone,
whatever you do,
fight for something.
Because,
I tell you now,
I have lost my vision,
I have lost my purpose,
I have stopped believing.
Fight for me,
fore I have been taken captive by this game we call life.
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC
So what if our ages are months or years apart,
Love lies not in numbers.
So what if our abodes are airplanes or a bus ride apart,
Love is not curbed by distance.
So what if our incomes are millions or thousands apart,
Love is not controlled by dollars.
So what if our Gods or those we think rule us are different,
Love is immune to such differences.
So what if our preference in music is as vast as the sky is spread across the ocean,
Love does not lie in music alone.
So what if our boundaries seem to others as two poles of the magnet;
But yet to us,
We are glued by an invisible bond of gooey stuff that
Goes beyond the superficial stuff
Of colour and creed and cross,
The ties that bind us do not depend on the eyes that see us,
Love so feeling, kind and healing,
Energizing and vibrating,
Absorbing and melting,
Into each other now and forever more!!
© shaqila
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
the love and romance.
the years lit by artillery.
the wars.
the men did these wild things. these great grand expressions of love and survival.
they’d damage themselves, bleed while moving furniture.
wood splinters better painted red wet warmth.
they’d notch together plum-cut bricks into
crenulations or walls or cathedrals.
home built.
the women: of an ancient woven fiber
and/or old energy, they’d battle serpents into dark and drunk loneliness.
she conspired for a happy life.
death by the meadow.
old woman remembering young woman and
young man,
now old man approaching.
the world forgets, but we will always have eachother.
remember us youths in proto-revolution.
we didn’t believe in what we did.
we lived a lie.
all america.
dreaming and soap opera.
daytime television blastulas.
the wars are fought early, and fierce.
the wars are won and lost on highschool dancefloors.
highschool blacktops. blackboards. breathy
kissing.
spectral codes of light.
and we bloom outward into livelihoods and
incomes.
timelines.
trenches to crawl from shell-shocked and screaming ****** ******
or not.
but yes -
the world is built on blisters and scar tissue.
nothing is untouched.
nothing is unwounded.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
The Politician
Has he kept his word?
Kept to promises you heard?
Are you satisfied? Let down?
Waiting to see what comes round?
These choices voiced, unvoiced
From voters of the officers new crowned.
To those who vote by rote or call
To those who vote at all:
Has he or she distorted vows
To overpower and devour:
Double thought through double-think?
Misconstruing and misstating,
Skewed with bias filled with hating.
Stinking skills to sell and buy,
To peddle lies which sink a country –
Even if potentially –
Are the aides, incomes denied,
Who stand to profit on the sly,
Men in masks, men in power
Hidden men, men of the hour,
How will tasks now basked in
At whose call flasks, casks are drunk from:
Will affairs of state be slunk from?
This a call to politician;
Call to listen;
He or she just person
In the end.
The Politician 2.28.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
┈┏━╮╭━┈╭━-━-━--━╮
┈┃┏┗┛┓┃╭ⓞⓘⓝⓚ┃
┈╰┓▋▋┏╯╯╰━-━--━━╯
╭━┻╮╲┗━━━━╮╭╮┈
Fata Morgana !
Crunch the numbers and look at the data. I’m like:
Measurable outcomes for pleasurable incomes—
incorporate outsourced inhuman resources in-house. I’m like:
indicators for vindicators.
It’s all about the data, mama—
so man up, sit down, and move forward
like hard apps on software, like ram on a gigabyte. I’m all:
sit up, move down, man forward;
benchmarks as milestones, stone benches as mile-markers
measuring the change-talk: obstetric metrics
played out for pregnant pauses.
It’s about throwing out the carry-on
It’s about unpacking the lost luggage
It’s about documenting best practices of undressed actresses
until the data-driver fails the breathalyzer.
The data tells a story: memes of mastery cast in plastery.
DUCK the FATA (morgana) !
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Monarchic Rant
Though I was born in Britain
I am not a 'Brit'
I do not fit in
Their houses are so cold
Because they are too cheap
To turn up the ****** heat
I find some of them deceitful,
They self-righteously pretend
To be serene
And peaceful
But love to fight
All over the world
Blasting other beings
Into the netherworld
Tied to tradition
They insist
On going against the global grain
They weigh in stones
And still drive on the wrong
****** side of the road
They sing 'God Save The Queen'.
God has more common sense
He believes the word 'Excellency'
A too commonly used currency
Slapped, like a hat
On the head of a simple aristocrat
God save the common people
Living under too many thumbs
Of pretentious and powerful people,
With utterly obscene incomes
Sean Hunt Windermere Dec. 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
Dark forces
Stealing time
Through inflation’s daily climb
Printing money
Come what may
Though the poorest have to pay
Dark forces
Surveilling you
Watching what you say and do
With the motive
To control
Shaping you - their stated goal
Dark forces
Creating naught
They just live off what you’ve got
Higher taxes
They decide
We work hard - yet incomes slide
Dark forces
Anger and fear
When they see - Bitcoin is here
Bringing hope
Shining light
On dark forces, with truth and right
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 9:21 AM UTC
I suppose this lump of clay is just fine the way it is.
Well, honestly, who am I to try to change it?
I know full well the labor that went into making it
The workforce that mined out the sediments from the soil
The minds that designed that perfect consistency
The psychologists and graphic designers that boggled the package to life
The mouths their incomes feed.
The leftover money spent on beer and records to listen to with friends
Yes, that would be preposterous of me to sully their memory by shifting even a single atom.
I’ll place this lump next to the other lumps limping, exhausted on that dusty shelf.
Their lumpy memories will lump onto me. and I’ll take their non-utilized weight with me wherever I travel.
They are precious. More so than diamonds.
**** it, my niece wants dragons.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
When fiat money is printed freely
Certain groups benefit more than others
Wealthy people who hold assets tend to
Reap the benefits as their assets increase
In proportion to the new money, while those
Who rely on fixed incomes or savings lose
Much of their purchasing power and wealth
Therefore
We need a money where people can trust
That their money will retain or increase in
Value and purchasing power. This money
Will help the poor save with confidence
For themselves and also their children
Leading to a brighter future for every
Person, when saving with Bitcoin
Feb 27, 2023
Feb 27, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
The Politician
This to those who vote by rote
Or vote by call -
To those who vote at all:
Has he kept his word?
Kept to promises you heard?
Are you satisfied, let down?
Waiting to see what goes round:
(Several choices
Of the voices
Voting for the offices
Meant to be filled.)
Has he gone back on his vows -
Contradictory or harmful now?
Double thought through double-think?
Does it stink, prepared to sink
A land with aids, advisors, incomes
Sly, and on the side?
How will issues relevant be dealt with?
How will tasks be basked in
By the men
In power,
Typically men of the hour;
At their call, flasks, casks to drink from:
State affairs for one to think from!
The Politician 2.27.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
As my adrenaline skyrockets,
My palms sweat profusely.
Telepathic audio clips play,
While I sift through personalities
to find what suits me.
They say that there're
plenty to of fish in the sea,
So I avoid the bottom feeders.
Yet I'm an angler,
about as ugly as can be.
Though all fish wander,
Some swim too deep.
I managed to scrape some of
The common sheep.
Slyly swimming swiftly Sleek,
By producing a lumen ornament;
I hypnotize the weak.
Awestricken by the allure
I use the light as a shield.
Yet cloaked in darkness,
Oh what such
a deadly weapon I yield;
These are Examples of actions,
Executed for meals.
Like the ornament's prance,
Or death's Dance.
Incomes a new victim,
If I wanna slay this hunger here's my chance.
Have you ever heard the saying don't step into light?
Swim too far,
And you'll see these teeth tonight.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC