"mergers" poems
Like modern day knights
we muster around a
table.
We don’t wear shiny armour
we wear suits that are 50% polyester
50% rayon.
Our jousting poles are have been
replaced with
nervously bitten biros,
and on a fuzzy screen the MD appears
speaking from a country where the currency is
colourful
but ultimately worthless.
His voice is delayed giving
and talks of mergers, leverage &
buy outs.
But I fade out like a ghost image in a propaganda film,
doodling hieroglyphics on a pad.
From the window I see workmen digging a
hole and I wonder will they ever reach China?
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
An Infinite number of Monkeys,
furiously typing away,
provided with paper and ribbon
would, in time,write Shakespeare's plays.
Off-shoring and Corporate mergers,
Massive layoffs, death and disease,
plus the lack of typewriter repairmen
Decimated those bard-chimpanzees.
Instead of that infinite number
these days I'm afraid it's just me
churning out corrupt Shakespeare Quartos
titled "Piglet, the Prince of Belize"
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
Panasonic and Sony beeping
in custom made Reid & Taylor pockets.
A trade for a Rolex throned on his wrist in lieu of
once existent dreams, in now hollow sockets.
Adrenaline pumping before
high stakes meetings and brunches.
Calculating the dose of his choice of drug,
penthouse suites and timeline crunches.
Dizzy with ambition, painting
******* bleached canvasses.
Narcissistic laughter aimed to beguile others,
he, for whom his relaxants are stresses.
Dealing with the Devil himself,
power tainted and ill-gotten,
the realization that humans are not beyond sale;
in markets, mergers and acquisitions.
Recessions, Inflations, cruel overdoses
of risk, of danger unspoken.
And when he surfaces again to consciousness,
profits, losses both taken and broken.
Lost in the sewers filled with;
stock brokers and agents alike: the pawnors,
a haughty expression with green bills,
to score his ecstasy, capital owners.
Another dollar, another hit
never enough to sleep remembering the day.
A Corporate ****** scouring for riches,
a high, a trance not soon before long will sway.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
Like old
mean beetles,
like old
men in battle,
like egos: solid anvils,
like families: lethal weapons,
like these: them,
begotten sons
who begat daughters
of a land, of a bordered plot
on the globe, the dirt,
the house, the property
which begot
them
both,
these two
bitter enemies
from two
separate places,
furiously blaze,
as the time
for darkness,
is far
from arrived.
And the sun
quakes,
in its heat
rippling sights
and
knocking particles,
which deter the next
knocked,
and which enforce
the continued sensation of
warmth
continued,
of aversion
continued,
rising,
screened,
for its impeccable quality,
against
nobody in
general or
specific
to announce, or to gain
against
consequences, which are
soothsaid
in time,
nullified.
Partners afflicted will be less opportunistic
and more egalitarian,
but are sworn,
like the sun,
against the monotony,
of repetition,
of indistinct days;
like these:
them,
the enemies,
they
are
engaged,
aged,
unteachable
and
spoiled.
They are always
immersed
in
vexed
states,
always in competition.
Hope
is
the
souls
united
never again
as much
as the static,
single dimension,
alone,
impeccable,
impossible,
for its possibility
is drawn by He
who
spews forth
lumens
next to card sharks and Amazons, knowing these
will have to suffice, having no escape
from the projected
source
of energy.
The metal heads
of garden rakes,
weapons
thrown
at devils
in the sweltering heat
of hell,
the Inferno
that holds a
first-person
point of view,
a dream, alongside
superheroes, allied,
but who are,
nevertheless,
without their unique
and exceptional powers,
pros and willing deviants
from the celibacy,
the weight,
the unoriginal paint
that collides
in
each
stroke,
making what
appears
null,
and the array
but one,
and supposed,
so that then
are the weary
and soulful mergers
which corrupt
and meander throughout,
polluting,
as
it
were,
the tranquility,
the wrenched service,
of the destined
machine,
of a million
trajectories,
homespun threads,
woven
into
a
million
miserable
microfibers,
unanswered
queries
that were
held back
in
fear,
and
were
never
asked,
and remain
even
now
sorry.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC
These playful boys
Ducking in and out from the sea of umbrellas
Occasionally poke their heads out to be splashed by my rains
A waterfall of another substance, with no intention nor motive
But simply given to bathe all in purety and joy
Free from payment and contract
My water drizzles from pores as if never ending
And my cloud, held up by these feeling boys
Who, upon looking upon my cloud
Create invisible pillars, sturdy and unbreakable, keeping it from falling from sky
These links pass their happiness to the outline to the grey mists embodied
Often misleading simple eyes to presume unwanted storms and floods
And hopefully more may look up, to find their silver lining
But as I look down to see my waters humble achievements
I am blinded by the swarm of blockades erected
Falsely they fear the waters as they fear other things natural and of form
Suspicion instilled by mergers already signed causes distrust
For they're accustomed to a price, and deals being made
Blindly they cannot see this freedom was rightfully theirs to begin with
The truth disguised in every drop of rain is eternal, without expiry nor catch
Unlike those temporary pleasures offered by fog and shadow
But so many droplets go straight to the ground, dead and unrealized
Trampled on as the crowd continues living in shade
Each hit, bruises me and my cloud, darkening the already looming grey
Unintentionally the growing cloud provokes more deterrence from storms broadcasted maliciously
But still, I release my waters, looking down to those boys who care not for light in darkness
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
Putting mind in first gear,
I prance and romance
moment.
Senses heighten
spiraling into breath.
Eyes focus,
as light integrates dark of night.
Dancing steps
grace my steady pace,
Gentle of voice mergers
with precious birds.
New baby day emerges
as if I be chick hatched
from fertile egg.
An egg born of universe.
Born to sing song of gratitude.
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 10:40 AM UTC
The great equalizer
stood by the bed
watching his laborious breathing
and the pain quaking the emaciated body.
It's almost time.
No more layoffs to increase profits
lock-outs to break the unions
hidden caches to avoid taxes
mergers and acquisitions
under the table payments
price fixing, loan sharking
no bribing and extortions
no naive women to exploit
The great equalizer
stood there watching
with pity and loathing
patiently waiting
The end of the line.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
Her eyes fluttered open after her legs
(hummingbirds and the parting of petals)
and the first thing she felt
was the way he filled her like a mold.
"I need you so much." He said
(have you ever been a craving?)
And her sigh was an acquiesce
To his acquisition of her body
Like a plot of land that he would plow
trusting him to let her bloom
(like sparrows and chariots)
Giving him time to sew (seeds)
himself back into place.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Malaise words floweth from me,
as the rain taps this diffident roof,
where snap picture lovers sit in booths,
As i siteth on the hill!
tenacious muse...
Dearth of rosies line these chalk cracked walks,
Just complainers complain and gaulk,
as thine mergers thy own self sees breaking!
the earth seems quaking...
Saccharine duet,
a cloaked baggette,
a diamond in the rough i only heap to unravel..
the mound has turned gravel, where tombs whence layed..
Stanzas to post on paper,
clocks to do no favor,
as when time passes,
soo doth thy memories...
full yet unplentied..
Veneration is scarecely innocent,
the young grow older, the bold seem colder,
as neither hot nor cold,
thou could spew them from thine mouth!
a red immutable couch!!!
Unprecidented lingo i want to perfect,
where a queen and me will flect,
on now,
and thy new tommorrow.
ourn own oak thats hollow!!!
two sage stoic's,
where when thouest fall one shall know it,
and lend you their hand,
and NOT a tounge lashing!
ultimate blessing...
Two herasies made covenant,
two births on their own planet,
One spirit to their magnet,
as One profuse enigma ,
Provincial to god and us...........
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
A cell exceeds boundaries when meeting the wealth of another. Another who is like them. A salt of the earth. One won’t deceive you as we merge together. Common courtesy for now. Cells become greater focus when merging together with trust. Trust amplifies common courtesies. Foundations arise, and fall. Balance? No. Relationships? At first. Then what…? Simple. Two halves with a void, slowly becoming consumed by another. Filling in the necessary. No voids existing in open spaces the size of what they never understood. Something zaps in pleasure! Pleasure becomes the common courtesy. Tensions rise and fall between the mergers. Forming into a newly merged claim. A form never exceeding the wealth it ever deserved. It happens anyways. Exceeding one’s primary focus. Deserving when having no other choice. Choice is meant to brisk them to light. Light zaps onward. Foundations rise and fall again. Something clicks. Giving rise to an interpretation. Interpretations give rise to wealth. Wealth claiming two mergers into newer states. The state of mixing is known as (reaching beyond itself.) Two halves never lucky, until merging as one. A brain cell is born.
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 11:06 PM UTC
Where land meets sea
She'll wait for me.
At times
sometimes
I dream
full to the brim
and swim in your eyes,
at times
sometimes
when
my mind's a blank screen
She,
comes to me in another dream.
Oct 10, 2024
Oct 10, 2024 at 12:48 AM UTC
True confessions: When I’m High
You all know how one just loves one's morning cup of coffee!
When I’m high,
And morning cuppa’s done the trick,
Slow-ish thyroid smart and quickened,
Then I start;
Choices clear, mind too,
Arms, legs, body knowing
What to do
And even how to do it.
‘High’ sounds utterly,
So totally, so wholly, awfully
So negative.
(Forgive the ‘so’ dear reader, dear.
Its hyperbolic overkill so clearly
The result of coffee).
Back to diplomatic understatement:
When I’m high and un-befuddled,
Elevated in an un-bemuddled way,
In optimal condition where
I share in
Energies that pick and choose
So’s not to lose a time so prime.
And yet, the wonder is,
The mind, which picks and clicks,
Multi-tasking, seeding shortcuts,
Riotous new recipes,
Old elements, new mergers.
Even quiet-less, no-fuss ideas
From made-up phrases that proliferate.
Remembering, selecting, nominating:
High’s amazing!
And it only takes a cup of coffee to a-raise it.
Thus I praise it!
In conclusion:
If there’s been collusion between you and me,
And on some level you agree
I’ve reached the goal of vers-itry,
And these one hundred ninety
Really odd, God given words were worth it,
Then it’s worth, been worth the birth pains and the plod.
True Confessions: When I’m High 3.12.2018 A Sense of The Ridiculous II; Coffee Book II; Arlene Corwin
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC