"spender" poems
Bright clasp of her whole hand
Around my finger
My daughter as we walk together now
All my life I'll feel a ring invisibly
Circle this bone with shining:
When she is grown
Far from today as her eyes are far already.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
her pizzazz on the stage cannot be beat
she was the sassy dame of Big Spender
in a glittering gown she looks so neat
dynamic moves she would oft tender
verve goes into her one woman show
she was the sassy dame of Big Spender
with mic on stand she really glows
Bond Movie themes made her a star
verve goes into her one woman show
other cabaret act aren't of her par
Diamonds Are Forever so well known
Bond Movie themes made her a star
a Welsh lass with fab sounding tones
around the world her tunes are often spun
Diamonds Are Forever so well known
her fans think she is number one
around the world her tunes are often spun
her pizzazz on stage cannot be beat
in a glittering gown she looks so neat
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
Fast-walking past Timpsons',
I hear Attic Dithyrambs
In eternal rhythmic voyage
The Adjectives of Ancients
Crowd my senses, deliciously:
Artless and cretinly, everyone turns away
Quite leisurely into the bus station,
And I alone walk among these
Uninquiring minds
I will shell out for an unruled real faux leather notebook
Uncle Harold, you don't know what Poetry means;
otherwise, you might have got me a quaint old anthology
dense and esoteric, with Spender and Ezra,
for my twenty-third
And not the Readers' Digest Word Power Dictionary you sent off for with coupons:
sure, I know what quixotic means
and how to spell weird, and conceited,
but name two ways they apply to me? How will I confront
the unremitting suffering of my existence
with a list of Celebrity Anagrams?
True? or False? Poetry is Dead,
and with it, the bespirited core of commonman:
I will submit my first volume as a .pdf
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
I won the bloomin' lottery,
Cor blimey so I did!
No more scrubbin' socks for me,
I've won ten million quid!
I'm goin' on a ******
Nuffin's gonna bring me down;
I'll be the biggest spender,
Gonna buy the whole **** town!
My new found wealth is awesome,
Have you seen my mansion pool?
I play tennis in a foursome,
And my coach is really cool;
On Wednesday's its Pilates,
And on Sunday's it's Judo!
Now I'm jetting to the Maldives,
Toodle-pip -- I have to go!
One finds oneself most indisposed,
To do this interview;
One's butler will be swift deposed,
For letting you get through;
One will accede to your request,
Tho' Sir, this is your lot;
Despite the wealth with which one's blessed,
One has not changed a jot!
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
As you sit, stand, and crawl, your **** falls and stains a toilet larger than your shopping mall. In the stall, pull that feather from your ***
Take your class and call a taxi, cause you are too drunk to walk; as you fly from your herd, like a bird from a flock.
Gawk, jaw drops, as the weak ones flurry in the dead of Winter. After an all-night ****** you flutter to your nest to find it in cinders.
Tripping over stones, you hurry. No cries are heard while bones splinter. Soaring hawks from darkened skies, swoop the birch winged mob.
Robbed and broken, you sob. Jobless, homeless, and hopeless you're a crushed, torn fender. Funerals and vacations are planned by the spender.
As your life's flames diminish and you think of your enkindler, I'll finish up this gift and send it to you. Please, don't return to sender.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
These three hundred dollar candles on this table
Are challenging their value over me
Sorry I'm not specially scented
I'm speaking to a candle, I must be heavily demented
I don't belong in this Italian Restaurant
I might challenge their romanticness
Polish and prestine
Just a toast for Christine
I'm not the biggest spender for tiny appiitizers
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
You'd think I would have learned by now
not to take the things
you say too seriously
because to you,
a promise is little more than
a few flimsy syllables and spit
and if words were a currency,
your's would cause inflation
of the highest degree
but I live
in a place where words are precious
and dripping with sincerity
and that's why its sometimes
so hard to come up with
the right way of saying
the things that I mean
and that's why I sometimes
say nothing at all
because words that fill space
just feel so unclean
so you'd think I would
have learned by now but
they say that gambling
is an addiction
[and you know I've always loved good fiction]
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
I take pride
In jeopardizing my life
Unlike monopoly
I have one die
In life
At a time
I
The lucky spender
Received a splendid surprise
The sublime arrived
Just in time
On the night
Before destruction
Yes,
There is a bit friction
In this business
Non-fictional character
Rises in the author
I wrote
The book of the dead
And spread knowledge
On earth’s bed
Now,
I’m denied credit
For risks taken
Instead of a praise
Appraised
For my edgy ways
And found
Guilty of pleasure
I’m
In debt
With the angels
Who lent me
The soul makings
And sent me
On a mission
Which remains
Unaccomplished
In their vision
I am
Sole proprietor
In this business
I have no relations
Trust none
My inquisition
Seems superstitious
When you unravel
My unreal supposition
But suppose
For a minute
That you were in
The opposed position
And posed
With the mind of a menace
Who, sadly,
Never stepped
In the shoes of sanity
Society views your life
As a stain
On earth’s plain
Though, your pain
Seems self-sustained
You were born
Insane
Would be better off
If offered removal
But awful is often
Sought
In the eyes
Of vile beholders
The unnamed soldier
Is the truest
Of them all
Marching down
The broken road
To destiny
The
Know-it-alls
Know nothing
At all
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:57 AM UTC
A capricious sprite looking only
for a temporary delight at anothers
expense. She changes from
sultry woman grown to
laughing child and back to
woman again deeply caring
and tender, but you had better
be a big spender.
Like quicksilver they slide
and merge, one upon the other
till they are all one, the woman
and the child, the poor mother who
had to raise all of those
kids by herself, so I sat there thinking,
considering what to do,
should I move there to be
with her, to help her,
and will she accept me.
I thought I could make
her dream come true
but instead I made her blue.
I thought if I came to her
I could make a special
World for her and I so
I sold my house
and said I'll be there soon
and not once did I wonder
if she was ready for me
or consider what would happen
if she didn't want me.
She said she recognized me
in an instant by my words
and said she had dreamt
of me and felt my spirit
reaching out for her.
She was forced to lie,
she had no other choice,
so I have to say that
I am totally to blame
for her little game
of saying "I love you,"
and "you are the one
I have been looking
for all of these years."
She should have said
"I don't think you should
be here." She could have
made it more clear but my love
smothered her leaving her
unable to speak, so she could
only seek a way out with
lies upon lies and more lies.
Without a doubt it was my fault
for being in love and forcing
her to lie and laugh at me as I cried.
But now I realize that
I am better off, and see
that it was all my fault. Jon York 2011
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
Who do you think you are?
A sage, a knight, a king?
A big spender?
With a fat diamond ring?
Who do you think you are?
A co-worker, a friend?
A true lover?
Till the end?
Is that who you think you are?
My lover, my friend?
Then why did you treat me,
Like the money you lend?
Why did you treat me like trash?
Nothing more the white trash.
That's what you said,
When my eyes rained tears the color of ash.
WHY?
Was I just some prize to be won?
Was I just another woman,
That might bear your son?
Were you the maker of hearts?
Were you the water and I the steam?
Were we the stars?
Were we a dream?
What were we?
I can hardly remember now.
But your scars make you unforgettable,
For the slice through my brow.
So, who do you think you are?
Because that person you are not.
Not here, not there.
Not in your wildest thought.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 3:37 PM UTC
her pizzazz on stage cannot be beat
she is the dame of the song Big Spender
in a glittering gown she looked neat
dynamic moves she'd often tender
verve goes into her one woman show
she is the dame of the song Big Spender
with mic on stand she really glows
Bond Movie themes made her a star
verve goes into her one woman show
other cabaret acts are not of her par
Diamonds Are Forever so well known
Bond Movie themes made her a star
a Welsh girl with fab sounding tones
on record players her tunes are spun
Diamonds Are Forever so well known
her fans think she is number one
on record players her tunes are spun
her pizzazz on stage cannot be beat
in a glittering gown she looked neat
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Caveat
by Michael R. Burch
If only we were not so eloquent,
we might sing, and only sing, not to impress,
but only to enjoy, to be enjoyed.
We might inundate the earth with thankfulness
for light, although it dies, and make a song
of night descending on the earth like bliss,
with other lights beyond—not to be known—
but only to be welcomed and enjoyed,
before all worlds and stars are overthrown ...
as a lover’s hands embrace a sleeping face
and find it beautiful for emptiness
of all but joy. There is no thought to love
but love itself. How senseless to redress,
in darkness, such becoming nakedness . . .
Originally published by Clementine Unbound
Keywords/Tags: caveat, eloquent, eloquence, sing, enjoy, enjoyment, inundate, earth, thankfulness, praise, song, light, welcomed, enjoyed, enjoyment, bliss, joy, love
Caveat Spender
by Michael R. Burch
It’s better not to speculate
"continually" on who is great.
Though relentless awe’s
a Célèbre Cause,
please reserve some time for the contemplation
of the perils of EXAGGERATION.
Stephen Spender in his best-known poem wrote: "I think continually of those who were truly great." This near-limerick suggests that Spender may have exaggerated the time he devoted to hero worship. Keywords/Tags: caveat, spender, truly, great, think, continually, hero, worship, exaggeration, contemplation, awe, fawn, fawning
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 5:08 AM UTC
I'm a bartender
Scar-mender
Heart defender
On another ******
Ready for a hard winter
Never a pretender
Opposite of a large spender
Certainly not anyone's number one contender
The one who's better
Yet often told never
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
I will not go away
SAY ANYTHING
CRY OR FLY
rock desert
slender spender
seed soil
light and darkness
silence and noise
blessing of mother
caring of father
spirit of mine
then look what work is
to care and not to care
ti sit still don't go any were.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 4:43 AM UTC
When I was younger, I would dig holes in
The backyard, hoping to find some treasure
Or arrive in China. I would dig, dig,
And dig until I got bored or was told
To stop, but would soon be back out, trying
Once more to arrive in China or find
Some treasure. My expeditions could be
Put on hold, but never stopped. When I took
Breaks from digging, my desire to find
Something (like a water droplet on the
End of a spigot: building, building, and
Building until it becomes so heavy
That it drops off and plummets to the ground)
Would grow, grow, and grow until I could fight
The urge no more and was back out, digging.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
The burning wick picks the bright pink flowery foliage
And I know that our love has lived and ended
The breaths I exhale whisper a cold relief
And how I would return to my loneliness wraps me in disbelief
Of what the moments were, memories remain
All of the colour and the horrifying pain
Right to the flavour of emotional highs that left a stain
A romantic ballad which is fit to be a fairy’s fairy-tale fame
How twisted the events have been
but there is no winner in this game
Only players and the order is sung by the horn-blower
As the world that matters would have it --- poetic deposits make returns slower
The keeper of a love is the money-spender and whistle-blower
And we soldiers of love return to the
only thing we know to be real, our refuge of solitude…
I played, I played a tune,
it was melodious but the flower prohibited to bloom kept the rhythm blue…
I will remember you, so long lover and letting go is letting go
Goodbye will do us no good as we go on by
May you be true to your heart and overcome your fears
May you find solace in a loving friend for all your tears
It has been an education loving you but Letting go is letting go, so on I go.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Food Prices On The Rise
Value of the dollar declines
Inflation
People have a problem paying for their cars
The same thing with real estate
Different programs
Continually pump up the bubble
Equity firms are lending to landlords
More and more people brought into the market
These securitized investments will be worth absolutely nothing
These speculators will lose everything
When the market collapses
Push the loans out there
Pump up the real estate market
This is what these equity firms are doing
Don't worry
The central bakers protected themselves
They have the FDIC covering, the derivatives market
When the system collapses
They can take the money from the banks
To cover their losses
They will give you worthless paper back
Obama is letting in illegals
100,000 illegals legalized before the injunction
Many of them got their work permit
After the injunction
Breaking Texas state law
The lender of last resort--The Federal Reserve
The spender of last resort--The Govermnet
The dollar will completely collapse
It is only a matter of time
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
Who do you think you are?
A sage, a knight, a king?
A big spender?
With a fat diamond ring?
Who do you think you are?
A co-worker, a friend?
A true lover?
Till the end?
Is that who you think you are?
My lover, my friend?
Then why did you treat me,
Like the money you lend?
Why did you treat me like trash?
Nothing more the white trash.
That's what you said,
When my eyes rained tears the color of ash.
WHY?
Was I just some prize to be won?
Was I just another woman,
That might bear your son?
Were you the maker of hearts?
Were you the water and I the steam?
Were we the stars?
Were we a dream?
What were we?
I can hardly remember now.
But your scars make you unforgettable,
For they slice through my brow.
So, who do you think you are?
Because that person you are not.
Not here, not there.
Not in your wildest thought.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
Benjamin Franklin’s theory of money spent
But I can’t figure out where my money went
Franklin’s way of a penny saved is a penny earned
Yet there is so much to learn
However our current economy way, “Make it the best way you know how”
Someone could really argue at the economy
But wallet you must behave
Credit cards there should be no crave
Penny’s that do add up
The idea is how to save so you don’t get fed up
But how does one keep up
SAVE, SAVE AND SAVE
But it is up to the individual spender being the wise economist
It does take someone to be a scientist
It is all those calculating dollars
A lightening charge with an idea
Planning is how you will preserver
Take it from Benjamin Franklin who knew back then
If you think on your actual cash flow, this puts you in the know
The floor plan was Benjamin Franklin’s presentation show.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
Where have you been?
Gloria asked
Paddington train station
Lydia said
on you own?
no with Benny
who's Benny?
Lydia sat on her bed
her big sister
was applying make up
to her face
a boy
Lydia said
boyfriend
at your age?
Gloria teased
Lydia stared
at her sister's
tight red skirt
he's a boy
Lydia said
what?
Mum and Dad
let you go?
Gloria said
gazing at her
9 year old sister
in the mirror's reflection
yes
Lydia said
what's he after?
Gloria said smirking
after?
what you mean after?
Lydia said frowning
leave her alone you
Lydia's mum said
passing the open doorway
just because you
drop your underwear
to the nearest bloke
doesn't mean you can
get her to be like you
in any case
she's just 9
so it isn't right
just joking
Gloria said moodily
well it isn't a joke
her mother said
well Lydia
what did you do
with the Benny Boy?
watched trains
Lydia said
is that all?
Gloria said
yes and Benny
bought me
a glass of milk
and we shared
a big biscuit
big spender eh?
Gloria said
watched trains?
her mother said
all the time?
yes
Lydia said
all sorts
big trains
and smaller ones
lots of steam and noise
but we like that
Gloria said
glad my boyfriend
ain't like that
or I'd drop him
like dog's turds
her mother walked off
shaking her head
and Lydia went off
to the lounge
to watch TV
thinking of Benny
and the shared biscuit
and the promise
of going to Scotland
one day
far far away.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
They were the heavens daughters
they were of land air and the waters,
Artemis would nurture of all ascended,
Gaea would colour below with spender.
one would glance fingers on the breeze
where the trees would dance in ease.
painting the landscape in watercolours ink,
seasons did change and colours did shrink.
The heavens were moulded with her embrace,
a tapestry of what was her emotion gently graced.
emotions change and where clear skies shone
clouds ensued, her words were expelled and sown.
Each was a beauty of ones own eternal creation
every place was different to each ones application,
they changed all with each seasons exchange
each one that revolved a little thing did change.
This season was summer bliss as each painted,
nothing grey, all was of colours noting tainted.
butterflies flew and flowers did eagerly bud,
Larks did fly, tears did descend creations lifeblood.
Each did dance in the essence of there creation
gracing there art in each pieces location,
You may feel them in the lingering breeze
smiling on deeds now done, on all one sees.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:30 AM UTC
Socialism needs an opt-out for the folks like me.
Doesn’t mean I want to shut out souls in poverty.
Just that sharing’s much more fun when I decide to give.
Ev’n the crankiest curmudgeon wants poor folks to live.
But it grates that regulation twists my liberal arm.
Presses me for my donation, “lets” me sell the farm.
True compassion I would render to the brotherhood,
Never shirking role of spender for the common good.
Yet I’m stymied in my caring, curiously enough,
When the government starts tearing through my private stuff.
It’s like saying whom I must love, never letting me
Freely choose to be a part of warm felicity.
And . . .
What of charity’s receiver, plebian, once proud?
Now required under-achiever in the welfare crowd.
If she rises from her ashes, if she shirks her place.
Suddenly, the system slashes “benefits” apace.
Now, by council isolated from her former peers.
Up the ladder climbs unaided by the rich “top-tiers.”
While support they once would offer, now their fists are shut--
Uncle Sam has taxed their coffer, swiped the needy’s cut.
What if government gave freedom for us all to choose?
If the statutes guaranteed ‘em untouched revenues?
Might that self-rule foster good-will for our fellow-man?
Couldn’t independence instill kindness in our land?
Maybe it’s just me that could’ve soared above the rule,
Let the generosity of God become the fuel. . . that
Powered me to love my neighbor, opened wide my hand,
Shared the fruit of friendship’s labor with each one, first hand.
Either way, I need that opt-out: Liberty’s control,
Giving me the chance to hand out, freely, from my soul.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
A writer, aspiring poet,
constantly afraid that she’ll blow it.
A daughter, loving sister,
insecure that anyone could ever miss her.
A misfit, won’t ever quit,
pretends she doesn’t actually give a ****
A poser, laughably mediocre,
she draws her originality from the ones before her.
A reckless forgiver, a generous spender,
hold her back and you’ll most definitely suffer.
A blunt speaker, a big dreamer,
bitterly honest because she couldn’t ever stand being known as a liar.
A level six sorceress, an RPG-er,
she’s a d20 that never manages to roll a high number.
A voice with many accents, a toolbox filled with talent,
she wants to voice the characters in a first-person shooter.
***
But mostly, she’s the girl
who overwaters flowers
because she feels bad for them.
Who dyes her hair bright colors
because she gets bored
and simply for the hell of it.
Who battled cancer for over a year
but can’t manage
to call herself a survivor.
Who wrote this poem
even though she thought
she didn’t have the words for it.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
So tired, ******* exhausted
of tired promises, promises
You'll never keep,
You know that You won't
(So why do You make them?)
Not sure, I don't think
the cave under the falls
is worth the battering
But you tell me you Miss Me
Miss Me
So I keep spending,
Wanting the search
YOU, DEMOLISHER.
I, BRICK ABANDONED.
I am made of the substance
You were built to ruin.
You, Spender of Time,
I, Timeless Monolith.
Take Me, Take Me,
Take me down -
Brick by brick You undo
(with tiny meaningless hopeful phrases)
Bat your eyelashes while you pocket my pieces
So You can keep telling Yourself
You're tender.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC