"invoices" poems
You bought the house with lavender
seeded in the front porch.
The scent flutters between the doorsill
and through the letterbox
like bills overdue and invoices outstanding. A postal aroma,
envelope glue smells like flowers to me.
I was never granted the privilege of rearranging flowers
You said, there was more to life than flora,
these emerald, sap dripping, saturated stems
Swelling petals fascinated under my untried eyes,
You said I must not even graze the things.
I longed for a taste of the forbidden flora.
Did buds taste like honey? Were they sour like you told me?
Would they poison these supple
and innocent lips, turn them pink to grey?
Could tastebuds kiss the perennial vines,
the posies, the spray of efflorescence
A taste of simple sweetness -
I remember when you ripped the front-porch-lavender.
The roots could not resist your claws.
You sweat to mutilate strained flowers,
You always work harder. Verdure spoiled.
Ravaged, ruptured, tanked soil.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
All he could see were numbers
that reached out and grabbed taxes
and takes, invoices and expenditures.
He could not see explanations of delight
that little mistake I made with fringe benefits,
those royalties that never came.
In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes
to build the roads, skyways and airports
where he would travel and stay.
I wondered how he slept at night
cocooned in numbers
just 1-9 with a hefty zero
that made the difference between rich and poor
I wondered how he could survive on numbers
no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties,
high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights
and endless days of counting little many times over.
He said to me once: Save every cent,
fortify yourself against depression and
natural disasters, don't spend lavishly
there's a price to pay
cut up your credit card. Live austerely.
Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC,
a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses
(to shield my eyes from the accountants glare)
and a cruise to the Mediterranean
where the blue waters beckoned.
The accountant visited the GP
twice more than me that year.
I'm still working the fat off at the gym.
( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?)
Author Notes
Anyone know this guy?
Check this Novel out!
The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition
Marshall E Gass
ISBN 9781493137848
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
As I sit here in my kitchen
I watch my lover work
(Trying to fix the boiler!)
It is
Possible/Probable
That
He will very shortly
Go
Totally
Berserk!
Hoses
Drills
Cables
Adorn the kitchen floor
But …
I have mischief on my mind
That will soon
Come to the fore
I sassy over slowly
Ask is he wants some tea?
We often play this silly game
Pretending …
That he has never before met
ME!
He is just a workman
He is purely trade
I am just a housewife
Desperate to get laid
I set his tea beside him
Run my fingers through his hair
Caress his manly muscles
I really do not care!
I do not care for etiquette
I do not care for rules
I only care to **** him
Here
Amongst his ***** tools
I know the game is on
When
Resolve walk out the door
I now possess the power
To drink from his liquid store
He is but a willing victim
So I start to make a show
Soon
It’s hell for leather
My gifts on him
I do bestow
I love this man with all my heart
I loved this man right from the start
My love for him is off the chart
I love my man
**My
Work of Art**
When the job is over
When the tools are all packed up
When the job is over
He stops
Drinking from the cup
That’s the time he invoices
A bill needs to be rendered
I always pay up willingly
For my soul has long surrendered
I thank my ***** workman
This man
That sets my heart ablaze
Then
My ***** workman thanks me
For my wanton ways
I escort him of the premises
My love for him adorning
He smiles at me lovingly
**That’s why
I’m easy
I’m easy like Sunday morning**
... ~ ...
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 4:16 AM UTC
We could tuck ourselves in a crevice,
between a wall
and view the stones
for what they really are.
Let the light loom over us,
shade us from the heat;
The warmth of a halogen bulb
highlighting the street.
And it’s there we’d kiss,
and spark cigarettes,
and forget why we came here,
and let no one in, let alone near,
and we’d have a private joke,
like small font liner notes,
and for that two minutes,
(more work for the coffee mule)
we would overlook the important
stuff, for
that’s what it is,
another 70, at best, years
of toil and fluff.
*This tableaux love affair
will be omitted in years to come,
filed under the ‘lusts that resulted in
no fun, that night’ folder
in the great green cabinet of bills,
bills, bills again invoices.*
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
(This poem was written during the first year of the war.)
Lay me down to sleep
Before they push the button.
This ***** ain't tryin to wait for his own self destruction!
People really want peace
but you gotta have war,
because it pays the invoices
made by the White House imposed choices.
We need to be United
but politics and hypocrites
always remind us
that history repeats itself.
As it turns out
itself repeats history.
Repeats history
Repeats HIS - STORY!
It ain't a mystery!
You know what goes on in Capital hill!
What country pays its government more then the people who's supposed to be runnin it?
We do! America!
**** politics!
We down right greedy!
We got plenty to feed the needy!
But we'd rather spend tax payers money
to bomb a country
that at peace
I would like to be.
****** if I'm wrong!
Bush, please send my Mom and Dad home.
Realize that judgment day is comin'
and the truth untellers on the hill
are the first ones hit
when God's wrath comes down rumblin.
I got somethin' on my mind
so I speak to you.
God help us
when it comes time to be with you.
You can only tell a lie for so long
before the truth sees the light.
That's when karma
puts it on ya'
and explains your persona
so that people see through your tainted ora.
Life is like a Pandora -
boxed with centuries of pandemonium and disorder.
Blessed are those who are weak
God, to you I speak.
THIS IS AMERICA CALLIN'!!
Thank you for reading!
Amaru
www.twitter.com/therealamaru
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:00 PM UTC
Bills Bills Bills Bills
Never a Sam or Clyde
I simply can’t get out of debt
No matter how I’ve tried.
Bills Bill Bills Bills
They come in twos and threes.
I wish that I could get a loan
To help me pay for these.
My credit score is way too low;
It’s only six-o-five.
I know they’ll never loan the dough
That I need to survive.
I didn’t know which way to turn
Until I spoke to Frank
He kindly said he’d lend a hand -
And help me rob a bank.
We put disguises on my face
And he pulled out a gun
We got some money in our bag
And took off on the run.
But we didn’t get too far
The coppers had us nailed.
They hauled us up before a judge
And both of us were jailed.
The problem now has gone away
My room and board is free
I have no monthly bills to pay
So I’m the winner, don’t you see.
ljm
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 10:45 AM UTC
Invoices received.
Aristocratic atrocities of hypocrisy
Thier voices mock & decieve
Place thier stock in your creed
Cash your check and then leave
No wonder you don't believe!
Through this;
What has been achieved?
Wheres your heart?
On your sleeve?!
If life is pain,
whats it mean to relieve?!
"HERE! just take (2) aleve,
And when it's over you'll see
What I need you to be."
-thee enemy
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
What if the Earth stopped its long flight and finally stood still?
the gods controlling the universe, hiding in our footsteps, suddenly tired of our inadequacies and decided
to end this grand cosmic charade.
Coming out of Shadows
and out of foot steps . perception
torn asunder
and reality recognized as our own inept construct. When in truth perhaps, buy some vain hope,
those ideas invoices we held dear ,
like pin ****** a lighthouse is in the dark and vast ocean,
are found to be merely sparks in the wind,
buffeted and intangible
and the earth suddenly stops.
And the asteroid belt is too small.
and the combusting Sun fails.
And the most frightening possibility of all ?
Will foot steps fade into darkness?
will there be time to dig a final grave what to say last
goodbye?
And will we be seen as works in progress or graded as complete?
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
Whole again.
The lady is entire.
Amazed by the skill of a fellow artist.
The art of dentistry.
The morning crept in shakily.
She is a coward, the lady.
Petrified of dental work.
Dentist is a perfect ****
It's what he does his field of work.
He, the dentist, a genius touch,
I bet he can't write a poem or line.
That position is mine.
For him, an exception maybe invoices.
A choice I made.
I'm glad I paid.
I made the most worthwhile choices.
It didn't hurt a bit.
I didn't feel a thing.
Thank you dentist, see you soon!
(c) Livvi
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
How could it be
that it's just me
wondering when we
will laugh again with glee.
What scared ghost do we flee
into Summer's buzzing bee
passed a late Falling tree?
I grant that he
has a good degree
and a family pedigree,
but aren't we all free?
I feel tainted with frosty
touches of Northern fee,
invoices billed from a Cree
living in tent or tipi
while burning my effigy.
Down on one knee
at a Maypole jubilee,
drunk and happy,
tragically at the end greedily
eating too much Sandra Lee,
that's me!
Half squinting a dopie
smile and slanting queer
boats with rhyming keel,
I barter with a misty sea,
wanting badly to ***
but instead shade my eyes to see.
Discarded to dry.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
I am helpless, tied to my daily routine
Knowing that distance stands in my way
Concrete and asphalt paths may lead to you
but the detour called life keeps me from moving
You lie in pain, it is endless it seems
Draining of smiles and stamina, encroaching on freedoms
Bringing your heart to the curb, wallowing in confusion
Deep within the grip of fever’s melting shadows
Invoices pile up and calculator batteries run down
A swift arm across this desk reveals my frustration
As folders and tape dispensers collect in a pile on the floor
staring up, wondering, “What did we do?”
You cry of dreams shattered and an eclipsing sun
swaying in darkness on couch cushions
deformed and buckling under the pressure
as illness makes itself at home
If only I could be there, by your side
Doing what…I don’t know, something, anything
Holding your hand, brushing your hair
Silent whispers of affection, whether they do any good or not
You sleep, short periods of painless still
Beneath sweat drenched sheets, locked away in nightmare cages
Seething and fuming on horrors door step
Pleading for help that you know wont come
And here I am, shackled to a wooden structure with sticking drawers
Smirking employees and annoying customers
doing their best to distract me, as I write…poetry
Yeah, poetry…love verses because…well…because
it is the only way I can touch you
and
still your skin eludes me
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
the folly of chasing
an impossible dream
drained the fellow's
limited money stream
invoices stacked high
in a towering pile
the paying killing
his lopsided smile
a snow queen sending
*unending requests for powder *****
an addiction dependent
on the cash cow's stuff
the ledger outgoings
to the province of York
extracted more than a few
rashers of prime pork
in time they'd wipe out
every shilling he had
which was an expense
of a destiny so sad
there he sat grappling
with the long years of loss
all fanciful ideas
smothered by moss
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
to quote a generation, “Whatever…”
history will mark the day this uselessness
is forever banned, this day will be paraded
along the Avenue where astronauts feted,
Super bowl heroes greeted in tall canyons,
no more ticker tape, will shred them invoices
marked overdue, so they will remain status
unchanged, but whatever will be part and
parcel of the disparaged disappeared, for
it insults the recipient twice as much as the
mutterer utterer, for why not say, best direct,
I disrespect us both and won’t give a moment
to consider what you’ve stated, afraid, that exercising a
right to minimal modicum of caring will die out
with that generation, and we will spake a loud
Aleleuya,
and all will answer with feeling,
with a smiling thumbs up,
and W. Whitman will join in…
11:40am
Sun May 25, 2024
May 26, 2024
May 26, 2024 at 11:49 AM UTC
The tabs are listening still
manila bent fat folders
past due bills and debt remitted
collected stuffed and sorted
in the freeze of a moment
when I wasn't a friend
when I defiled a trust
when I spent the last
thin dime of integrity
on a dust filed upstairs
with the titles brittle
invoices and expired
warrantees.
The phone may ring
to renew the service
between me and you
and I'll drop the handle
into the cradle
of a familiar voice
without a word
without a thought
our crisp linen days
pushed away
while a rusting washer
screams another load
and a cabinet drawer
inches out a little bit more
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 6:54 AM UTC
To lead the land with a steady hand
Is easier said than done.
For since you have power
And have vowed never to cower
Your real troubles are just begun.
To lead the land with a steady hand
Takes more than just being the boss.
You must be willing to make sacrifices
-Not of your own devices-
To stand up and bear your own cross.
To lead the land with a steady hand
Requires courage, will, and time.
Forced to make very hard choices
Over employees and invoices
And explain the reason where there is no rhyme.
To lead the land with a steady hand
Is a pressing, tiring feat
But upon returning home
You have no time of your own
None to rest your wearisome feet.
To lead the land with a steady hand
To us you try to explain
The principles you use;
Misunderstood, they light your short fuse
Deep breaths, then you try to tell us again.
To lead the land with a steady hand
Is not appreciated as it should be
For in all that you do
In all you charge through
Those unfamiliar do not seem to see.
Your hands do not shake
Your legs do not quake
And rarely do you ever venture upon a mistake.
None but you really knows what it will take
To lead the land with a steady hand.
I think I might finally understand
My services are at your demand.
Lead me, father, help me learn how to command
And to lead the land with a steady hand.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC