"irs" poems
(Inspired by and dedicated to John Edward Smallshaw, and his "Spice")
I am a summer-man,
Because I'm blessed to sit by the sea.
Let it and the other two Musketeers,
boon companions to me,
Sun and Wind,
erase my discomposure as I
reside in the Poet's Nookery.
Let them have almost
all that troubles,
but not all.
I am a summer-man.
On the bay, on the beach,
I see birth, I see death,
osprey nests, carcasses of
mussels and horseshoe *****
This, somehow reassuring,
the cycles,
this circularity,
the tides and inevitability.
I am a summer-man.
Student of languages seasonal,
Peaches, plums, cherries, poetry
and loving Woman.^
This, the summer alphabet-soup
of my multiple tongues.
I am a summer-man.
Sancerre and Pinot Gris, super cold,
Paul Simon, Nina Simone,
with proper aging,
getting hotter,
Salsa and Afrikaner hints,
super louder,
Even "Still Crazy After All These Years,"
that-who-wud-be-me,
chills outer.^^
I am a summer-man.
When ever this lad's writes appear,
it proves once again,
there is no truth that his
name was once Dr. Seuss
In a prior life, even if
each is signed by
Ogdiddy Nash**
I am a summer-man.
**Disrespectful of the calendar,
if I can, try to make
summer season stretch-marks from
May to October.
I would add April,
but the IRS is already
****** at me.^^^
Though the cherry blossoms of May
now gone away,
the lilies of June
arrive, but but for a week or two,
soon, like my mom, withered away.
Acorns in August^^^^ have arrived too swiftly.**
This summer, beloved,
and love of summer,
deep-rooted.
Season of my Peter Pan Poetry Galore Festival.
A love, incapable, impossible, of ever
growing old, ever growing cold,
it cannot wither.
It is summer heat reminders exposed,
how it misses its man,
that hide in the flames of
the teasing, popping, reminding
Winter fireplace's crackling popping***
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
Watchin' bikinis as they stroll,
they show a lot of skin, but not much soul.
You're out of your league boy, but that's OK.
Tomorrow could be your lucky day.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together,
till my skin turns into leather,
down on the Redneck Riviera.
"4x4s" sportin' bars-n-stars.
Ball caps and tank tops, their hittin' the bars.
Tattoos gettin ********* scarin' "tourys" away.
It's alright Ma tomorrow's a beach day.
And if you ain't a "toury"
you're runnin' from your past.
FBI, DEA or maybe the IRS.
Past wives, past lives, AWOL.
Everybody knows you here, but no one will tell.
Non-com fly-boys with their Amerasian wives,
bringin' 'em to America, given 'em better lives.
Some stay together, but others will roam.
They'll hit the street for money like they did back home.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together.
Frankly Scarlet I don't give a **** about Tara.
I'm down on the Redneck Riviera.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
It's two in the morning & I can't fall asleep
My mind is feeling restless
From all these thoughts that never leave
I remember simpler days
Wishing I could move away
Five years down the line
Now look at where I stay
Sleeping in my homies truck
In a sketchy parking lot
Up & early before dawn
Plug my headphones
Music on
Off to work that 9 to 5
Putting in that over time
Cash my check then realize
IRS took every dime
**** this government of mine
Take our checks & say it's right
Swipe my card & get declined
They make it hard to stay alive
**** I'm tired of this life
But I ain't thinking suicide
For if I do they satisfied
Much rather fight for what is mine
Is there a way for this to change
If there is then lead the way
Living bumy day to day
Tell me how the **** can one maintain
When they come up on your pay
A fallen victim to their game
I now start to contemplate
Faster routes like
Slang some dope & push that yay
Pass me the yak I popp the cap
Take a swig & I knock it back
Lord forgive me for my sins
Might just bust my first break in
- Abraham Avalos
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
Caesar Has No Authority Over The Grammarians
(Caesar non supra grammaticos)
I am licensed to drive.
I am licensed to broke.
I am licensed to be birthed.
I am licensed to marry, divorce and someday I will be
coroner-permission"end" to die.
If I so choose, I can be state approved to cut your hair,
have my own business, weld, own a dog, panhandle, play tennis in Central Park, dance in my own cabaret, even commit suicide legally.
These United States were a refuge for my foreign born parents,
Bless you both for privileging me such,
you gifted me a country where my voice, clear and unashamedly,
unguarded can speak here unafraid, for our
Caesar has no authority over the grammarians.
Tho the IRS gonna come after me, and king phony Barack,
Gonna eavesdrop on my privacy,
As long as I can write my poetry free and clear, untaxed,
won't ever mortgage my soul to any government hack
I will carry my U.S. passport in my left pocket over my heart,
Till they take my freedom to speak away.
Then I will get a gun for free speech is worth dying for...
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
The Stars will collide and the ashes will cover our grounds
- Tiffanie Noel Doro
•••••••••••
burn my body,
flesh and bone just the same•
let loose my soul so it might be free•but
save my remains before the wind comes to
claim•so you'd remember me as the dream-
er infinitely•pluck the stars from the night
skyline•don't forget the moon for I adore
it so•grind them to dust and scatter the-
irs with mine•i'd have them as comp-
any to the place I will go•handle me
with care, no you must not spill•
ashes and dust...funnel me in
turn•place me near, on the
mantel or the sill•my for-
ever will then be sealed
in your cold...shelved...
urn•
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
It was a highway that brought me here
Stuffed into a expensive car with four adults and good music
We drove for what seemed hours
Arriving on the slick, black streets of the Emerald City
Down a rabbit hole of old cars and termite ridden stairs
Past an old couch and a stray cat
Into a cold room with heaters stacked and jumbled
Full of pianos and good and beer
People I've known for twelve years
And people I've met only once
People I don't know
Different skins, of their own, of animals
Frizzy and cropped hair, wine and mason jar glasses
Walls painted silver, gleaming under forty year old lamps
Mismatched furniture and occupants alike
Sirens singing in the background
Children running through the foreground
Old friends and a blind man with a big dog
Visual artists and IRS agents
Musicians and carpenters
Mechanical engineers
Cobbled together around and old fireplace and a rosewood piano
Sharing stories and songs, sons and daughters
Tales from the road, and wedding pictures
I sat on an orange pleather couch in the makeshift kitchen
Watching theses people's children play with bionicles and dolls
Reading books and drawing on walls
Playing drums and answering calls
Fighting for bathroom stall
These are my people
I know them all
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
Ax To Grind
Blood dripping from the eye,
looks like Jesus starting to cry.
I stabbed you with a screwdriver,
blood gushing like a geyser.
Cut off your ears with some scissors,
blood flowing just like rivers.
Took a hacksaw to your nose,
felt so good, used it on tour toes.
I cut off your fingers with garden shears,
they were twenty bucks at the local Sears.
Chopped of your head with my ax,
I'm from the IRS, and you paid no tax,
We don't care if you have no money,
continue not paying and people become ******
Burning crosses in your front yard,
I'm a white boy and kind of a ******
When you run out of your house,
your home gets a gasoline douse.
In white robes we walk the street,
we sure hate the dark meat.
We're grinding the ole ax,
we're KKK and hunting blacks.
The problem is they fight back,
so we just give them some killer crack.
Blood dripping from the heart,
dragged the carcass to the local mart.
Hunting animals is what I do,
then I cook them in my famous stew.
Whether a shotgun or bow and arrow,
could be a bear or a helpless sparrow.
Sometimes a dog, sometimes a cat,
maybe a mouse, maybe a cat.
I'm a hunter on the loose,
how I love to **** a moose.
I use the skins as a rug,
I just killed an annoying bug.
I use my trusty ax to chop off their head,
now they hang above my king sized bed.
How I love to use my awesome ax,
whether for the IRS, hunting or torturing blacks.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Telephone scams are driving me crazy--
Both on my landline and on my cell!
I'm on the verge of telling every
Pesky caller to go to hell!
The IRS is after me.
Oh, the message sounds so dire.
The person says I'd better respond
Or I will be in big trouble. Liar!
Or a recording tells me that my
Router has been hacked, and so
If I don't call them right away,
They'll shut my router down. Oh, no!
A caller claims he's from HP
And says that they know for sure
That my computer has a virus.
I want to say he's full of manure.
Another swears he's calling from
The FBI, demanding money
Because I'm being investigated.
I must pay, or else! Funny!
Because you've managed to make our lives
So miserable, scammers, I swear:
There has to be a special place
In hell for you. You'd better beware!
