"overpaid" poems
Remember, if I claim too much of you,
I claim it of my brother and my friend:
Have patience with me till the hidden end,
Bitter or sweet, in mercy shut from view.
Pay me my due; though I to pay your due
Am all too poor and past what will can mend:
Thus of your bounty you must give and lend
Still unrepaid by aught I look to do.
Still unrepaid by aught of mine on earth:
But overpaid, please God, when recompense
Beyond the mystic Jordan and new birth
Is dealt to virtue as to innocence;
When Angels singing praises in their mirth
Have borne you in their arms and fetched you hence.
5.5k
I’m not feeling all that well, my friends.
It’s been that way forever.
You could see the clearest of days;
I would see stormy weather.
The doc said that there’s nothing we can do.
He said, “Just blame it on the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.”
Now some pills will make it all better;
others will make it much worse.
It feels like I’m in a witch hunt
and everyone else threw the curse.
I really could use me a broom; this is true.
I’ll just get away from the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.
I just can’t get out of bed today when
it feels like I just jumped in.
With this little game of counting sheep,
you know that I just can’t win.
The mathematician will be retiring soon.
He has a bad case of the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.
The hours—they turn to days.
The days just turn to weeks.
A squirrel just had his nuts drop.
You can bet it’s one of the meek.
Whatever sound, it really was in good tune.
Perhaps it was the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.
It’s time to get the oil changed—
getting thicker deep inside.
If I get a few more things fixed up,
I’ll have me a real fine ride
with a radio inside that ride just for my crew,
one that plays my low dopamine
and my serotonin blues.
So the ambulating bandleader quit.
I think that he’s still on the mend.
He claims that bad-boy poetry could
lead to a worldwide trend.
All agree this cat has way overpaid his dues.
It’s only the low dopamine and the serotonin blues.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
Among pelagian travelers,
Lost on their lewd conceited way
To Massachusetts, Michigan,
Miami or L.A.,
An airborne instrument I sit,
Predestined nightly to fulfill
Columbia-Giesen-Management's
Unfathomable will,
By whose election justified,
I bring my gospel of the Muse
To fundamentalists, to nuns,
to Gentiles and to Jews,
And daily, seven days a week,
Before a local sense has jelled,
From talking-site to talking-site
Am jet-or-prop-propelled.
Though warm my welcome everywhere,
I shift so frequently, so fast,
I cannot now say where I was
The evening before last,
Unless some singular event
Should intervene to save the place,
A truly asinine remark,
A soul-bewitching face,
Or blessed encounter, full of joy,
Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan,
With, here, an addict of Tolkien,
There, a Charles Williams fan.
Since Merit but a dunghill is,
I mount the rostrum unafraid:
Indeed, 'twere damnable to ask
If I am overpaid.
Spirit is willing to repeat
Without a qualm the same old talk,
But Flesh is homesick for our snug
Apartment in New York.
A sulky fifty-six, he finds
A change of mealtime utter hell,
Grown far too crotchety to like
A luxury hotel.
The Bible is a goodly book
I always can peruse with zest,
But really cannot say the same
For Hilton's Be My Guest.
Nor bear with equanimity
The radio in students' cars,
Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!--
Girl-organists in bars.
Then, worst of all, the anxious thought,
Each time my plane begins to sink
And the No Smoking sign comes on:
What will there be to drink?
Is this ma milieu where I must
How grahamgreeneish! How infra dig!
****** from the bottle in my bag An analeptic swig?
Another morning comes: I see,
Dwindling below me on the plane,
The roofs of one more audience
I shall not see again.
God bless the lot of them, although
I don't remember which was which:
God bless the U.S.A., so large,
So friendly, and so rich.
4k
viewer discretion is advised. The following program has graphic images that may not be suitable for all audiences
The television stains my eyes
I can barely see myself in the mirror
While steady reporters shed not one tear
Don't you see the dead behind you?
Don't you feel the pain of their families
While you just "tell the story"?
27 dead, most of which young children, in a school shooting
The sickness creeps into my bones
Its impact rattles my spine
Debilitating me, confining me to a stupor
Why? Why?
Why end such bright futures and presents?
Do you not see the damage that you've done?
Do you not feel the blood pouring from
Your own body? Do you?
back to you, overpaid talking man
A three minute blurb
That's it
Hundreds of people have been forever changed
Millions more afraid
And all you can do is harass them
Beg for interviews
While they still are in disbelief?
But beyond that
You show it over and over and over
All with the political lean
Of your respective stations
Could you not stop for once
And let mourners mourn?
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
these games 2010 vancouver olympics are about performance under tremendous pressure more than they are about sport our expectations destroy us how do athletes possibly in training their entire lives cope with cameras nationalism corporate media mania? these distinguished people fallible humans with frail emotions doubts superstitions insecurities just like everyone else sustain skill phenomenal precision how do they sleep at night? carry on relationships with spouses family friends? endure eminent separateness loneliness? do gold medal winners become bloated rock stars conceited movie stars overpaid professional athletes? do losers become life’s could have been a contender drunk in obscurity casualties? what price in human terms these games? hey when joannie rochette hit ice prayer to mom i cried love watching sports this gorgeous display of human talent yet wonder about underlying meaning consequence sports or spectacle?
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
So long and overdue,
The time starting askew,
Everything reversing to previous,
Views of simply devious,
Creatures of the night,
Time is now plight,
Prepare the cold grounds,
Enemies scorn those around,
It is those weak,
Who will soon peak,
Top of the charts,
Of deaths new art,
Headless gutless warriors attest,
Really trying their best,
To survive and ****
It takes much skill,
To stomach the pain,
Not letting your brain,
See what is on,
You are a pawn,
A game called chess,
Your turn to address,
The move to take,
Decipher who is fake,
And who is real,
Background their a deal,
Waiting to be made,
By Bankers being overpaid,
While people being honest,
Will all soon protest,
If not soon enough,
It will be tough,
To stop an army,
Of ignorance will be,
Those who are controlled,
Many do as told,
What now lies ahead,
Civil obedience mindless dead,
Wandering the empty streets,
Looking for minor threats,
Yelling terrorist every corner,
More for the coroner,
Those who lived free,
In debt free society,
People traded not sold,
Their time being told,
To live meaningless life,
Throats pressed by knifes,
Told to live right,
According to someone bright,
As pile high ****
Being full of it,
This right that wrong,
What happened came along,
In form of kids,
Passed to more kids,
Information of all lies,
Except select few hide,
Snickering as we die,
Keeping everyone under control,
Knowing what is foretold,
Is mostly not know,
Minds are closely sewn,
Together with simple lies,
Mostly ignored but disguised,
As nothing but truth,
Just another common sleuth,
Slipping between the cracks,
Not aware to react,
Used to being told,
Not to stand bold,
Against what is done,
We are of one,
United States of Dumb,
Easily manipulated fat popularity,
Contest of egocentric masculinity,
Where everyone has problems,
None actual solves them,
Differences made to keep,
Everyone nice and neat,
Happy competitive argumentative discouraged,
Four bowls of porridge,
Hot cold just right,
Fourth not in sight,
In another hidden room,
Your name on tomb
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
Overpaid ego's
Unlike those in sixty six
Those boys had some heart
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 12:03 PM UTC
Why?
Do overpaid millionaire bring politics to sports?
They should just play the game that's what getting paid to do?
Why?
Do we talk about racism?
Just forget what happened in the past.
That's where the problem lies?
Notice, something that the two statements have in common.
It's racist based.
Cause many loves to eradicate into a dream world that doesn't exist.
Players, seem to be the ones able to create havoc for the world to see.
Ministers afraid to go against the grain.
Afraid followers might find another church.
Like many good ministers preach you can leave here for another church of faith.
And realize one truth.
There's no PERFECT church.
Jesse Owens stood up.
Jackie Robinson stood out.
Yes, athletes some not seeking attention or glory.
But leveling out that one group leads in avoiding their creation.
Let's not talk about racism.
Sound great!
Then it does pinpoint that group creating the hell from it.
Mainly for profit.
While many against a player focusing and losing his career for his principles.
Where were the haters when Nazis/Aryans/Klams rising up?
Afraid to be seen.
There lies the problem.
We center on things that don't spotlight our reason to seek the truth.
We sit and simmer and cry over the wrong thing.
When we should see injustice effects many every day.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Her smile,
*********
It's taking up to much of a file,
She always flips a coin,
And smiles when telling you,
That she found it in Spain,
And calls it her laws of nature,
Then joking refers to a yoyo she named her *** life,
She cuts words like samurai getting ahold of a dinner knife,
But speaks awkwardly everytime,
Tending to tenderness,
Who knows?
But that smile,
*********
It's like a terrible heist movie,
With a plot line that has to do with monks,
And one actor is overpaid,
Knowing that at the end their still made,
What to do besides eat that popcorn and enjoy the show,
That smile though...
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 4:13 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
I want too mean it when I say I'm working to improve
But I know I'm on borrowed time due too a marriot of conflicting issues
Turning greener pastures different shades of blues
Most of the root doesn't even originate from my property,
Still the hardest to remove
Doesn't help I'm held accountable for the damage my damage,
Caused by others mind you,
Always accrues
I think I've overpaid my dues
©2024
Mar 17, 2024
Mar 17, 2024 at 10:19 PM UTC
I searched for you across wild oceans,
Never daring to dream that I would find
Such a ***** dangerous, delicious passion
Which, after more than four hundred summers, still burns hot.
But you are colder now.
When I discovered your riches,
I knew I had to possess you entirely.
The blood lost and the blood lust
Was worth it to make you mine.
But you are bolder now.
I never wanted to set you free.
Your Declaration of Independence nearly destroyed me.
I had to accept your right to Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,
To lose you completely would be unbearable.
You are the scolder now.
Like a white knight, your white light saved me,
As it seared through flesh, turning skin inside out and the whole world upside down.
You were Oversexed and Overpaid,
But I needed you Over Here beside me.
You are the shoulder now.
Through time and space, our destructive power has bound us together,
I have fallen; my heart is given; my soul is sold.
I'd lie for you, I'd die for you;
Take tooth for tooth and eye for eye for you.
It's all in a sexed up folder now.
Of late, others say you have grown so ugly;
Distorted and deranged with and beyond belief;
Frenzied and overcome with hate, but I still love you,
Still long for our special relationship.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder now.
anna jones ©2017
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
"The doctors said,
They found a mass in my stomach.
It could be cancer..."
The doctors said,
They found a mass in her stomach.
It could be cancer...
This scenario plays so smooth
On the movies and tv shows
But reality is my mom might have cancer
I than wrote so many sad stories in my notebook before
But I wasn't going through it
So the pain and tears I could ignore
But last night I drove my mom to the hospital
And she said
"The doctors said,
They found a mass in my stomach.
It could be cancer..."
The doctors said,
They found a mass in her stomach.
It could be cancer...
What happens when this happens in real life
And the victim isn't an overpaid actor
But someone you know and love
See reality is,
Life isn't full of happy endings
Saying to my self this isn't happening
It couldn't be
This woman who gave birth to me
Couldn't possibly have cancer
So now I'm on knees praying to God
Hoping he answer
Lord did you hear what she said???
"The doctors said,
They found a mass in my stomach.
It could be cancer..."
The doctors said,
They found a mass in her stomach.
It could be cancer...
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
The Pope has gone
A walker dies
His mates rescued by helicopter
75k to be old aged
Iran is brewing
Syria's a mess
Every day more get killed
Rush and China annoy Japan
And the water bills gone up again!
The football world is always there
Overpaid and seems unfair
Then top it all the weather man
Depress me, more with snow again
So I sit drink my Earl Grey
Watch it unfold every day
Sad to say how much we see
Of death or war on TV
Off to my bed to try turn off
And dream of a better world tomorrow
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
crassly lashing flashing plastic rings
creating an ambiance of Olympic glory
impeded good-deed-doers freely spew
fruitarian propaganda at the vegetable eaters
while, chewing cow flesh, the masses only stare
blank eyes match black hearts and the bleak outlook
beacons the barbarians….time to barbeque –
beginning again, the road less traveled
barely shapes itself against the tall grass backdrop
crop dusting drunkards use the ***** trails
and trailing behind….the banished children
broken toes leave misshapen footprints
and mothers can only sob at the spectacle –
underscored idealism stands rage filled on the billboard
presenting hate and separation values
with a clever tag line and overpaid advertising men
irritated immigrants stare up
without being able to read the text,
they grasp the meaning
and with new meaning to their lives of impoverished helplessness
they start anew
looking to the sunrise
for inspiration –
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
As boredom swallows each of my parts whole,
with every one goes a slice of joyful time.
To me will come a trepidation bowl,
which transforms into soreness I rhyme.
This poem seems to relish misery
that I do not appreciate greatly.
It drills and grinds away at patience’s teeth
alike an overpaid dentist stately.
The unskilled hygienist throws up her tools,
because the very poem is persistent
like a tenacious patient with strict rules
to whom floss is extremely resistant.
This sonnet, while providing me with grief,
becomes a fight of pain, with no relief.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
I was broke as usual it's okay I understood that far easier than I ever did being well off.
Long as there was a bottle and a room I could crash in I was good.
I never cared to gamble.
I lived my life that was a gamble enough
My money i preferred to be wasted upon myself not given to a fixed game played by overpaid children.
The only sport I ever loved was fighting.
I understood you against another.
In life its always you against the world.
I loved to fight even when you lose you know you've lived
I had stepped between those ropes often.
Paid the the price for a simple mistake and been knocked flat on my *** for it.
Boxing is a human chess match very few men have what it takes to go toe to toe with another.
Anyone can fall down it takes a man or mental patient to keep getting back up.
I had paid my dues broken bones multiple concussions between that and all the ***** poured into my skull you think I would be braindead by now.
Some would tell you I already was.
And those people would be like most full of **** speaking on things they know nothing about.
Critics come in all forms.
Don't worry over there opinions nobody ever worth a **** sat on the sidelines.
I had nothing to show for my years.
I could barely get moving some days.
But when the drinks hit me right and some young **** called me out i still had that spark that fueled the fire.
Never take **** from.anyone no matter how tuff they seem.
Anyone can get caught anyone can bleed.
Remember kids its not what you can dish out.
Its how much you can take and keep going that makes you tuff.
I wore my scars like tattoo's.
Everyone of them had a story.
I never believed in luck.
I just kept going no matter what stood before me.
If I depended on luck in my life.
I would be up **** creek for the rest of my existence.
Never stay down no matter how easy it seems.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
Winking, Stinking and Clod,
Each with a gross ugly ***
Each a miserable thief
With greed past belief
And all were hatched out of a pod.
Two hundred silly baboons,
So like unfunny cartoons,
Overpaid and mindless,
They call them a congress.
We won’t be forgetting them soon.
Floppy, Tipsy and Cottonhead
Three bunnies talented in bed.
They rake in the gold
Doing what they’re told
Repeating to no one what’s said.
Hakey fakey Doctor Duck,
Gives glowing reports for a buck.
Not much they’ve done
Was anything like fun
But his hush money fills a truck.
Liar, liar, pants on fire
How does your bank account grow?
We hastily must warn
The banks are foreign
So Americans have no way to know.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC
Hey ****** ******
Some stars gotta fiddle
Just like a Catholic priest.
We have to give them credit,
God saved them when they did it.
And blessed them at the least.
Hey ****** ******
Fat Trump has to fiddle
With women he can control.
He pretends he doesn’t know
What that word simply shows
Since the last syllable is troll.
Hey ****** ******
A high powered fiddle
Is always powered by cash.
But, Mr. Diddler
Unlike a talented fiddler
You are nothing but overpaid trash.
Hey ****** diddledick
We all hope your fiddlestick
Falls off and lays on the ground
Then you could stop it
And the women could stomp it.
And kick your skanky *** around.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Staying up on nights that dont matter.
Listening to music that holds a key to forgotten locks
She breathes like an old flame.
Sings like the greatest of godesses.
I knew her then..
She had some temple to watch over,
be it in herself
or her lovers after me.
The road pulled her feet
not the other way around.
My one wish was that you’d someday
want me.
While I keep my soul somewhat untethered
and blowing in the wind..
I keep it on a first name basis
with you only.
But the reality is
is that
you get to become a movie
a poster encased in bright lights
- An overpaid actor who doesn’t
understand
the dialogue quite right.
You get to become
my favorite movie..
The one I never watch
again.
The one I memorize every
stupid
line
Just to make sure I
fall asleep before I feel
a thing.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
I would like to go back a thousand years ago,
just to sleep.
For I'm drenched in thoughtlessness.
I ache for some relieve.
And I'm trying, solely not to burn up.
and I do not mean to over dramatize, but I'm lost.
Which I guess is usual for being 20.
Only 20, as I eat myself up in tv shows and confusion.
And I watch the world get married and have babies, but I don't want that,
No I don't need that.
Nor do I really want that.
As profs talk as if I care, about their useless pieces of info they throw at me, except the one about dinos. I like that.
But anyways I sit and here they look at me as if I really give a ****
I want a job. Don't they understand.
And I parked in the wrong spot today,
and the critique went bad and I overpaid on an earl grey latte and wasted my day watching friends all day.
But we all have those bad days.
And I'm trying trying trying so hard not to think bad thoughts.
But the weather is rainy, and I'm still tired. This ever longing tiredness. But I drew today. I drew my sorrows away, and no matter what those stingy profs say, I can draw. I draw to keep myself together.
I draw so I don't think the bad thoughts, to keep my jealous thoughts back at bay. So I quit making a fool of myself, the only think I know how to do is draw.
And I have a wide open summer, of no plans, or prospering, or any real progress.
Isn't that sad?
To dread your own summer.
Maybe after having summer so many times, it loses it's freedom quality. It becomes just another season to endure.
And that's sad. It's sad when you can't look forward to summer.
Cause summer was once a fantasy.
A sense of adventure accompanied summer.
And I look at summer now with a dread and inability to really be ready or excited for it.
That's really sad.
And I'm not writing to make you sad, but I'm writing out of my inability to understand this sadness.
I'm trying to hold on to something...
Maybe this sadness will pass into something I can hold onto.
And coincidently were talking about the blues...in class.
Not really helping my melancholy frankly.
I think teachers are so wrapped up in their own cynical life they like to spread it onto others.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
I wore my santa hat to work today
That I bought off a mannequin's head
On my walk home the day before
The girls who sold it to me didn't seem
To know how much it cost
They didn't seem to care very much
So I just
Named a price like I assume the first
Man named the birds
Man: (pointing) birds.
Me: (pointing) ten dollars.
It was probably too much money for a hat
That some kid stitched in some oppressive warehouse
And where he is it's probably not even cold outside
Because it might be Summer
But he still has to stitch stupid santa hats
So I guess even though he'll never see any of the money
I overpaid for the sake of that miserable kid
While wearing the hat at work
My face seemed to hang from it
As if I was suspended beneath the hat
Like I was an ornament
I'm not used to working near the holidays
And I'm not used to being in LA for them either
And I'm not used to being alone
I never had a Christmas with you
It might've been too much for my heart to handle
Sometimes love scares you because you're worried
You might pop
Like an overripe balloon
Or a zit
I'm gonna go and see if George Bailey can make me feel like it's Christmas in two days
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
i was delighted
when i first heard
michael jackson had died
men who sleep with little boys
and spend copious amounts of time
with them are always pedophiles
that is generally how it works,
but only all the time
soon after, people were posting
about this great loss
on a website i used to post at
they were sad that the *********
was dead
i always thought it was stupid
how he named himself the king of pop
that was a title he gave himself
and pretty much everyone went along with it
even the parents of the little boys he molested
i told the people who were grieving the loss
of the king of **********
that when a man molests a child,
it cancels out everything else
he does in life,
but no one listened, they just got ****** off at me
because albums like thriller
are more important than protecting children from abuse
then i told them that "people" who abuse children
are unfit for human life
they told me i was a sociopath
then turned the conversation
back to how much they all loved thriller
and pepsi commercials
jeff bezos had the tip jars removed
from the amazon cafeteria
because an (overpaid) amazon executive
was told by the cafeteria workers he couldn't use the change
in the tip jar to pay for his order
(after he tried to pay with change from the tip jar)
he then complained to jeff
and jeff decided that the cafeteria workers
who make minimum wage shouldn't have a tip jar
if the tips weren't going to be used to pay
for rich amazon executives lunches
so the next time you place an order with amazon
because you love price fixed counterfeit merchandise so much
go out and apologize to every child and middle class
person that you are personally responsible for displacing
because you owe them a huge ******* apology.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
I tripped through a life filled with trashed crevices
Leaving me with a holey heart & mind
Tonight I sweep up the rest of my wines
Hearing no voices
Tonight only mine
Alone in thought, taught but not
Form lays dead,
Stinking,
Dead in my bed
She came over last night drunk
Asking to be wed
I said no
And told her to ******* go
She wept as I swept
I laughed at the terror filled tube
As she poked at her left swollen ****
I propped up a book
An insult she invented & mistook
Collapsing transfixed membranes waddle faster then she does
Corpses lay lighter when not embraced by an angel's fun
Towards the end of the night
Toads croaked outside my door
Seemingly & distractedly bored
By this women's torrential teary down pout pour
I poured a drink but she did not drink it
I made her food but she did not eat it
I slapped her face but she did not show pain
I kissed her mouth but she did not kiss back
Our Sun rose,
She stood there still froze
I collapsed on the floor
Grabbing my back, my sack
Exhausted,
I took a naked floor morning nap
I awoke at dusk
To vowels shimmying close with consonants
Similes giving lap dances to metaphors
All dancing like overpaid whore's,
I wanted more
But Form
Who had once stood frozen
Had gone,
Disappeared
Had vanished,
"Never,"
I thought...
"Her..."
I must have been
Soo drunk
Too lazy
Soo stupid
Too young
But at the time,
She wasn't any fun
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 8:05 PM UTC