"pols" poems - Hello Poetry

Jy was my maaitjie, Vol lewe, vol praatjie... Jy en jou “ninnie” Nou is jy nie meer hier nie Behalwe in my hart… Lieflike sommers dag, Julle swem en lag, In huis toe om te eet, Scrambled eggs, of het jy al vergeet? Jy gaan buitentoe, klaar geëet, Swembad oop – ons het vergeet. Na ‘n ruk soek Rina jou, Hol buitentoe, sy het onthou… En daar lê jy, die water koud, Mietie spring in, jou pols is oud. Boet is vinnig, bel hospitaal, Maar Rina is koud, Rina is vaal… Want liewe Jesus het haar baba seuntjie kom haal. Ek pyn nogsteeds 10 jaar later, My maaitjie, Jy – onder die water. Familie kind, die helder liggie Dof skyn nou jou gesiggie – Behalwe in my hart…

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Nov 11, 2013

Nov 11, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC

jenny-pearl

Huldeblyk aan André (Afrikaans)

Jy was my maaitjie, Vol lewe, vol praatjie... Jy en jou “ninnie” Nou is jy nie meer hier nie Behalwe in my hart… Lieflike sommers dag, Julle swem en lag, In huis toe om te eet, Scrambled eggs, of het jy al vergeet? Jy gaan buitentoe, klaar geëet, Swembad oop – ons het vergeet. Na ‘n ruk soek Rina jou, Hol buitentoe, sy het onthou… En daar lê jy, die water koud, Mietie spring in, jou pols is oud. Boet is vinnig, bel hospitaal, Maar Rina is koud, Rina is vaal… Want liewe Jesus het haar baba seuntjie kom haal. Ek pyn nogsteeds 10 jaar later, My maaitjie, Jy – onder die water. Familie kind, die helder liggie Dof skyn nou jou gesiggie – Behalwe in my hart…

23

Die môre groet jou met ń nat soen En ontplooi haar goue gloed Oor jou fynbos en Olifants-oor Die wind ween oor die rykdom Wat jy deur jare van sweet en bloed, vir jouself terug geëis het , maar streel deur jou grashalms Met die harmonie van hoop wat deur jou are pols... Pols, wanneer 4x4 en ossewa spoor oorkruis! Hier timmer jy aan my - lê die hoeksteen van ń graniet gebou Ek sal strewe om jou te eer. Suid-Afrika , ń ode aan jou.

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Apr 4, 2014

Apr 4, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC

pieter-andries-christiaan

Ode aan my land

Die môre groet jou met ń nat soen En ontplooi haar goue gloed Oor jou fynbos en Olifants-oor Die wind ween oor die rykdom Wat jy deur jare van sweet en bloed, vir jouself terug geëis het , maar streel deur jou grashalms Met die harmonie van hoop wat deur jou are pols... Pols, wanneer 4x4 en ossewa spoor oorkruis! Hier timmer jy aan my - lê die hoeksteen van ń graniet gebou Ek sal strewe om jou te eer. Suid-Afrika , ń ode aan jou.

12

We salute you, Gentlemen, And Ladies, God bless you, (He clearly has) We bless you, We support you, At par, So far, Lest you bring us all down, (That was the threat, Was it not?) You are so Wicked smart, Except those few, Who couldn't hold on, For our gravy train, To respond, For those few, We hope last year's bonus, Will help you survive, Your trip down the tubes, (Sigh) And for all, We are led to believe, That you're back on your feet, And doing quite well, We were glad to help out, Your derivative pleasure, Just makes our hearts soar, And to help you to help The economy heal, We're taxing your janitors More than your managers 'Cause we know you're the source Of all job creation, Within this great nation, How do we know this? Well, We've been told this Been told by some very fine folk, Some folk whom you... own? For sure there are doubters, But we question their wisdom, We don't even think that They're being good citizens, But there are some suspicions, My well heeled good friends, That what's good for you folk, Might be just a bit toxic, To those of us few, Who compose, That diminishing remnant, Of what once we could call, The vast middle class, Today, We ain't even, Half vast. Sad to say, Now a few of us wonder, If you're not quite our friends, If you don't have our best int'rests In your schemes and your ends, All of those yachts, They're critical – right? We believe in you now, To make every thing bright, To bring our economy Back from the dead, To create all those jobs, With that barely taxed bread, So, While we're eatin' those grits, In this world that you've made, With the pols that you've bought, Just Remember my friends, Rot infects not just wood, But your hearts and your souls, And the Fire Next Time Might be more than a book It might be unhappy folk, With your ***** in their sights.

0

Oct 6, 2011

Oct 6, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC

gary-l-misch

Homage to Our Investment Bankers

We salute you, Gentlemen, And Ladies, God bless you, (He clearly has) We bless you, We support you, At par, So far, Lest you bring us all down, (That was the threat, Was it not?) You are so Wicked smart, Except those few, Who couldn't hold on, For our gravy train, To respond, For those few, We hope last year's bonus, Will help you survive, Your trip down the tubes, (Sigh) And for all, We are led to believe, That you're back on your feet, And doing quite well, We were glad to help out, Your derivative pleasure, Just makes our hearts soar, And to help you to help The economy heal, We're taxing your janitors More than your managers 'Cause we know you're the source Of all job creation, Within this great nation, How do we know this? Well, We've been told this Been told by some very fine folk, Some folk whom you... own? For sure there are doubters, But we question their wisdom, We don't even think that They're being good citizens, But there are some suspicions, My well heeled good friends, That what's good for you folk, Might be just a bit toxic, To those of us few, Who compose, That diminishing remnant, Of what once we could call, The vast middle class, Today, We ain't even, Half vast. Sad to say, Now a few of us wonder, If you're not quite our friends, If you don't have our best int'rests In your schemes and your ends, All of those yachts, They're critical – right? We believe in you now, To make every thing bright, To bring our economy Back from the dead, To create all those jobs, With that barely taxed bread, So, While we're eatin' those grits, In this world that you've made, With the pols that you've bought, Just Remember my friends, Rot infects not just wood, But your hearts and your souls, And the Fire Next Time Might be more than a book It might be unhappy folk, With your ***** in their sights.

82

that pending job(no particular order) getting qualified to apply to pending job writing for Excal. actually doing work, and well absorb more literature produce those short story ideas, novel(s) decisions are made after confronting the no. 3 rearrange room when home next bulk up there scrawny where am i living next year friendships, both new and old, the you know why's who took my deodorant! ease the knots in my back eat energizing foods a normal sleeping pattern, at least for a couple months a job after the summer location and change declaring my stream that ****** POLS assignment an overall comfort i'm not far off form 20 and i want something to show for it a personal standard, not to wave but have why exclude poetry from the list? written and read guts to be a musician of any sort to routinize the gym, or not to? not to. don't **** away money a glass of water cable for my bedroom switch desks from home and school a desperate need for space, choking taut 4:18 am is no time to be conscious today does an inspirational soul exist i risk time rather than action, too often do i show THAT poem to HER *** must i consider thee at all? how okay am i with my laziness? how okay is laziness bringer of bad news, sorry bud, no can do laser eye surgery to scoff or bow to the notion of a Happy Medium too pompous, too cynical? it's too late for one a vehicle, real bad boxers, needed new materialistic detachment africa and the world children? how do i function in this universe, do i? hand eye not so great, kind of a klutz remember everything (faces, time, self) better do i get promoted? does anything matter? will it later?

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Feb 19, 2010

Feb 19, 2010 at 12:05 AM UTC

christian-que

Casual List of Objectives, Concerns, Trivialities, and other things that Gnaw:

that pending job(no particular order) getting qualified to apply to pending job writing for Excal. actually doing work, and well absorb more literature produce those short story ideas, novel(s) decisions are made after confronting the no. 3 rearrange room when home next bulk up there scrawny where am i living next year friendships, both new and old, the you know why's who took my deodorant! ease the knots in my back eat energizing foods a normal sleeping pattern, at least for a couple months a job after the summer location and change declaring my stream that ****** POLS assignment an overall comfort i'm not far off form 20 and i want something to show for it a personal standard, not to wave but have why exclude poetry from the list? written and read guts to be a musician of any sort to routinize the gym, or not to? not to. don't **** away money a glass of water cable for my bedroom switch desks from home and school a desperate need for space, choking taut 4:18 am is no time to be conscious today does an inspirational soul exist i risk time rather than action, too often do i show THAT poem to HER *** must i consider thee at all? how okay am i with my laziness? how okay is laziness bringer of bad news, sorry bud, no can do laser eye surgery to scoff or bow to the notion of a Happy Medium too pompous, too cynical? it's too late for one a vehicle, real bad boxers, needed new materialistic detachment africa and the world children? how do i function in this universe, do i? hand eye not so great, kind of a klutz remember everything (faces, time, self) better do i get promoted? does anything matter? will it later?

55

I’m called Madam Budget Cut, hard-edged Ms. Bludgeon **** Slashing each piece of the pie. But still I the budget gut, both guns and butter cut, Balance the budget or die! I’ve a tax for tobacco, and (pols think I’m whacko), I’m slashing their projects with knives. No ribbons for cutting, no grants for abutting Old properties owned by their wives. I’ve cross-the-board fixes, I’ve “no ways” and “nixes”, I’ve silly assumptions and worse. I consolidate functions, ignore court injunctions Protecting the power of the purse. I’ve early-out options, I propose late adoptions Of programs designed by the Feds. I close institutions, slow down restitutions, And limit the number of beds. I fire those who sign up The thousands who line up For Medicaid, welfare and such. I’ve April surprises, with merit pay prizes For staff who don’t argue too much. So go with my uppercut, Knock out the sludge, and gut, Budgets should never be shy. So we’ll cut, snip and suture, Then look toward the future, And pray that the patient won’t die!

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Mar 5, 2017

Mar 5, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC

vic-miller

State Budget Director’s Song (Apologies to Mr Gilbert)

I’m called Madam Budget Cut, hard-edged Ms. Bludgeon **** Slashing each piece of the pie. But still I the budget gut, both guns and butter cut, Balance the budget or die! I’ve a tax for tobacco, and (pols think I’m whacko), I’m slashing their projects with knives. No ribbons for cutting, no grants for abutting Old properties owned by their wives. I’ve cross-the-board fixes, I’ve “no ways” and “nixes”, I’ve silly assumptions and worse. I consolidate functions, ignore court injunctions Protecting the power of the purse. I’ve early-out options, I propose late adoptions Of programs designed by the Feds. I close institutions, slow down restitutions, And limit the number of beds. I fire those who sign up The thousands who line up For Medicaid, welfare and such. I’ve April surprises, with merit pay prizes For staff who don’t argue too much. So go with my uppercut, Knock out the sludge, and gut, Budgets should never be shy. So we’ll cut, snip and suture, Then look toward the future, And pray that the patient won’t die!

27

Dog Days of U.S. Politics Our dog days of pols and pundits are here Like pathogens thriving without antidote Or insects immune to every repellent They adapt and survive; their goal is your vote. Twenty-four/seven they're on the attack Inventing solutions with simple sound bites Then eager reporters with blow-dried ambition Primp, and turn fiction to fact overnight. "Democracy" poisoned by anonymous donors Congress panders to a privileged few Their money controls and dictates the fate Of pols who have pledged to represent you. The U.S. readily chastises others Advising and preaching democracy While our congress is bought and sold on a scale That is laughable for its hypocrisy. So political ads infested your home You call EPA who deal with pollution: "Please dispose of these, sir, I am sick of the lies." "An infection of Broadcast Toxins," he sighs, "For which we have no solution."

0

Sep 21, 2016

Sep 21, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC

natsel

Dog Days

Dog Days of U.S. Politics Our dog days of pols and pundits are here Like pathogens thriving without antidote Or insects immune to every repellent They adapt and survive; their goal is your vote. Twenty-four/seven they're on the attack Inventing solutions with simple sound bites Then eager reporters with blow-dried ambition Primp, and turn fiction to fact overnight. "Democracy" poisoned by anonymous donors Congress panders to a privileged few Their money controls and dictates the fate Of pols who have pledged to represent you. The U.S. readily chastises others Advising and preaching democracy While our congress is bought and sold on a scale That is laughable for its hypocrisy. So political ads infested your home You call EPA who deal with pollution: "Please dispose of these, sir, I am sick of the lies." "An infection of Broadcast Toxins," he sighs, "For which we have no solution."

22