-by Bob B (8-23-18)
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
I'm not going to the pizzeria today
Hell no, I'm not going to that pizzeria today
To go in and scrub the dishes
The bleach is burning my skin
And insect crawling on the food
While my time is just wasting
I refuse to wash another bin or tray
I'm not going to the pizzeria today
I'm not going on that sinking ship today
Forget that, I'n not getting on that sinking ship today
We have a sushi place across the street
Another pizzeria two doors down
They also own the bagel shop between us
And when bakery opens, I won't be around
I'm sorry, but I certainly can't stay
I'm abandoning this sinking ship today
I'm resigning from this bad business today
That it, I'm done with this bad business today
The boss ignored the IRS for months
They came, emptied the registers and shut us down
Sometimes there's no money in the bank
So every now and then all our checks bounce
I work for six ours for $8.25, I expect to get paid
That's it I've had it with this bad business today
I'm giving up on this lost cause today
Yes, I'm giving up on this lost cause today
It fell apart when they switched hands
Two parents bought it for their sons
And they plowed it into the ground
One's on coke and the others just dumb
When they're parents come in they have nothing to say
I'm giving up on this lost cause today
I'm not going into work today
I can not go into work today
Where the employees could care less but still try their best
And the boss act like two year old
Where we get bi weekly pay and everyday is slow
And the pizza in the case is cold
I'm giving in my two weeks notice and going on my way
There is nothing that can make me go to that godforsaken pizzeria today
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was ******
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!
I've busted my *** for **** near a year,
Instead of 'Thanks Santa'--what do I hear?
The old lady ******* cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.
Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and ***** has AIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better
Those ******** from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't **** funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?
And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little *****
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think - I'm IBM!
Flying through the air....dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat *** and draw unemployment.
There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
Thirty thousand dollars.
That is how much a decent education will cost me.
Thirty thousand a year.
Thirty thousand that should go towards my family's debt right now but will only add to it in 2 years time.
"Why are these kids so lazy? Why don't they get degrees? Maybe then they wouldn't be so **** broke."
Well hey, the money we're hoping to make with our degrees means nothing when we're spending the first 10 'legal' years of our lives working to keep afloat,
keep the IRS from breathing down our necks,
keep pulling together just enough to not quite make rent yet again.
"Get a job. That's what I did growing up. You're just making excuses."
Yeah, and when you were growing up Yale's tuition was 5k and flipping burgers made enough to feed a family.
Brick by brick our fates are sealed,
Brick by brick we were set up for financial disrepair.
"Don't forget about FAFSA", right?
But of course, if you have an income, it's all going towards college, right?
Or if you don't, your middle class parents can afford to pay for you to go, right?
They don't need to give us a ton of help - rent is a luxury, remember?
Money is a luxury, remember?
Living is a luxury, remember?
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Lotus clouds oversee a Popsicle stick roadway,
between us only dirt that, like jellyfish, echoed away
A refugee of the Imperial Court once hid in the Zhongnan.
He survived in silk rags, and would ode The Way
Moss-haired men watch Magnavox in windows,
the evangelical salesman begging them not to toad away.
Across the street, near the top floor, a freshly-ex-student
sits at his desk in an IRS building, told five hours ago to code away
A face, topped with hot pink, brandishes her crop in a field
of signs, screaming at Wall Street's old way.
A yam of a man, braving his new home in the hills,
freedom from obligation, finds a stream to wash the woad away.
Along a country road, a man with a sandpaper'd
face counts his money, having just sold whey
Lotus clouds oversee a Popsicle stick roadway,
between us only a past that, like jellyfish, echoed a way
Twenty one years have given me many names.
Call me Kyle, or the others I've borrowed away.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
00:00 Valentines Day
It’s midnight,
and I’m,
alone again,
trying to fill the time,
with these words I write,
watched the Grammy’s last night,
Twenty One Pilots,
standing there in their underwear,
reminding us that we can be,
anything,
Hollywood,
my home,
so many people,
at the Grammy’s,
I’ve met and befriended,
but sometimes,
the enthusiasm seems so gone,
it feels like we’re living,
after the credits when the film has ended,
like,
what’s happened to us,
where have we gone,
and why,
do we still feel,
so totally alone,
supposed to be gone by the morning,
flight to Cabo to pick up my truck,
just flew in from Australia,
found letters from the IRS in my PO Box,
welcome home boy now it’s time to pay your tax,
met my accountant tonight,
gave him all the paperwork,
we chatted for a minute in his Range Rover,
I made a joke about having a black accountant,
he reminded me of the Basquiat photo I’d given him,
Basquiat in the 80’s,
looking awkward as fck,
holding a FroZade cup in his hand,
a crooked No Parking sign standing by,
and the ‘ol Twin Towers towering in the hazed background,
another genius gone before his time,
sometimes the art we create is ahead of us,
sometimes we have to watch our success from the Heavens,
1 2 3 4 5 6 7,
8 9 10 11,
12,
It’s midnight,
and I’m,
alone again,
trying to fill the time,
with these words I write,
watched the Grammy’s last night,
Twenty One Pilots,
standing there in their underwear,
reminding us that we can be,
anything…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:33 AM UTC
here i sit,
im at loss,
hiding in the *******
cause im the boss.
the irs is coming and want thier money,
but i bought hookers and *****
isnt that funny?
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
All my **** got repossessed
By an aardvark in a leather vest
That he swears is only vinyl
But won’t tell me where to buy my own
He says if I can go six months
With no late payments
On my credit card statements
He’ll let the name slip
I’ve got to get my **** together
Or this cruelty-free vegan sleeveless pleather
Statement piece might slip away from me
So, these days, I’m
Dedicated to paying
This debt I’ve accumulated
Despite the social detriment
Withdrawal and depressive episodes
All in the name of
Improving my credit score
Until when?
The day comes up
That I’ve paid for the stuff
That I bought without paying for
I’m practically stable
By now
The aardvark from the IRS
Reappears as my remaining debt and interest
Dwindles into a less pressing account
For the withholding public servant
Who’s about to grant me access
To the privileged information
I’ve been craving for months
It was an Etsy shop
And they’re all sold out
Dec 21, 2023
Dec 21, 2023 at 9:50 AM UTC
Packet of Time
T'is the custom of some,
To do their self-sums,
Periodically,
A self-review of
What is seen
When standing before the
Mirror that cannot lie.
Some like Xmas, while others
Count their turkey feathers
on January first.
Others numerical ***** on
The fifteenth of April,
As required by the IRS.
Others habit bound,
Do a spring cleaning,
Or an annualized medical checkup.
Then there are the enviable few,
Who never do
Such an exercise,
For being sure of one's rightness
Precludes the necessity of having their
**** probed, their status, already known.
As I lie in bed at four am,
Waking after a four hour packet of rest,
Began to wonder, what is the proper period
That a person should time themselves out,
Take a look back, do a "get back Jack,"
To find where they not once belonged,
But where they should set the course heading.
Here is where
This poem gets
Deadly
Serious.
One minute please!
One on, one off.
Did you just spend the minute prior,
Setting your brain on fire,
Scrub away the false pretenses,
Or waste 60 of them on mindless telly?
Day dream, plan and scheme,
Outline the plan, man,
Or curse your fate
The one you, Nate,
Created.
Seems quite expensive,
Spending half a life
Thinking how to
Spend the other half.
But a **** worthwhile,
Notion,
likely to reduce
Self- promotion.
For after but a few such minutes,
You will likely conclude,
Better to think of others,
Than yourself.
Then you truly begin,
The voyage human.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
Bullets have no feelings
No use in kneeling
Nobody cares that matters.
They never count
The bones that shatter,
The blood that splatters
The lives they ruin.
They don’t know what they’re doing.
They’re thinking with their wallets.
Lining their overstuffed pockets,
They reward their own efforts
Then get together and do the same
For others with too much fame
And too little conscience;
No pity to share,
They don’t care.
We are not there
To them.
Their anthem
Is gouge, overcharge
Fill up a barge with gold.
This graft never grows old
When you are on the receiving end.
Millions to donate? You are a friend.
No riches to date? You are forgotten,
A loser, a user, misbegotten
And no concern of those
With a spoon in their nose
And riches to spend
On a war that never ends
And makes them more and more.
And secret bank accounts don’t score
With the IRS or with the detectives;
As long as our county is defective
They will continue to win.
Again and again.
If you object to this
You need to at least kiss
The ***** of some politicians
Who won’t see their petitions
Ignored, as always before
When someone denounced
The smallest ounce
Of corruption and payoffs
Paid to overpaid jerkoffs
Who are turning our leadership
Into a high-priced sinking ship
Of fools and criminals
Claiming to be intellectuals
When really they are crooks
Cooking the books.
Again and again.
And we never win.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
Ahh, shady lady says she’s shy
And insecure
As it were,
I say sure,
Sure, she’s a bit demure,
But that’s only part
Of her
Allure,
I too am shy and raconteur.
Ahh, I always worry
Cuz faces are blurry
I never remember the names;
I hide behind a graffiti covered wall
Standing tall
Feeling small
I guess I’m just part of the games
People play
All day, they
Deep freeze you,
Mess with you, then
Bless You when
You sneeze,
Ahh, get down on your knees
Please, and
Beg for mercy
Beg for pain,
Scarecrow needs a brain,
I’m begging cuz I got nothing to gain
Ahh, let me explain,
Nothing to gain, nothing to lose
Wouldn’t refuse,
A new pair of shoes
Mine are old,
Have a hole in the toe
The laces are broke
And tied in a knot,
What you got,
In your store,
You can give to the poor?
Or for a switch,
You can give to the rich,
Ahh, relax,
They pay the tax,
But, I ain’t no Robin Hood, or
William Tell, whose
Overture to the pits of Hell,
Didn’t sell,
Until he licensed it to the Lone Ranger,
Hi ** Silver, ask a stranger
If it takes a silver bullet,
To **** the wicked witch,
*****
Lies underneath the house,
Curling toes and ruby slippers,
Dreaming of all the zippers
She unzipped, then walked away,
Ahh, it’s a brand new day.
So if the IRS calls
Tell ‘em I’m dead
Or went to bed
I’ll sleep it off till noon,
Now you got the name of this tune
I’m howlin’ at the moon!
I’m crazy as a loon,
See you soon.
See you soon,
See ya,
Soon,
I’m leavin’ in a hot air balloon,
Ahh, there’s no place like home.
Or Rome,
If you get the chance
To dance,
With the Pope,
Or if you want to see the lions
In the Coliseum,
You can see’em,
Having lunch,
Captain Crunch,
The Tin Man needs a heart,
Tear me up,
Tear me apart,
Ahh, you were all there,
You, and You, and You,
For certain,
You were all behind the curtain,
Ahh, MGM,
And the lion roars,
The End
Phil Lindsey 1/13/17
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
life is but a dream...
Lithuanian speaking parrots
dangle alluringly toxic grapes,
but you breakfast on hyacinths
and suddenly turn cruel in April.
Seductively sleepy lidded women
grip you with invisible fangs
squeezing away any latent lust.
Your cat silently reads your will
licking his sharp, sodden chops.
The IRS sends you an inviting
prison manufactured Christmas card.
The car you can't drive finds a
new owner on Craig's List and
leaves you stranded and alone.
Unable to reach the grocery store,
you will choke on frozen burritos.
Your good cholesterol joins the plot,
turns bad, and conspires to ******
Lowly earthworms dug for fishing
mutate into malevolent Blacks Mambas.
AARP hounds you to rejoin
no matter how many times you move.
Your high-speed Internet connection
devolves into a slow, taunting swamp.
Your toenails just won’t shut up.
The sun rises suspiciously late.
And you've only been awake an hour.
Could be a very long day.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
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Relate Articles:
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
When is the game over?
When the man dies?
When the first born is a girl?
At the end of the first meal without salt?
When the woman dies?
At sunset?
At the late time of night when the spirit ebbs?
When his one good joke is repeated too often?
When his son is killed by friendly fire?
When the potatoes are blighted?
At the end of high school football stardom?
When rejected by a prom date?
When destituted by frivolous litigation
Destituted by insufficient health insurance?
When caught cheating?
At cards?
In adultery?
In a resume?
By the IRS
When caught?
In a sting?
Ten most wanted?
Interpol?
When I finish my drink?
When I empty my wallet?
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
Welcome to
The red white
And dark blue
**********
That owns you
The tax kings
Bleeding you
For better dreams
You will never make it to
It’s true
The wealthy rule
I’m not sure
If it’s a secret cabal
But they take it all
Rake in the money
We make them
While taking more
We feed the fed and the IRS
The justice system
Is the department of property protection
Run by big fat white men
I guess I’m ranting again
But I am tired
And getting sleepier by the minute
We got to many dogs
In this fight
And I’m not sure
If we can win it
That is why this poem doesn’t have
A happy ending in it
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
Oh, Joel,
I see you've gone the way
of HP vanity
with your two score & eight cantos
pdf-ed
and
covered
in Escheresque!
============
Wishing you brisk sales and an IRS audit :-)
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 3:23 PM UTC
I sent a leg UPS to
my mom
she needed one
she been all gimpy
for twenty years now
sent my brother
my middle finger
my dead dad
a hallejuah
my son a missive via
twitter
he aint responded,
my ex her alimony
check written
on rubber ,
a used one,
called my girl
she was busy again-
she aint got a job but
sure stays busy-
my dealer ,
I sent a Christmas card
birthday card
called him on our anniversary,
he was my best man
at my wedding,
we borrowed his
Porsche
for our honeymoon,
hope he don't know what we did
with his gear shift,
I sent the IRS
an IOU
again.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC