"purchasing" poems
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
The Pill Poppers Proverb For Purchasing:
Only buy from friends
who'll give you
the solid truth.
Capsules can
carry lies
they could
have been
in
the hands
of stoned-cold-heart
killer
or
careless self-proclaimed pharmacist?
It's hard to spot
a double agent
in a sea of sunglasses.
Stickwitchure gut.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
When we think about the choices in our lives
When we fight and we bicker and become bitter
When we think there is only power or powerlessness
If we can realize that there is power and powerlessness
Then haven't we began to acquire consciousness
In that instance haven't we began the process of choice
That there is those who have not have given birth to this consciousness
To those who have only lived powerlessness
And know nothing else
Haven't you owed them part of your consciousness
That you have ceased to be one of them
Or your mere power has denied one of them
That there is no choice for them
Because they haven't birthed that consciousness
And if you choose power they'll remain powerless
Because within you there is no loyalty, right?
It is a choice predicated by an erroneous concept of self-preservation
It is a treacherous dichotomy; doesn't make sense
This is not an indictment of your desire not to suffer
Because surely to hold power would cease your suffering
But it is this type of power that thrives on the proliferation of powerlessness
This conceptual understanding of what it means to have power
That is not what we've come learn, but readily ascribe to
That a mind and body can cultivate power
That can be harvested, shared, communal
For the sole purpose of the survival of the other, not the self
That that can survive in this world is impossible
Its antithetical to the modes of production
In which our societies operate and thrive
How can workers begin to derive power from their collective efforts
How can workers' purchasing power equal the power of the production of their labor
How can any community in any corner of the world escape
The misanthropic missions of first world free trade capitalism
When will we reclaim our escaping humanity
When will we cease to keep feeding the system with our minds, our bodies, our labor
How much longer can we become fodder, scraps, waste feeding the machine
And don't think that you are safe when you have made it
When you have entered the circle of dominance
Because it is then when you will loose your humanity or die
It is at that apex of power that your presence becomes
Just as dispensable as that of the powerless
Because to maintain that circle of dominance
Requires a total conversion to misanthropy
The rigor with which your power will be required
To keep proliferating powerlessness will give no break
And when you become useless, it will replace you
So that we must realize that the modes of production
That we allow to exploit us
In powerlessness, or the semblance of power
Can never safeguard our humanity
How much further will we allow power to be concentrated
So that soon we ourselves, or our children won't have a choice
Won't have the consciousness of power just powerlessness
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
"Son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Billy Joel lyrics from
"Piano Man"*
~~~~~~~~~~~~
when I was very young
I wore Levi jeans and white
Hanes cotton T shirts
my mother bot me,
my feet, Ked clad, red
from the kid's "department" store
on Central Avenue,
the Main Street of my small town
when I was a young lad,
I wore workingman's cargo jeans and
white Hanes cotton T shirts
under red plaid
wooly shirts, itchy affairs,
that I bot for myself
in a real Army Navy store,
desert colored suede boots,
laced up high,
upon my feet
when I was of middling years,
my jeans were khaki pants,
Gap supplied,
and my Gap T shirts,
faded like me,
a non-descript color,
made in a gap of pale pastel colors
from Bangladesh or Vietnam,
pale pastel, like me
so as I slide~decline into
my nursing home years,
I wear unbranded jeans and
white cotton no name T shirts
with matching white disposable slippers,
that the Purchasing Department
bot for me, cause they know,
I like,
a younger man's clothes and
the memories that play all day
lost in day dreaming of a life
well dressed
2:01am
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
We flip the page and write out our goals,
But yet we end up falling in the hole of circumstance,
Constantly been consumed by our own thoughts,
We are all familiar with that thy voice of confusion,
Apparently i was once in that uncomfortable position,
Were you have no mental authority ,
Were your first thought becomes your final decision,
Authoritatively speaking you can gain full & total control of your mind,
First, you have to believe
nothing works without believing,
Build your mind in a more organised & profound way,
Understand that your body is a vessel which respond to instructions,
And where does that instruction come from?,
The brain,
Your brain is the most sensitive and delicate part of the body,
Nothing is achieved without the use of the brain,
Now let's reflect back to where we started from,
We are about to work on your brain,
Now, understand that no matter the amount of thoughts that runs through your mind,
You have the ability to control it and pick the ones that best suit your condition,
Focus, without focus your can't achieve or attain your goal,
Now close your eyes and create an image in your mind,
The image may be what you want to achieve within certain period,
Eg,if you are saving your hard earned money in other to purchase a house,
Now close your eyes and create an image of that house , in a beautiful way..
Now let's go back to reality,
A friend comes to your house and tells you he found a beautiful car which is been sold at a very reasonable price,
You see,now your brain starts working,
You may totally forget about the house you are tryna purchase,
Due to the fact that the car is been sold at a cheaper rate,
But due to the fact that you have created an image in your mind of the house you want to get,
in such a way you have already seen yourself living in it,
There is no way anyone can change your mindset or persuade you in purchasing the car,
That is what is called,mind builder,
Apply this steps to your everyday life,
And you will see everything will start falling in place for you.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
On April 10th, 1846 on the ship Devonshire from Liverpool,
one Catherine McCarty, age 17 arrived in New York during times most cruel.
She made this long journey to escape the famine occurring in her native Ireland.
We don't know if she arrived alone or with family
or whether she was married or accompanied with a boyfriend.
The passenger arrival manifest has her listed a servant as the occupation she did.
Based only on her age and her name, many historians have speculated and proclaimed
that she's the mother of BILLY the Kid.
Billy's mother died on September 16th in the year of 1874.
She was 45 years old according to her obituary.
Combine the above information and we know one thing for sure.
Immigrant Catherine shared the same age and name as did the true mother of Billy.
It seems that due to health reasons, Catherine McCarty's life had gone onto
searching for dryer climate out west as a single mother of two.
One of her sons would live a full life and then fade into obscurity.
Her other son would die very young and become one of the greatest legends to ever be.
No one knows anything about the boys' father or whether they shared the same one.
Did he/they die or abandon the family? Your guess is as good as anyone's.
Catherine was a strong, independent, gregarious lass
whom everyone seemed to like and enjoy very dearly.
She earned a living selling baked goods to customers she had amassed
and by also doing much of the neighborhood's ***** laundry.
She also dabbled in real estate, purchasing what little property she could afford,
and to earn extra income she'd often open the door to her home and welcome
all those willing to pay room and board.
It was clearly shown that she could take on the responsibility alone,
as far as providing and caring for her boys.
When she wasn't earning employment, she'd occasionally indulge in the enjoyment
that every good, loving mother enjoys.
After schooling her children, she'd take them to local dances
where she was known to be one of the grandest dancers on the dance floor,
but of all the dance partners she'd dance with
there was always one she could never resist
and he'd want to dance with her more and more.
"Of all my dance partners," she told him one night, "you are my favorite one."
To see her lovingly gaze into his eyes, it certainly would come as no surprise
to learn that William Henry was Catherine McCarty's favored son.
To Be Continued
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 4:47 PM UTC
As so many of you have had difficulty purchasing “We Walked in His Garden” here at HP, I have decided to post the book in its entirety at Poetfreak (www.poetfreak.com). I do alas have one final request to ask of you all. As this project was initially intended to benefit The Matthew Talbot Hostel, a homeless shelter that was very dear to Paddy’s heart, I would ask that you please consider making a small donation to this worthy cause. The amount is entirely up to you.
Checks in any currency may be made out to the Matthew Talbot Hostel and mailed to:
The Matthew Talbot Hostel
22 Matthew Talbot Place,
Woolloomooloo NSW 2011
Australia
If you managed to purchase the book here, I assure you that 100% of what you paid will soon be on its way to them.
Well, with this I must say goodbye for a while. I have some personal issues to attend that simply cannot wait any longer. You have all been wonderful throughout and have shown that although we may have very different ways of looking at the world, deep down, we are a family that truly cares about one another. When you think about it, there can be no greater honor to the memory of Paddy Martin than that.
Patrick
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 6:42 AM UTC
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Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
septemeber 2014 i told my dad i didnt want to be alive anymore
in our kitchen, we sat on the floor, he held me and through his tears he told me he never wants to lose me
i think about this all the time
october 2014 my 2 year old brother saw my cuts and scars
he brings me bandaids all the time
novemeber 2014 my mom walked in on my 6th suicide attempt
we stayed up all night driving around, talking about how much i wanted to end my life
she asks me every day how i'm feeling now
december 2014 my step dad found sleeping pills i had been purchasing and saving for 6 weeks
he didnt cry when his only son was born but he couldnt even breathe when he found my pills and confronted me about it
janurary 2015 my step mom drove my to the er when she found my almost dead in the shower
she didnt sleep for 3 days while she and my mom stayed at the hospital with me
feburary 2015 my mom found my journal of suicide notes
there was over 100 notes
march 2015 my grandparents began noticing how bad i was getting
my grandmother stayed at our house during march break with me
april 2015 i saw my favourite band who has helped me through a lot of tough times
i got their lyrics on my body forever to remind me that i'm not my illness
may 2015 my bestfriend and i made a promise to each other to remain self harm free
we promised to help eachother get through our illnesses
june 2015 she was in the hospital for trying to **** herself
i knew i had to stay strong for the both of us
july 2015 i started to work on myself
i started to notice the beauty in things again
i forgot how much i loved the rain
how much i loved flowers
how much i cared about nature and the planet
i forgot how much i loved life
august 2015 i started to plan for the future
i started thinking about 10 years down the road
september 2015 i'm not where i want to be yet, but im so proud of how far i've come
im proud of myself
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
What a relief to set aside
my mechanical pencil
and write with you,
O Ballpoint Pen
found at the bottom of my pen box.
On your side is engraved
“Samy’s Camera.”
Did I walk out with you by accident?
or was it on purpose,
beguiled by your sleek, cool body
as you nestled into my hand
and I clasped you tight
likw my boyfriend in a steamy nightclub
dancing slow to Moon River.
Was I writing a check for
a roll of Kodak film,
ASA 400?
Or was it more recent?
Purchasing a digital mini-camera
to carry in my purse?
Before cellphones took selfies so flawlessly
that I tucked my Sony
into the dresser drawer
behind my underwear.
It lies abandoned
soon to be joined by all my
mechanical pencils.
You, my Pen, are my reliable companion
who will record lists for me:
To Do lists
Shopping lists
Birthday lists
Laundry lists.
You will record why my lover
doesn't want me anymore, but
I will tear up that scrap of paper
as soon as the ink has dried like blood,
that heartless man,
unworthy of the ink I waste on him.
O beautiful Pen,
sleek as the fur on a cat,
smooth as a gin and tonic,
solid as his hand on my breast.
for merely.
I hereby relinquish my mechanical pencil,
whose lead keeps shattering.
But you, dear Ballpoint Pen, I can press hard.
And how much more beautiful
with you
are the curves of my words.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
Start my day up on the roof
There's nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We'll both be high, the help don't stare
They just walk by, they must don't care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Oh, real love
Close your eyes for what you can't imagine, we are the xany gnashing
Caddy smashing, bratty *** he mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the **** for batting practice, adamant and he thrashing
Purchasing ****** grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panicking, patch me up, Pappy done latch keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and mammy done had enough
Brash as **** breaching all these aqueducts; don't believe us
Treat us like we can't erupt, yup
We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
Peaches and cream
All just seem
A bit too sweet
At a run down BP
The man in front of me
With rotten teeth
Is purchasing
Marlboro reds, coffee
And a chance to win the lottery
Gets what he needs,
Then goes on with his deeds
Walks by me
Like a blind man
Who cannot see
Maybe he'll be the winner
Now I'm next in line
Cashier asks "how are you?"
I say fine
They don't care if that's a lie
All I buy
Are peaches
To feed my hunger
Peaches for dinner
I devour
Counting down the hours
Days until I eat again
Slowly becoming more sour
Losing all my power
I hide like a coward
Benith moldy skin
Rotten from within
Same as a peach,
I wither and decay
Who is to say
tomorrow is another day?
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 8:12 PM UTC
Here, now, is the world before me:
Women are struggling to make a living
And men struggling for beer.
The markets are full of drying-up warehouses
And market stalls pregnant with emptiness.
A woman comes in,
Calls the last goods on the shelf, indicating interest.
There are the dying smiles that echo no goodwill
Upon the naming of a price-below-purchasing;
There are the hungry laughters at the teeth of the buyer
Who seeks his own gains;
There are the welling-up tears that fill the eyes of the seller
Who needs the penny to live another day.
Poverty and want wears an ugly face
And gives hate a voice to echo its disdain.
Much displeasure fills the air but in business
The customer always wins.
Pain eats up my heart as I watch the transaction.
Here, survival matters- just as much as love,
But now even this is no more.
Abacheke-Egbema, Imo State. January 2014
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Mustard Joe told Pendulum Pam that Creepy Ray Ray was
purchasing a human kidney, illegally, on the black market. We
didn't even know Creepy Ray Ray was sick. Sick in the head
maybe, but physically sick? We had no idea.
You may think that it' not right that I should call Creepy Ray
Ray sick in the head but I think you'll agree with me when I tell
you what happened. Creepy Ray Ray told Mustard Joe who told
Pendulum Pam that he wasn't sick. Good we all said. We heard
you were buying a human kidney, thank goodness your not. "Oh
I'm buying a human kidney", said Creepy Ray Ray. " I'm buying
it to eat it"!
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
this past week the cattle sale went very well
all the vendors were keen and eager to sell
the buyers had loads of money for purchasing
they bought over six hundred cows for breeding
record sales such as this are rarely seen about here
the buyers always reckon the cattle prices appear to be dear
but the auctioneer was sweating for quite a while
he sold many pens of cattle with a beaming smile
all in all the sale day was a successful affair
everyone who attended were glad that they were there
this sale will go down in the history books for sure
cattle changed hands quite literally by the score
the next sale is scheduled for the seventh of May
and the district cattle breeders can't wait for the day
sellers will be hoping that the prices keep following an upward trend
and that there will be a goodly amount of cattle penned
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 6:51 AM UTC
And the show is never over!
I don't even remember purchasing the tickets.
Welcome to a runny nose, and welcome to a style of up and down.
Because that's all up and down are; styles for the miles of crowded planet.
Drink your tired music like a bowl of wonton soup
Chunks will surprise you.
Swipe your debit, credit, hallmark card to purchase them
All of them.
Every inch of their REM.
I woke up to the winter concealed in valleys
Filled with fortune and ethernet cables.
What's your wifi password?
"Thanks, love."
Alright, thanks, love.
What a beautiful way to say "careful."
Carefree.
Curvature of some invisible decimal point.
I love you.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
Chiming bells and songs rent up the air!
Mood of festival eve catch up all in joy!
Not minding chill weather all go brisk
Purchasing, taking snack and juice, low!
For a month happy mood will stir all hearts
Forgetting old matters and dreaming new
About long months ahead for progress...
To make life better to enjoy better in full!
And when works go on full swing as per plan
Spring will greet all with smiling flowers.....
To cheer up the mood to forget the stress
And strain of work load with hope of future!
Festival is the incentive to stimulate zeal
To go ahead on any venture to achieve goal!
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 2:44 AM UTC
I wrote a book in this place.
I have filled notebook pages
hunched over this very table.
Virtually every time I’ve
come here to write,
I start with a ¢.97 chocolate
chip cookie and the ‘Sunday Special’,
an ¢.87 cup of dark.
Today, upon entry,
I stumble upon
Chocolate Shift Change.
I watch as she tosses the
first molasses disc into the
garbage can.
I ask:
“You’re just going to throw them away?”
She says:
“They’re old.”
“As am I.” I think, but don’t say.
Instead:
“I’ll buy them all right now.”
(She looks at me embarrassed just a bit,
but hurries to pull the rest of the expired cookies
out of the warmer.)
“We can’t sell you the old ones.”
“The fresh ones taste better.”
I doubt if I’d have known the difference.
(Expired confections slide from her grasp.)
Purchasing one, fresh,
I speak of lost profits
and typical first-world
wastefulness.
She nods knowingly,
but shitlessly,
(In that she couldn’t have
given a ****
I ask for a pack of smokes
as well,
meandering off in search of pulp
and fire.
My mind racing with the temporary
status
of
everything.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
What if I told you
I had all the answers.
Would you accommodate my allegations
Or assume my observations are obsolete?
Let's see.
What if I told you
There are approximately five abandoned houses
For every so called vagabond in America.
Let's pretend some simple addition could remedy this situation
And a few sets of steady hands plus a plethora of dry wall
Could dramatically increase the living conditions in these residences
And decrease the number of five year olds
Who consider dreaming on concrete comfortable.
Would you lend a hand?
What if I told you
That minorities make up the vast majority of inmates in America
While corporate crooks who believe distributing the wealth
Means purchasing penthouses in every time zone
From Ponzi Scheme paychecks
Receive bailouts rather than handcuffs.
As if felons in white collars are invisible to proper punishment.
Would you take the stand?
What if I told you
Believing in Buddha and his blessings
Or the New Testament teachings
Is not reason enough to persecute anyone
Based on their personal beliefs.
Because believe it or not
We were all blessed with the ability
To show compassion for others regardless of religious indifference.
Would you make amends?
What if I told you
I had none of the answers.
That my words were merely that- words.
That my call requires actions
And answers mean actually acting on abstractions
That most people keep inside mental concepts.
Would you hear me?
Would you help me?
What if I told you nothing?
Would you listen then?
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Typing was not my strength, it was my shame.
Typing is a skill to make words legible, not for me.
Letters were rarely in the right order, what a shame.
Things change, typed word can create order.
Secretarial work was not my thing.
Typing purchasing orders all day was not for me.
One typo, the order goes in File 13, to erase my error.
At the end of the day my wastebasket was piled high.
I typed a purchasing order and things changed.
It was for 50 tapes, my fingers flew to my shame.
My boss called me in his office, asked to read
I ordered 50 rapes, you read it right rapes.
He laughed, showed me a pencil and asked.
Do you see what is at the end? Yes, an eraser.
Learn to use it, use it to erase and correct your mistake
Do not throw away your experience.
He added: in 5 years your mistake is forgotten
In 10 years few will remember your mistake or name.
In 100 years from now no one will know who you are.
I wish to be remembered as a woman activist poet.
I no longer use File 13 to delete a shame.
You see, I write and type about the shame of ****
The shame every woman who is violated feels.
It a shame but not her shame, file and record his shame.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
The simple pleasure of purchasing shoes
that fit like a crown made for your toes,
reminds me of the Philippine First Lady,
Emelda Marcos and her closet of clogs
Some folks are unhappy with their cornucopia filled
and other are content if they get one gild.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 7:49 PM UTC
i want to, sit on a park bench
at the beginning of autumn
sipping our take away coffee and watching
the singular fragments of leaves on fire
falling from the trees
to whirl softly before landing on the ground
i want to, go fishing on a pier sitting over a lake
on a fresh spring morning
just to catch a fish with you
name it something ridiculous
and release it back into the wild, so i can say that we
officially domesticated a wild animal together
i want to, go and see a kiddy movie in the theaters
so we can sit in the front row and watch
while feeding each other popcorn
then wait till the end of the rolling credits, when everyone else is gone
before racing each other
up the stairs and pushing the doors open to outside
i want to, stand in the supermarket
drawing little faces on the condensations and
light heartedly bickering with you in front of the freezers
about the right flavor ice-cream
for our movie night on your couch at home
before deciding on purchasing both of them
i want to, stand under a light pole
on a mild summer night
with crickets as our backing music
the moon our only audience, and dance slowly
like the world doesn't exist outside of the small
pool of light at our feet
some of the many innocent things i want to do with you...
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC