"miser" poems
(for Christopher Isherwood)
Seated after breakfast
In this white-tiled cabin
Arabs call the House where
Everybody goes,
Even melancholics
Raise a cheer to Mrs.
Nature for the primal
Pleasure She bestows.
*** is but a dream to
Seventy-and-over,
But a joy proposed un-
-til we start to shave:
Mouth-delight depends on
Virtue in the cook, but
This She guarantees from
Cradle unto grave.
Lifted off the *****
Infants from their mothers
Hear their first impartial
Words of worldly praise:
Hence, to start the morning
With a satisfactory
Dump is a good omen
All our adult days.
Revelation came to
Luther in a privy
(Crosswords have been solved there)
Rodin was no fool
When he cast his Thinker,
Cogitating deeply,
Crouched in the position
Of a man at stool.
All the arts derive from
This ur-act of making,
Private to the artist:
Makers' lives are spent
Striving in their chosen
Medium to produce a
De-narcissus-ized en-
During excrement.
Freud did not invent the
Constipated miser:
Banks have letter boxes
Built in their façade
Marked For Night Deposits,
Stocks are firm or liquid,
Currencies of nations
Either soft or hard.
Global Mother, keep our
Bowels of compassion
Open through our lifetime,
Purge our minds as well:
Grant us a king ending,
Not a second childhood,
Petulant, weak-sphinctered,
In a cheap hotel.
Keep us in our station:
When we get pound-notish,
When we seem about to
Take up Higher Thought,
Send us some deflating
Image like the pained ex-
-pression on a Major
Prophet taken short.
(Orthodoxy ought to
Bless our modern plumbing:
Swift and St. Augustine
Lived in centuries
When a stench of sewage
Made a strong debating
Point for Manichees.)
Mind and Body run on
Different timetables:
Not until our morning
Visit here can we
Leave the dead concerns of
Yesterday behind us,
Face with all our courage
What is now to be.
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Needle, needle, dip and dart,
Thrusting up and down,
Where's the man could ease a heart
Like a satin gown?
See the stitches curve and crawl
Round the cunning seams--
Patterns thin and sweet and small
As a lady's dreams.
Wantons go in bright brocade;
Brides in organdie;
Gingham's for the plighted maid;
Satin's for the free!
Wool's to line a miser's chest;
Crepe's to calm the old;
Velvet hides an empty breast
Satin's for the bold!
Lawn is for a bishop's yoke;
Linen's for a nun;
Satin is for wiser folk--
Would the dress were done!
Satin glows in candlelight--
Satin's for the proud!
They will say who watch at night,
"What a fine shroud!"
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Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep’s fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow;
And in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
All are scattered now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
“Ah! when shall they all meet again?”
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,—
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
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Dear Friends, this poem was composed many years ago and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Time here is compared to the money lender and miser Shylock in Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant Of Venice’, where Shylock insisted on cutting out a pound of flesh from the merchant Bassanio, for having failed to pay back the loan taken from Shylock! Hope you like it, - Raj
TIME THE GREAT USURER
TIME the great usurer, is a great miser too,
Always knows the cost of things to be paid
back by you!
It readily loans you the desired amount in
number of years.
Smilingly assures and allays all your doubts
and fears.
It makes the loan to appear like a free gratis,
So you hardly bother to take any notice!
But with the passage of growing years and
life depleting with time,
In paying back your interests, you got to
default sometime.
Precisely at that moment, the usurer knocks
rather loud,
And through death takes back its’ principal
amount !
Alas, Time the great Shylock knows the cost
of everything.
When will it learn to appreciate the value
we attach to things?
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
When she died,
I thought I'd just grow old
Shutting myself in the old house
alone,with memories and the mirror
that she had looked in one bright day
like gold in the miser's chest.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
The Black Cat of Killakee combs his Fur
Whilst waiting his Feed to divert his Curse:
A Tunney from him; And a Brush from her
For his Mood satisfy the Lady's Purse
Which, nay, see the Tears from his Beelzing Eyes
Oft we assume he was asking for milk
Then, drawing near, strike miser claws of ice
Yet lick your searing wounds as soft as silk
Still makes no sense, save to leave it alone
And cast the door open for its taste to leave
Cot! Fear! Disobey his Instruction bone
Then his Name's Allusion bleed your reprieve.
The Artist knew this, and Painted his Mark
At least on a Dine it knows not to Bark.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
The whiteness of pearl
The glossiness of gold
See the richness of girl
From me walking away
Feel the warmth of her slap
Sense the sound of her thrash
See the rudeness of the girl
who is walking away
She say “I love your honesty”
I know honesty the best policy
Why is she so lunatic,
who is walking away?
She asked me for date
She was in shopaholic state
Guess the stubbornness of the lunatic
Who calls me miser again
Her gold bracelet not faked
But her sympathy is baked
It’s the attitude of the girl
That is baking that cake
Boy becoming single
Hardly changes the weeks
But the girl who left him
Tails a queue of pervert geeks
Oh come on my freakin brain
Just split out the stupid pain
See the hot figure of the new chick
Who’s walking on my way
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
grasses brown up nice,
this time of year, Sun slices,
through the spaces of
branches and the love-
ly leaves, shadow seekers,
and sun bathers wait on,
the changing dark shape,
to place their bodies and at
by the end of the day
such justifies the means,
while buckets of water
empty and fill and liquid
pill fertilizer, is a miser
of plant health, wealth
and chaotic growth,
you can't control your
eating or time,
so why should a ****
heed the call to stop,
why should a plant,
slow down instead,
cant toward the Sun
you worship or hide
your hide from, and
your dog or cat, just
lays about the place,
licks your nose or face,
serve wine over ice and
take a couple of ice cubes
from a heart, that there
is never a chance of thaw,
at the temperature of dry
ice and dry eyes that will
not shed tears, will not
shuck fears, like oysters,
on the life that is a beach,
shoals,
rip tides,
confide and confounded,
leave the corpse in the sand
until the waves have pounded
knowledge of gardening and
gardens of life, go on live
beyond the strife, soften the
take on weed(s).
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
I'll go along with the thought, 'work makes you strong' just as long as I can
but,
sometimes, I feel pooped and can't jump through the hoops and that's when the dreaming kicks in for this man.
I spin in the frame of life's arcade type game and I'm lost in the wheels,
it feels
like,
riding a bike and not watching the street but meeting the idols I'd most like to meet,
like,
Gulliver,Gilbert and Sullivan,Jimmy Durante,Popeye the sailor and the Tailor of Gloucester,
lost in the throng and unaware of time carrying on,I get older,no wiser,no miser am I,
I give my dreams freely to those I love dearly.
This arcade game plays on though the moment is lost, and reality arrives if only to remind me, that life goes along and in it you'll find me,playing the machines,winning more dreams,sailing through the streams of unconsciousness.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
Three delightfully key words: 'miser miserable able' - One's miserable from being a miser until he's finally able.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 2:15 AM UTC
O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blythely *** I bide the stour,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’ the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a’,
“Ye are na Mary Morison.”
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake *** gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whose only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o’ Mary Morison.
2.2k
on the back numerous hole
quite a few too on the chest
still it clings to my soul
I think it fits me best.
says my flummoxed wife
you’re a miser hopeless
holding on a rag for life
bringing yourself disgrace.
I feign not to hear and shrug
clutching it more to my heart
feeling warm cosy in its hug
my friend the many years’ shirt.
on it lie rivers of sweat
joy and sorrow’s tear stains
time’s all burden of weight
gloomy and dark hours’ pains.
a mere cloth and I find it so hard
to throw it and part our ways
wonder how humans discard
relations grown over years.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
1. Stare away into a vacuum. There's always something entertaining happening in that
vacuum and it needs your undivided attention.
2. Master a blank expression especially when staring into the vacuum or directly at
anyone.
3. Never laugh or smile in social gatherings or ever.
4. Be a miser with your words, use one-word responses and add a few grunts and
guttural sounds to your vocabulary.
5. Believe every male is a ******
6. Never show emotions, especially obvious ones like happiness, surprise, or sadness.
These may serve as conversation starters and you don't want that.
7. Don't necessarily avoid all eye contact. If the person is obviously determined to
make contact with your pupils, give it to them. Stare them down and continue to
stare. If they say something, don't respond just keep staring.
8. Crushing on someone? Don't even bother. They don't want you.
9. Fine, you can't help your crush, these eyes you must definitely avoid.
10. Use up all your tech gadgets, phones, iPods, even a **** calculator can help,
after all the measly remains of your bank account isn't going to check itself.
Anything with words u can pretend to read is also helpful, even your last grocery
receipt that you just randomly found in your purse.
11. "I don't know" is a very good answer for almost every question you're asked.
To make it seem less harsh (if you even care) you can substitute for "not sure"
12. Always pretend to listen, nods and grunts are helpful for this.
13. The less you move your body or your face the better, they're all watching you,
judging you, trying to study you remember that.
14. Paranoia is your friend.
15. Refuse all food or drinks. Do not let them see you eat.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
A flatulent king sits
Slouching, scratching,
Congealing to his throne of gold.
His army of a billion men
Are clad in ****** bibs
And grins.
Equipped with hate
And hollow eyes
They stand redily assembled.
The king is a miser.
His face is a lie.
His motives are equally clear.
Royal subjects within the walls
Respect only of weakness and fear.
They are taxed and harassed.
For knowledge they're knived.
The wisest of Wiseman
Are forced to take bribes.
Their children are taken and
Hidden away
At the mechanized dawn
That announces each day
To learn to be
Ruthless and cruel.
To take advantage of fools.
Greed and malice are tools to be used
At their s and m brainwashing schools.
So their eyes turn jade
And their words turn black
As they cut up their hands
Stabbing themselves in the back.
They're just being taught
How to buy and be bought.
To serve the king;
A gear in his machine.
The ones who concede,
Buy into the greed
But their weakening teeth snap!
One by one
As they go round the vicious circle.
So they end up
Defunct,
Sunken eyed.
They dangle their
Dot spangled
Hands at their sides.
And although they loose,
Somehow they win.
They end up running
The world we live in.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Time flies faster than the sand thou beholds
In today's world it means more than gold
There are times we turn back and smile
"Hey i dint realise
Time so swiftly flew by!"
And sometimes time crawls slower than the sloth,
When sitting through a boring lecture
Or listening to someone endlessly talk.
And when we get deadlines time feels like money,
We start using it like a miser bunny.
Time doesn't stay stagnant
And never does it stop
Though lovers might deny
Immersed in beloved's eyes
They forget to see the clock!
Men see time according to there needs,
And wish it moved at a pace they pleased.
Time is a healer,
Time is a killer,
Time if treasured can lead to success
But if wasted life can be an ungrateful disgrace.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
When they see my songs
They will sigh and say,
“Poor soul, wistful soul,
Lonely night and day.”
They will never know
All your love for me
Surer than the spring,
Stronger than the sea;
Hidden out of sight
Like a miser’s gold
In forsaken fields
Where the wind is cold.
1.6k
Time
Is the coin of your life.
And did you spend it wisely my Dear?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
No Tock. Time
Doesn't live here any more:
No clock.
I couldn't stand his face and those
Hands, no longer gentle.
Time, time. Time is not the faithful lover,
He is the gypsy who packed up my salad days
And sailed down the Nile
Without a backward glance.
Backward glances. Recherche du temps perdu.
Time is the miser and he claims his fools.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
Tommy passing Nana’s room
hears her say
can you help me
with my corset?
sure
he says
walking into her room
a cigarette hanging
from the corner
of his mouth
what do you want doing?
he asks
can you pull it tight for me?
and she offers him
the two corset strings
and he take them
between his fingers
and gives a pull
she breathes in
and holds it there
her arms by her side
her face vacant
as if she’s awaiting
something to happen
her mouth slightly open
he holds the strings tight
studies her eyes
the curl of hair
the way her mouth is open
her arms by her side
thinking how beautiful she is
how he’d not noticed before
smelling her perfume
trying to place
the make and kind
that’s it
she says
can you tie it there?
sure
he says and ties the strings
behind her back
his nose a few inches
from her naked shoulder
breathing in her scent
wanting to kiss the flesh
the neck
the ear
to put his hands
upon her hips
that’s done
he says
tight as a miser’s purse
thank you
she says
that’s much better
and kisses his cheek
and says
aren’t you the man
from upstairs?
yes that’s right
he says
do you play the saxophone
that I hear?
yes the alto sax
he mimics a saxophone
with his hands
and runs his fingers
along imaginary keys
usually I’m taking a bath
when I hear you
she says
or lying in bed
your sounds sinking
through the ceiling
oh sorry if it disturbs
he says
gazing at her small ****
under the cloth
I love the haunting sounds
she says
they sound so sad
as if your soul
were speaking
or calling from across
an abyss
he gazes at her neck and chin
her moving mouth
the pink of tongue
the sparkling eyes
yes
he says
that wide abyss
wanting to hold her tight
and place
upon her moving lips
a hot lips kiss.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
The Dragon's Egg
To understand my addiction
You have to know the
Back-story.
I was born in the dead of
Winter. Wednesday's child...
Full of woe. I was a preemie.
Mom fell on her stomach while
On a chair trying to change a
Lightbulb. As unpreposessing
A child as ever was born...
I won't go into my childhood
Difficulties too much, as they
Might prompt your judgment
Upon my parents. They were
Not really at fault. They did
The best they could based
Upon their childhoods and
Limitations....
Mom was sick.
A great deal. The victim of
Horrific migraine headaches
And an undiagnosed (therefore
Untreated) bi-polar condition.
She had aspirations of being an
Actor. She really should never
Have had three children. She
Simply couldn't handle it. I was
Born only 16 months after her
Firstborn, my sister Chris. This
Definitely didn't help matters.
Then, because my little brother
Mark was born just as her
Acting career took off, she had
Much less time for my sister
And I. She had a newborn, a
Career, a husband and
Postpartum depression. Chris
And I (and eventually Mark)
Were neglected. Not really
Mom's fault. It was what
It was...
Dad was a complex man.
A hot-tempered stoic. A hard
Worker who hated manual
Labor. A war hero who also
Became a runner (he would
Become a severe
Alcoholic - an addiction he
eventually overcame).
A generous miser.
A cultured plebian.
A spiritually minded atheist.
I don't blame him. But the
Last dichotomy was our
Downfall. We were
disallowed from church. Went
To an atheist Sunday School.
We learned about all the world
Religions save Christianity.
Or maybe I missed THAT lesson.
But as a result I had no real
Moral compass to live by. My
Parents tried to teach us
Ethical behavior, but because
Jesus and the Holy Spirit weren't
A part of the equation it was
Doomed to failure. One can't
Simply be "moral" or "ethical".
Without Jesus, we are all
Rank sinners. Sorry if this
Offends some of you. But it's
TRUE. Jesus paid the price.
Only faith in Him can make
A person right with the Father.
All else is vanity. My father
Spent his lifetime trying to be
A "good" man. He tried to
Be a "good" husband. A "good"
Father. But his efforts
Always stymied by lack
Of the essential puzzle piece....
JESUS.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Your Crystal like body,
Shinning with cracks.
malicious sparkles.
Sharp facets.
Every chip, every drop,
That should have crystallized,
And then dropped off.
Has not.
Gorge on pain,
Revel in confusion,
Misery isn’t hereditary Like your back.
You can be happy.
Not seek out pain.
Is this what you want?
The girl I loved,
Is gone and missed.
Replaced by a miser of woes,
An unhappy beast.
That spits and sulks
Gone are the purrs.
The felicity.
The light.
I dated a wannabe corpse,
Not something I like,
Revel in your pain,
You can do it without me.
Everything brings you down,
Especially me,
That seems how you like it to be.
The girl I loved,
Is gone and dead,
As are we,
Stop ******* with my head.
Love me.
Hate me.
Do both,
I don’t care.
Do whatever you want,
I’m not there
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Uh sitting at this desk
waiting for the bell
see I
work 9 to 5 well
7 to 3 thirty
I’m *****
A little flirty
Tuck in my shirty
Be helpful
And curtious
Don’t make a fuss
Or ride the bus
I’m a driver
Got my **** tight like MacGyver
Or Minnie Driver
Don’t wanna be a miser
So I share, dog
Give it all away
Make a play
For Mr. Oregon day
Maybe I’m cray cray
But I still don’t say
Nuthin that just may
Hurt feelings in a bad way
And I’m not gay
……just raised this way.
And that’s o.k.
This America, dog
And I am free
White and over 20
You prolly wanna be me
Cause I’m tall
And oh so ****
It’s a blessing
So quit messing
Have I got ya guessing?
This is me confessing
I’m a nice guy
Uh
And its like that
I’m a nice guy
And I just wont quit
See I hold the door
For all comers
Winter or summer
Even wore rubbers
Till I got married then things varied
I still carry
The bottles from the dairy
Cause we live organic
Try to avoid the panic
We don’t act manic
Sweeter that Alan Thicke
I stack bricks
But only for later use
I don’t abuse
Or make the rules
I’m a nice guy.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Why can't I just wake up there?
Why must I wake up here?
Too young to stay,
Too broke to leave,
Feels like all I can do is bleed
My bitter disdain for this place.
It's here that I slept in my car
Hours after becoming homeless.
Here that I was dejected
By soughtless dreams.
Here that I suffered a miser's
Misfortune,
Having lost my family.
Then again,
I found love here.
In a place so vile
She somehow made me smile.
Maybe things aren't so bad,
Maybe I'm just spoiled.
Regardless of what I want
Yours truly most toil.
That way one day
I can embroil myself up north
And stop soiling my clothes
In this lemonade sunbelt
Of a South.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
Bursts of desires only shows
How much terrestrial my soul
Became rude and even ******
Was it mingled with all so called human?
And got their color
To utilize its aptitudes of adaptability
Yes it was
A merchant
Pure miser
No love to flourish so far
Awaiting a breeze in equatorial heat
A desert of remnants
Ashes and bones
A carbon valley so visible
No possibility to burn again
Roots of poisonous plants has assembled forces
Yet love transforms them into honey
A mandrake for love has been bought
By a longing parent
A mother
A goddess of love
To heal all, all, all…
Wounds manlike creatures
Commissioned to dismay the cosmic spark
As in a fertile soil sowed
In a flesh
The body
The human body they call
And to decay it
For eternity and a day more
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:40 AM UTC