"installments" poems
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.
So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.
His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
Ever sung.
He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
Youth and yore.
And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
Substantial quadrants of hate
Throughout these veins circulate
Spiraling in frenzied states
Adrift an ailing coma
Infinite corruption clawed my corneas
Birthing the erasure of euphoria
Imprinting trademarks of memoria
Leaving in wake vile aromas
All confidence dissolved to solvents
Due to definitive involvement
Susceptible to gaunt installments
Marring my skin with melanoma
Mother Earth serves as a mime
Humanity must be refined
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
my wedding photo hints of some foul play
of death, destruction lurking, looming 'round
as four have cracked or burrowed under ground
while two remain who yet have lived to stay
for two by two the years have counted them
who've left this picture someone has condemned
and neither they nor evil can be found
from left to clockwise tragedy has struck
this picture taken in 2004
a blissful wedding day with bliss in store
has seen no bliss yet only jet black luck
for two years is the pattern found within
as if installments paid for unknown sin
and two by two the years have taken more
2006 my brother passed too soon
at thirty this was not his time to go
from one disease a cure does not yet know
and from his loss we still are not immune
as one by one his organs fell asleep
until he too slipped through, we couldn't keep
and he was just a prelude to this show
2008 my grandpa, ninety-five
had lived a healthy, fruitful fulfilled life,
outlived even his loving doting wife
by eight years more the man remained alive
for two years of his grandson was berieved
whose name he often spoke of as he grieved
an old man overwhelmed with burdened strife
2010 the blissful pair had split
whose wedding day this picture to us bore
after six years her joy had been no more
explaining that my throne no longer fit
for i'd become a burden to her cause
and cut off, bleeding freely without gauze
i cannot find the life i had before
2012 my father's heart had failed,
in April he was saved but for a spell
until in May his heart one last time fell
despite all of our efforts as we railed
and as it were, a grandson he'd not see
a son of my wife's flesh enjoined to me
now how this pattern plays i cannot tell
the back row in the picture's marred complete
the front row bears the two that now remain
this pattern of two years i can't explain
but if continues more will see defeat
the clockwise movement left to right is done
now right to left the foreground move will run
2014 promises new stain
the next in line, my mother in two years
and two years after her my aunt is left
then i will be of everyone bereft
an orphan, fate fulfilling all my fears
by this 2016 none may laugh
but one, this silent chilling photograph
completing all my family's great theft
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
I once sold a hair straightener to a woman going through keemo
I once sold a a weight loss supplement to a girl struggling with anoerexia.
I once sold female libido enhancers to a forty year old man.
Sold a car to a Parapalegic
Sold a telephone to a deff woman.
I once sold a child an imaginary friend.
And a Vaccuum for their sandbox.
I once sold a soul to a telemarketing company.
They paid me in biweekly installments.
And they got a hell of a deal.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
Pungent coffee stains with the magnificent for company,
I spill a drop in a background of shiny metals creating an orchestral symphony.
Sitting in the boulevard I chase words into poetry,
Alongside the parades of chaos singing a different symmetry.
I write of sunsets, birds, kisses and seas,
I even write about branches on broken trees;
Of tales where the hero is the villain,
and those who felt pain in dol multipled them a trillion.
Of lonesome characters that wrote letters of love,
they even defied their gods above.
It was his eyes that made me drink black coffee,
no sugar, no cream, not even toffee.
Deep, dark and bitter was the way he was;
I even went to ‘Home Bakery’ just because.
Decoctions of coffee comforted my freezing moments,
heartbreak came to me in brief installments.
Like most of my men with no names,
my heart burned without any flames.
I love him like I love my coffee,
and you must believe me when I say
I will perish like the aroma of the first brew.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 3:44 AM UTC
man was the first to preform suicide
natural born martyrs
too sick to bring themselves to eat their own filth
our strongest are easiest to fall
men were not made to survive
but sequential installments are in
follow suite in order to remain on top
in order to fall farther
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 3:28 PM UTC
It was Freddie Hubbard on the trumpet
blowing on about some blue moon,
as if the yellow one that has occupied
the night and sometimes morning sky
wasn’t enough, when I decided to write
a poem about thinking about tomorrow.
How I will rise before the rest, run a few
miles on a treadmill overlooking a busy
boulevard and read the private memoirs
of a justified sinner. And when the tomorrow
that I was thinking about comes with its new
minutes and hours, its new obstacles and
headaches, I will think back to today
and remember the morning kiss you gave,
the silence between your body and mine,
the amount of times you changed your outfit
before the lake, the museum: the live dances
from cultures around the world that kept us from
viewing new installments, the interracial ballet
dancers tip-toeing to a tune well-known to childhood
ears. But the one memory of yesterday that will be
with me until death do us part will not be of the
Shakespeare that I read nor of the raspberry
cheesecake we shared but of you: sitting alone,
waist-deep in a bubble bath. ******* pert and
motherly exposed. Resting comfortably above
your ribcage. Showing more beauty than age.
A glass of cabernet sitting where the razors and
shampoo usually sat. A young adult novel in the
white palms your small hands. But yes. The one
memory that will be with me until death do us
part and well, even after that, will be of me looking
at you: naked in a tub, your glasses over the bridge
but on the edge of your nose, and the rest of my life
before me.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
it does not seem to be a complete love
this love that seems to grow on me
that grows over you;
for one day like today it is your smile I remember
as I drive home
and it is that which hovers in my dream;
and the other day was each eyebrow
its shine and the arch and the way each flickered like leaves
a while on the ground;
and what was it the other evening?
they were the gentle hands you placed on the table
in asking a question;
and Saturday
your shoulders followed me home;
it never seems to be a complete love
it never seems to complete itself
and it’s so focused on parts;
O could it not take all of you
all together
in one integrated love
one complete love?
and still it grows like a seedling or lava or pupa
or even a tadpole
this my love for you
this evolving, this growing
(I did not know if I wanted it
but growing, there is no longer one’s will)
and your voice for example,
the way certain words come off your tongue
the dialect and regional difference
and like my name too sounded like no one else can;
and that accidental brush between us too
(and each uttered “Sorry”
and each reached out to steady the other)
and the sensation
was transported through my flesh
and pleasure
and flesh became part of the love too
and so it is never complete;
like a jigsaw puzzle this love
though the parts all fall together I must say
and the picture is clear at the end
like a classic ****** mystery too, just as tense;
and there it seems the love is complete –
and yet it is not complete, for it is still in silence
and impressions and wishes unspoken and unexpressed
that is the genesis and growing of this love
like a soap-opera
that comes in installments and is never complete
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 2:05 AM UTC
A letter to my dear,
Sons and daughters
In a foreign language
Not known in my time,
But with hope in yours.
Where they may have fixed the
Imbalance of life.
I wish not to depress you,
But repress your mind
As my first impression is to point
A finger to time
The one whom answers
Questions in installments.
For this man once put me on stage
And my agenda was to impress
Twice to the infinite I could count
But I couldn’t find that one in my life.
Where are you?
Thus the nature I was born in,
Is to interest the world
And not bore it with normality
Not knowing that peace comes in many ways
For this foreign language
Seems to be a new era
Of blank pages that could be
Filled with one word
GREATNESS.
For yesterday I did things of shame
That are great for a story
That would become fame
Just the perfect ice breaker in my time.
Tip for if you ever find\have TIMEtoTRAVEL
Thus my vote belonged to extinction,
Since…
Justice is a commodity
Of the rich
As poverty is beautiful
Beautiful without the eye’s of the lens.
Though I don’t have doesn’t mean
Am not/I can’t
As My sight is set to the sky
Chasing a flower in the clouds as
I am still on the ground investing an idea.
Thus the gap of the market to success
Is the economics of humanities fate
As the scarcity of fear rises
Demand and supply seem to be losing
In a relation of ships
At bay lacking goods.
On this graphic coordinates
Just may you understand
Humanity has no time to
Find you in the dark
For smoke signals will be put out
Neither translate your existence
If it’s not the curiosity that killed the cat.
Like “Chuck Norris whom speaks French in Russian”.
For they live on a constant
Quote status of
“I am available, but busy
At school watching a movie,
While at work
With a battery about to die
So I can’t talk, Whats App only
In a meeting at the gym
Sleeping on urgent calls only.”
As I myself live knowing
I speak a FOREIGN LANGUAGE ……
What is your translation of my existence???
For it seems your mistaken and troubled.
For generations to come.
Yours sincerely;
Poet Kiri
N. HANNY L.
PS: Life has gone digital
Thus its STATUS RATED ®.
Yours truly;
Is to be the ONE.
©Hansmind, 2016
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Death takes our deposits in installments
whatever you can afford
more that you can afford
$14 for cigarettes
death chuckles, stupid girl
She'll regret that in the morning
Hangovers, hesitant and polite
will lose patience
after fast food lunch
come ripping through and ruin you.
But you bought it,
just like those installments to death.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
sweet yesterday, where did you go?
its been long since i've seen you even more since we spoke
and i've been meaning to tell you the camels back broke
and i've lost sight of things since i last time i wrote
and i know that you hate these notes i'm just trying to cope
somehow it helps to know i let you know
that i'm doing alright without you, once again
i no longer live in sin on the outside looking in
i'm the kid on the frontlines wearing skin too thin
and the levis are ripped, i got ****** scabs to match
i've been moving so fast that my mom can't patch
this hole in my heart i tried to fill with a spark
but i lost my grip and it left its mark
i don't know how many times ive had to curse this *****
somebody tell me, why's it always gotta be like this?
i remember when it was fine and we were just running
but now she's starting to take friends away from me
i've been thinking of the best way to say that we miss you
i wanna put my fist through glass cause it hurts too bad
to think about all of the things that you should've had
so i'll sit back, got some pictures out of storage
ill crack and orange for you, its sad but it's true
that you passed on throught without saying goodbye
but its alright we just want to apologize
sorry you had to go through it all alone
a guy like you deserves to be at home
with friends by your side and smiles in your eyes
not cold in the grass by yourself late at night
you never know when that drink will come and take your loved ones life
but just keep telling yourself you'll be alright
suicide by installments a day at a time
tip your glasses to the sky and hope tomorrow brings new light to life
while we scream
look Johnny B, you're finally free
go run your heart out, boy
know that we will be chasing
orange soda tasting, hawiian shirt raising, facing our fears
for you
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 7:09 PM UTC
a) Don't debt for love, After love is over installments are very heavy..
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
**i'm up
i'm straight up
because i still can't give my heart away
after all this time
and love ain't even hard
like riding a bike... and once you know how
different wheels now
but i don't let it bother me
use me/use you are the twosomes i'm used to
and i've got more than these entendres to give
i'm still what's happenin
it just so happens
there's no one's here to lie to my face
i need that
it feels good sometimes
no one i can front for right now
like love is genuinely an option in my condition
i've been called a coward
emotions die horrible deaths under my watch
lust is less complicated
try me... surprise me
but my heart is too wide to fit in your handbag
you could strain something vital;
the weight of it all
you may hate that it excites you
waiting to fall, but... no love
just a one-way ticket and a long ride
take my word
i'm still standing
bracing for a crash landing
when you splash down
and i've got more than these entendres to give
i'm up
i'm straight up
because i still can't give my heart away
after all this time
and love ain't even hard
but there's no one else here to lie to me
no one i can front for
try me...
and try me again
just know i meant don't fall for me when i said
don't trip
use me/use you are the twosomes i'm used to
but if you need me to **** with your head
straighten up
and ride my empty promises
i got all night...
medicated via syringes with selfless intentions
i'm still standing
and you've fallen asleep before
to the rhythm of my love notes;
and you've wanted before now
to get to know my ***** mouth
can't explain why you want more... because what for
you were only curious to begin with
don't trip
use me/use you are the twosomes i'm used to
lie to my face
i need that in my life
feels good sometimes
so i'm good if you **** with my head
lust is less complicated this time of morning
i'm up
i'm straight up
i still can't give my heart away
after all this time
and love ain't even hard
like riding a bike... you never forget how
but here i am
and i'm still what's happenin
it just so happens
i'm more vulnerable than recent installments
but i don't let it bother me
use me/use you are the twosomes i'm used to
leave your heart at the door
i would hate to strain something vital
and take it... my word
that i'm up**
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Played some scratchers for the better part of his life.
One hundred in
Got ****** up on the UV ink
Hope drawn from the next in line
One hundred and one
Connection voided with a tare
Shackled to the shilling
Required for one hundred and two
Binds himself to an unsightly wealth
Allowance gifted in bi-weekly installments
And out comes one hundred and two
Wins the jackpot with pigment under nail
His keeper takes to court.
Seizing one hundred and two
She departs for paradise
Left with a modest sum
He’s up to three hundred and eight
He’s losing it now
Support called in by all the renounced
Stalemated at three hundred and eight
His credits no longer valid with any lottery clerks
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
I wish he'd turn my water to wine
and give me some fish,
with bread,
I could dine like a King.
I got nothing between here and
the Devil of the track that I took,
look at me
see poverty,
honesty may be the best policy
but I missed the installments.
The undertaker makes no fuss,
sour **** won't bury me
unless
I cross his palm with coin
of the realm.
I laugh, but
he's the captain at the helm
and
I'm a drowning failure.
Are you quick on the draw
or a raw kid?
I wander and really don't care
poetry's where you find it,
mind it
sometimes bites, but
mostly it just kisses
your lips.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
The farmer in the field goes on foot
Sweating while ploughing
Harvested with much difficulties
But does not get the real price for his rice.
If he does not pay the loan installments
What will happen next?
The rice will go, the stove will go
Someone thought about it!
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 9:36 PM UTC
*The branches reach illogically
Searching for order in woodland -
chaos
They're trimmed in leaves of blue , high above -
red grass bordering a pink roadway , green
clouds speckle the mustard ceiling in the -
afternoon foray of time and reason
I am a living god born anew each second
Receiving my personal earth in tardy installments*
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you
Oh, please don’t take my sunshine away.”
HOPE
is like sunshine.
Here one moment, gone the next.
Shadowed by clouds,
Hidden by the moon.
Sometimes comes in small installments.
Through a windowpane
Or the cracks in a door.
It’s always there.
But sometimes we can’t see it.
And what little we see
Is overshadowed by stormclouds
Of doubt. Is there anything
superior to rain crying in the
sunshine? Crying because
HOPE
has finally shown itself.
This is one of the
Only natural exhibits
of true beauty.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC