"recipients" poems
Sustenance for friends and clients;
state your case – come one, come all.
The matron arms of Social Service
will not let you fall.
Food stamps make our nation stronger,
licked, then stuck on the public roll.
Social programs last much longer
adding recipients on the dole…
Like the Ephesian Diana
many are my benefits!
Mine the matriarchal manna;
latch and suckle at my teats.
Yours the client’s right to nurture.
Mother will supply your need;
Child, you must not fear the future –
feed, my baby, feed.
Call me nanny, call me Lord
just make sure you’re calling on me.
Mine are the gifts you can afford
they’re taxpayer-funded, worry-free!
Once you are latched I’ll keep it flowing
like an intravenous habit.
Keep that ****** situated
where your will can never grab it
Let it never cross your mind
that there’s an end to all lactation.
Cloward-Piven have refined
this titillation.
Love me. Need me. I’m the State.
Your well-being is my affair.
With your consent I’ll dominate,
because I care.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Holocaust Poem: "On The Slaughter"
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Merciful heavens, have pity on me!
If there is a God approachable by men
as yet I have not found him—
Pray for me!
For my heart is dead,
prayers languish upon my tongue;
my right hand has lost its strength
and my hope has wilted, undone.
How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end?
How long? Hangman, traitor,
here’s my neck—
rise up now, rise and slaughter!
Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe
and the whole world is a scaffold to me
although we—the chosen few—
were once recipients of the Pacts.
Executioner, my blood’s a paltry prize—
strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain
drenching your pristine uniform again and again,
staining your raiment forever.
If there is Justice—quick, let her appear!
But after I’ve been blotted out, should she reveal her face,
let her false scales be overturned forever
and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace.
You too arrogant men, with your brutal injustice,
suckled on blood, unweaned of violence:
cursed be the warrior who cries "Vengeance!" on a maiden;
such cruelty was never contemplated, even by Satan.
Let innocents’ blood drench the abyss!
Let innocents’ blood seep down into the congealing darkness,
eat it away and undermine
earth's rotting foundations.
Al Hashechita ("On the Slaughter") was written by Chaim Nachman Bialik in response to the ****** Kishniev pogrom of 1903, which was instigated by agents of the Czar who wanted to divert social unrest and political anger from the Czar to the Jewish minority. The Hebrew word schechita (also transliterated shechita, shechitah, shekhitah, shehita) denotes the ritual kosher slaughtering of animals for food. The juxtapositioning of kosher slaughter with the slaughter of Jews makes the poem all the more powerful and ghastly. Such anti-Semitic incidents prompted a massive wave of Eastern European emigration that brought millions of Jews to the West. Unfortunately, there have been many similar slaughters in human history and the poem remains chillingly relevant to the more recent ones in Israel/Palestine, Rwanda, Bosnia and Kosovo. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Bialik, translation, slaughter, massacre, God, prayer, executioner, hangman, blood, innocents, justice, false, scales, injustice
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
A day when all the brokenhearted gather round will be a day of glory
Sharing sad stories
A day when all the brokenhearted meet will be a time of fear
Memories will come back from the dead to haunt the recipients
Tears will shed and hearts may remain dead, but the brokenhearted may slowly become stronger because broken is better
Warnings will be said
And the brokenhearted will depart
The hearts may be broken but The Dragon will be awoken
And The Dragon is a powerful creature
The Dragon has not a heart which makes it all the more perfect.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
its
the TV commercials
the fake ****
the campaign trail
the welfare recipients
psychotic shooters
bible thumpers
and athiests
salesmen
gangsters and
special interests
its junk mail
the court system
its the poor paying more
the ignorant
the scared
the recluse
the extroverts
the sales tax
the hospital bills
zombie ammo
beggars making more than me
nuclear threats
starvation
animal abuse
drug addiction
half assery
its the bullies
the police
its advantage
in retreat
the lies
the masks
the crys
the laughs
its all the ******** that ******* annoys me
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
Can you see the precious releases as they dissipate
Inviting ardent admiration from us all
Appeasing the beseeching eyes of so many of us here
In the scattered dispersing of their fall
Such luminous wonders sustained by minute gestures
Of clarity in their mystical opaque releases
Appearing at first glimpse to stream from above
As if from the floodgates of secret places
A bountiful acclaim can be seen in the new animation
Of the recipients of these precious releases
As they blissfully absorb new life into their essence
Pleasing our eyes, with a beauty that never ceases
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
Well where do we start?
Bob,
That answers a lot of questions before asked.
He was a vegan, kind of?
Never did he linger on thoughts of animal flesh,
vegan you could single him upon in certain words.
He would not linger on the animal nutritional formalities.
Could he linger on the repulsive tastes of pork, beef, lamb.
He would heave at mere thoughts of digesting these
peaceful recipients of the plant we delve all upon.
But even fish was out of his lingering taste buds.
He did how ever have a taste that differed from the
palettes of most, for it was of those he called friend.
He contorted on the repulsiveness of what his hunger
desired in wanting attention, but as those around waited
for there inevitable ending. He lingered on how they were savoured.
Bankruptcy of morals was his downfall, he saw others as
just meat sacks. Things that were as wanting in consumption
as those they fed upon, There screams were so inviting.
Have you heard an animal scream. No they don't, they
just look cynical in why your ending, their existence and stare.
Where we cry like lambs to the slaughter of our ending.
Emotion makes those that tear salt upon features
taste that much better than those unintelligent creatures
that just except there oblivion with eyes of so be it.
I have a sickness that thrives on the taste of you superficial
fear that I will not end you. No I will cease you light and
endeavour to feed on you lifeless carcass now silent.
*"Hi I'm Bob I'm a vegan struggling with the concept of
no meat in my diet, I don't eat animal, but I still linger
for the taste of meat inbetween of my moist lips and teeth.*
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
We lead our lives like we hand out a basket full of diamonds
We may share our diamonds with one soul, or we may find a few who we trust with our jewels
These recipients may string our gems value their worth
Or they make discard our stones
Some make their diamonds little and hand them out easier
Others will savor a few, select precious pieces
These are the details
Have we ever thought about what happens though
If those accepting our gifts leave
Can Diamonds Die?
I look at you with a smirk on my face, but note the tenderness in my voice when I reveal to you
That diamonds die along with those we bury.
You don’t un-give a gift and you don’t get your diamond back
No, what happens is you go on knowing where your treasure lies,
Or, rather, where it will never be again
The only light you may see shed in the vast darkness where your stone is absent
Is knowing that you gave your diamond because you wanted him to have it
You wanted him to have a piece of you,
And knowing he has a bit of you
Makes you believe
You still
Have a piece of
Him
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
Mind worries as sun blazes
dwindling up water sources
held so close like precious treasure,
As earth spins, yearning for change!!
Soil waits in anticipation
Longing for monsoon’s gentle touch
and to hear stories from heavenly sky
gathered by collective clouds!!
Leaves stretch out their eager hands,
While roof tops become willing recipients
To embrace the raindrops
As convoy from the sky above!!
Mind dances as if on cloud nine
As celebration of renewal
Of dried-up life and leaves...
Waiting for the splash of rain
across every breeze in its way...
Of lone long walks with no barriers
between soul and heaven!!
Mar 12, 2024
Mar 12, 2024 at 7:33 AM UTC
Barren halls, devoid of children
echo with the ghostly staccato of gunfire
and the mockingly musical tinkling of spent brass.
Specters of children set free through violence
mutely stand vigil over stained tile and carpet,
shocked by their sudden transition.
Parents, siblings, grandparents and family reel
from the sudden void caused by the senseless
and cowardly actions of a 2nd Amendment zealot’s son.
Christmas presents without recipients sit untouched
in secret places – never to light up the eyes
and faces of eager and happy children.
Flags fly in solemn respect at half-staff
signifying a nation in mourning, yet a nation
so reluctant to address the core of these issues
which have made these crimes so common-place.
Bumbling and incompetent politicians – securely
in the NRA’s and gun-lobby’s pocket are quick to *****
the party lines: “Guns don’t **** people.” “My fork and knife made me fat.”
All the while the mentally tormented and dangerous
continue to take up arms and slaughter innocents –
as apparently their constitutional rights are more sacred
than the life of a first-grader.
How long America, will you dip your pens in the blood of children
and write the laws that take their lives?
How long America, will you wrap yourself in a blood-stained flag
and spew the toxic and hateful lie that guns don’t **** people?
How many more must bleed your ink and feed your mill
before we cry, “enough is enough!!”?
© 2012 Michael Hunter
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Yea verily
The Movers and Shakers are society’s paveway makers.
They recognise a need, feel a cause and initiate action.
These people make things happen, they are the driving force in our society.
By virtue of their very nature, they are rarely perfect,
they have backgrounds and have, invariably, at some some stage of their life,
trodden on the daisies.
Our society could not do without these people.
They are a rare minority and because of their positivity and momentum
They make enemies.
The enemy of the Movers and the Shakers are the Naysayers and the Finger Pointers.
The Naysayers and Finger Pointers are the reactive side of society.
They rarely initiate and rarely expose themselves to the spotlight.
They fester in the shadows in their masses and froth into braying criticism
Which may, or may not, develop into righteous finger pointing and condemnation.
(Depending, of course, on the issue at hand and the degree of hysteria generated.)
The Naysayers and Finger Pointers are society’s negatives.
(They would say that they are society’s necessary checks and controls…
Which perhaps, to some degree they are.)
The realm of the Tall Poppy Syndrome is the perfect territory for Naysayer/Finger Pointer operation.
It provides the right mix of avarice, envy and vengeance to blend clandestinely beneath a covering cloak of righteous indignation.
And it provides the symbiotic platform for mass reaction from the great unwashed.
I note that Mayor Bob Parker and benefactor Sir Owen Glenn are the latest recipients of negative onslaught.
The Mayor has just announced that, after many years of public service, he has had a guts full of the braying abuse and is throwing in the towel.
I sincerely hope that he retires with wealth and lovely wife and that he bathes in the satisfaction of his many, many achievements…well away from the accusing crowd.
And if I was Sir Owen Glenn, I would abruptly cancel the offered, generous, $2 million finance for the Anti Domestic Violence Campaign
and with fierce eye tell the Naysayers and Finger Pointers of New Zealand society to go stuff themselves… then turn and walk away, never to return.
Marshalg
Pukehana Paradise
AUCKLAND
5 July 2013
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
we are deemed the broken ones
with minds gone "crazy."
we are only grateful recipients,
for we see the world in other ways.
we are not faulty humans;
we only have an alternate life.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
*Each ripple at her shore perfect , every panfish feeding just below the surface held with upmost respect ..
A repository of turbulent waters awarded peace , a placid impoundment delivering solace to all it's fortunate recipients ..
Canadian Geese are quite familiar with her charms , bullfrogs and killdeer speak of her beauty with Summer songs ..
The calls of numerous songbirds fill the Springtime air , Largemouth Bass crash at the top of the water , breaking the afternoon silence ..
Georgia Pines shade her Northern front , blackberry thickets just beyond the Western shore , Blue Herons quietly forage in the shallow waters , she is the emboldened mother of countless natural wonders* ...
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
i would have been barefoot
with cuffs not hemmed
and rolled
but its not fashion
my jeans are aged
but not from design
i wear my life
into a one roomed class
it dons a bell tower
and, post-toll
no one prays
one instructor for all
each led in divergent direction
according to our abilities
and while the greater lot
learns an appealing cursive script
i curse at the blank pages before me
in my simple way
passing them as notes
but they fall on ears
as barren of hearing
as the recipients feet are
of the callous and sediment
that make mine
breathe life into my narrative
but here no lessons are taught
however gleaned from discord
interpreted through grime
grime and rebuke
filtered through shallow waters
through embattled plains
rife with mole hills and ant piles
scattered with patches of knee high grass
spotted with blooming indigenous flora
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
Like a speed limit,
Age 55 is a reminder,
A geriatric mnemonic,
Telling you to take it slowly.
Safe to say,
Most of us Baby-Boom geezers
Walk around half the time
Wondering how one gets laid,
“Hooks up”—
As our grandchildren say--
Gets laid behind & inside this
Asylum sanctuary?
Manning the ramparts,
Those Wackenhut stiffs
Are there for a reason.
Overt, direct ****** overtures
Strictly verboten (ver•bo•ten).
Yet, the silver-haired sireens
Crave company,
As in “keeping company,”
An ancient idiom for
“Let’s Hide the Pepperoni!”
But you’ve got to take it slow at
Del Webb Over-55 America,
A multi-state lunatic asylum,
Where a preponderance of
Single silver-tress foxes,
Having “lost their husband,”
Somewhere, at some point,
Some recent but forgotten,
Alzheimer’s moment along the trail,
They comb the daily obits,
Hunting prey, newly widowed men,
Fresh casserole recipients &
Crypto-pepperoni buddies.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Religious zeal and explosive prowess make incendiary bedfellows
searing calculating moralism where all fall short and deserve to suffer
self righteous corrupted calumny put forth in a sally of sectarian selectivity
your ilk is heading for Hell and I'm (already there) not
fanatical zealots marginalize intellectuals with their mythical mire of mucked up claptrap and copious lack of a priori specificity
a glorified preposterous plethora of pompous pontificating platitudes
the sins of others they deplore but of themselves they don't keep score
Sunday's best is Sunday's worst
you sanctimonious ******** just can't leave people alone
who elected you to point fingers anyway
Jesus was born in a barn to an unmarried woman
And your mommy got shtuped when you were conceived too
you don't walk on water you insolent impertinent fool
the brain police can't wait for Sunday's
oh the satisfaction of a mutual admiration society
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak
Is anything anymore real if you jump around and shout about it
recipients of adulates get accustomed to sycophants
fawning complacent obsequious kiss ***** and Sunday suck-ups
pass the plate
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
The days carry the essence of grand fatigue;
I once knew a good judge of character,
whom the recipients of righteousness
called a friend.
He collapsed within the fog,
leaving a rare delicacy for me to consume.
I savored the taste of blatant bitterness,
refusing to regurgitate the morsels
I quickly digested.
Now I've got this nagging cough
and wheezing in my chest.
The plight of mad science
to taint my good blood cells
with the disease of contaminated cytoplasm.
I am becoming numb
to its brutal effects
and I am frightened.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming
Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy
Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming
Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment
Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming
Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory
Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
an attractive honey ***
has been available
to so many folks
who've made a career
of abusing
us taxpaying folks
our small community
plays mien host
to a cohort
of these hard working folks
they sit on their tails
watching the world go by
the idea of getting a job
never enters their mind's eye
a particular gentleman
who is well know around town
has collected the dole for years
he's exploited the welfare system
like so many of his peers
he's a strapping man
who has good physicality
some of that could be expended
doing a day's labor
and his mental capabilities
are pretty keen
as he's always found ways
to cheat the welfare scheme
no wonder the taxpayer
is apt to feeling rather miffed
as ***** is always
giving the free gift
with the government
tightening the purse strings
those non genuine welfare recipients
will have to enter the job market
and stop feeding
from the generous taxpayer's
evergreen basket
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
The heart can heal all.
That's why we fear
Opening it up
For a fickle other.
We can lose our
Best chance at
Self-defense.
I don't fear
The break,
So I send mine
On a plate.
Recipients are
Used to games.
I am, however,
Fiercely straight-forward,
With self-confidence
Coated in
Uncertainty. Vanity. Candy.
Recipients simply run from me.
This is why I focus on me,
Expired of all of my romances.
Thankful Universe gave us chances
To quickly flee the scene
Before the heart dances.
Lonesome creatures are courageous.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 5:25 AM UTC
If:
There were no people of color, they'd pick on redheads.
If there were no redheads they would pick on people with glasses.
If there were no people with glasses they’d pick on fat people.
If there were no fat people, they’d pick on welfare recipients.
If there were no welfare recipients, they’d pick on non-Christians.
If there are no non-Christians around, they'll pick on Catholics.
If there are no Catholics around they'll pic on Christians from any denomination except theirs.
If there are none of those around, they'll pick on college graduates.
Obladee, obladah, yeah! Yadda yeah, the list goes on...
(The same thing applies with Non-Christian bigots. Just change a word here and there.)
Bigots are bigots
No matter what the name
The underhanded tactics
Are all just the same.
They are heartless and evil.
That’s the name of their game.
They are social criminals and
Look for someone else to blame.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
You, beautiful as you are,
Exit into the dawn,
Along with its mist, and dawn chorus,
From your much loved singers on the wing.
You drift by, all weary from the nightly nurture,
Upon less than thankful recipients,
But the light appears upon spring and summer months,
You angel of maintainence,
Sheer selflessness appears from you as you anticipate the seemingly joyous evening ahead,
And yet succumb to the imminent sleep so needed, yet so dreaded.
But know this, my night angel, i ponder aimlessly upon your endless comfort towards strangers old and young,
And realise, my love, that you were sent here from heaven in days to come,
For me, to keep me alive and sustain my life with your sheer presence, my elixir that is you, my life blood... MY CHRISTOPHER
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:59 PM UTC
I like to believe
in partial reincarnation
that when people die
their essence is broken
into millions
of fragments
shards of spiritual glass
some with razor sharp edges
but these pieces
they need somewhere to go
so they find us
and we are made up of all
who came before us
always carrying pieces
so every new person
is more human
than the last
and maybe souls find like recipients
painters seeking out painters
and so forth
and I like to imagine
that a great writer
found my soul
but it seems far more likely
that it was the village idiots
who settled in my being
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
To those wailing of their loneliness which nobody hears
is like crying in the dark with no one to see your tears.
They're lacking in the gift people come to know as love
which is missing in their lives being Graced from above.
-----------------
Oh, how mournful are the lonely people of today
who can't seem to find friends with whom to play.
Tho' living in a community they're just really like
outsiders looking in onto their abandoned psych.
At times steeped in depression and unable to rise
out of the gloom they're in which isn't a surprise.
Some even feel that they'd be much better off dead
and find it hard shaking this notion from their head.
There are those who're victims of families torn apart
in a desperate situation wanting to make a new start.
Others are poor in spirit without a glimmer of hope
accustomed to tribulations suffering a life of mope.
Yet, some others again are recipients of a harsh life
imposed on them by unwanted circumstantial strife.
The consequences of their actions brought them here
after indulging in those things offering a false cheer.
Be sympathetic towards any who're in such distress
and offer a helping hand to them; by yourself bless.
To be lonely is also a feeling of being empty inside
which in turn is reflected in one's life there outside.
It seems they've squandered their time in various ways
and gone against their conscience in the course of days.
Adding to their woes by forsaking the quiet Inner Voice
heard from deep within their soul with the right choice.
This has left them feeling empty inside as stated before
like some of those who are said to be in the spirit poor.
If there's no sincere repentance or seeking help in need
change won't come for them like that Spirit to proceed.
_____________________
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
~~~
someday soon gonna reread
the four figures of my
poems over lifetime inked,
divvy them up by what each is about,
assemblage of
the themes of me
review the who what when and weird
of this guy through his own eyes
multiplying confessions
of graces and disgraces
particular to recover,
desirous of collecting those poems that:
*valorize society’s strugglers
and stragglers...humans doing the work of living*^
don't know how many will be uncovered,
but here's hoping there are plenty,
needy of recovery and uncovering the poet
and worthy of pointing too,
valuation markers of a
decent human
strugglers, stragglers,
those from all over this world
and lives that can only visualize
no-horizon-in-sight oceans
sailors, from ports unvisited,
some even, still undiscovered,
working ****** and women,
not those,
don't owners
of fancy dress whites,
topped of by jaunty angelic-angled caps
the ones I sought and seek,
grime and coal dust etched into
every ****** crevice, ink under fingernails,
in obscurity, toil in windowless engine rooms,
in the nooks in libraries hiding,
satisfied with
a moment of glory,
and a lasting
hand upon
their wracked minds
these are my mates,
sharing fates
of woeful countenances
of bruised bodies,
recipients of hardest blows repetitious,
comrades in open arms
the unflavored, unfavored of
sons and daughters,
unblessed with sobs and smacks,
who rare lift the head in hope
the sufferers of ignominy
of the
prison of their existence,
for those I write,
have, will, and willing
to do it till I see a
chin rising, white of eyes gleaming,
a hand delisted,
arms defused of black weights
come to me,
words, encouragement, perspective,
that this too shall pass
believing ain't easy,
take it from one who couldn't see
happy endings, but had no choice but
to choose to,
now prepped, ready
for my arms to do some serious uplifting,
shoulders heavy-loaded and wide of loads,
eager for honest work,
aiding and abetting
the stragglers and and stragglers...
humans doing the work of living,
deserving for valuation,
awaiting their salutation,
and relief, even if,
tiny and small,
a slim volume of poems,
that but one
poet
provided
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC