"spendthrift" poems
Still alone
We are not
Maybe Titan
All we got
Mine our way
Barge ore back
Build a bridge
Plutonium tack
Ceramic sails
On solar wind
Terminal shock
Butterflies pinned
On orbital ellipses
‘Gainst starry drops
Spun light and dark
Like judgment tops
Spendthrift starfish
Regenerate limbs
From primal screams
That eat our sins
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Museums as art
Art as museums
Sail the trail to my mausoleum
Psychopaths and physicists
Psychiatrists and philosophers
Philanthropists and pilots and painters
Declare now, that these are our days –
Our hours, and our days
These are our city, our hours
Our time, our days.
This is our world –
At 14:92 I landed here and claimed it
And searched it and found it wanting
Of civilization that I could so easily supply
By means of wounds and iron
And brawn and truth
(and just a tiny touch of influenza darling)
By means of our Lord,
Who grants us all that we desire
If only we **** enough of those he did not choose.
This is our world –
And we shall make it what we will
Make it in our own image
Teach it that innocence is not knowing the difference between right and wrong
Raise it to hate no one
But to love itself so deeply
That all other love seems hateful in comparison.
This is our child, love
Yours and mine.
Here the first shall be last
And the last shall be first
But once the first are last they shall be
Last
Last
Last
And once the last are first
They shall make it so they can never be last again
This is our primitive accumulation
Of necessary materialism
Let’s cultivate matter
To make objects that we can place on shelves
And in cases –
These are our cases
And we love them as we love ourselves
Museums as mass graves
Mass graves as museums
Kiss me in my mausoleum
Priests and prisoners
Prostitutes and prophets
Pioneers and pilgrims and pagans
This is our time –
And we are dispensing it in spendthrift increments
Buying threadbare bandages for our cavernous canyons
Buying ample earplugs
To seal in the silence
So we can somewhat say
“look there is peace –
Look we have done it
In our time it is accomplished” –
This is our peace –
And we know it by the signs
The lions and lambs lay quietly together
In our brass-barred zoos
For as long as shelves and cases
Are intact and the first are first
And the last are last
And the civilized are organized and holy
There is peace –
Oh, look
We made peace!
And as for Solomon and Socrates –
We take their words to weave through our new wisdom
And when we re-chart the constellations
We shall give them each a star
And salute them once a year
When they come around the universe
Oh, look
How wise we are!
Mass graves as art
Art as mass graves
There have been no better days
There has been no greater time
Politicians and pornographers
Professors and pirates
Psychologists and pastors and pianists
This is our time –
And we are doing with it the very best we know how
The last are toiling and trying
And the first are trying to think to try –
But there is a shortness in our hours
And a violence in our peace
There is inherent foolishness in our wisdom
And disease in our cities
And there is death upon our shelves and in our cases.
This is our world –
We crafted it and declared our truth to be true
We sculpted this, our colosseum
Please inscribe my mausoleum
With “we know not what we do”
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
They’re surprisingly hard to talk about
The Rob Lowe Memes
they were a moment of wholeness
thrown out by deceit
Sent and received
so many message receipts
about Parks and Recreation
and the West Wing
Do you just want someone to talk to?
Because I do
I like you
and The Rob Lowe Memes
But were they a means to an end?
Pretend friendship for what?
Spendthrift with interest
without a mention of a finish
yet you left and I let you
doing nothing to stop it
I didn’t think you really knew me
trying to speak through
The Rob Lowe Memes.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
To reminisce, while all the world is pride,
I sit it out (remembering the flood),
I sometimes felt that hope had all but died.
Look west, sharp swallows sweep the sun aside,
Tomorrow’s hurt quakes within the mind; odd
To reminisce, while all the world is pride.
In moments lost, instances regretted,
The whirligig of time spins out some mood,
(I sometimes felt that hope had all but died.)
The evening light’s remorseful spendthrift tide
Gleamed gold, for just a moment, like a god
(To reminisce, while all the world is pride)
Shining just enough to halt some sad slide,
Clouds clear away before there’s time to brood,
(I sometimes felt that hope had all but died.)
To come full circle, reach home port, and hide
Each painful loss through trial, trust or blood.
To reminisce, while all the world is pride,
I sometimes felt that hope had all but died.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 2:38 AM UTC
Wake up it’s a beautiful morning,
like the infinity of a closed chain;
lists keep growing, brain-freeze again.
As long as there’s tomorrow, not today.
Succinct intentions imprinted by a hoot;
how can a sub-conscious refuge,
de-commission the projected truth?
A 24-hour religion, is that all it is?
So which way is it to be tomtom?
Intrepidation never failing,
or honour ‘the’ grand unveiling?
Side-step: back to back-warming Oracle.
Pride appoints a distilling of hidden stature;
forget the dentistry of a mounted gift,
sensitivity not deserving an emotional spendthrift.
No mentions of a game, but you have to play.
Rationalising the intensity of late;
surely that’s an impossibility of squirming feet?
Solution follows a tryst of the elite,
subjects must therefore be; for it to make sense.
Periodic patterns of revolving chrome-vanadium,
lends itself nicely to discontentment
and occasionally promotes relinquishment;
summer sun; does it matter?
Survival make-up – check.
Abrupt journey’s end; in your face.
An odyssey not started yet, offers no grace.
Relax, the God’s haven’t even begun their terror.
The bottom of a barely coping universe it might just be;
Curious are the similarities to sinking sand.
Submerge as you extend your hand?
Or do I just simply do nothing, and nothing happens?
Rat-out the analytical introspection monster;
For when you can see your own reflection in a black-hole;
A bonus penalty shot at life’s ultimate goal;
Then a neutered Neutron star is a good thing to be.
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 3:38 PM UTC
We took a bus to Wilmington
And skipped a dream or two
In order to be cognizant—
When the “Are we there yet’s”
Rebounded void of “yet.”
We parked the bus adjacent to
The paint-peeling facade
Of lonely temple Wilmington—
Threatening no demon of the sky
With a keenly polished death spike.
It had no spendthrift window of
Christ Jesus with the sick
And poor, neglected derelicts—
Who glow with jubilee and gold chloride
For His altruistic charities.
Across its door was fastened tight
A rusted iron chain
Which barred the shallow, blinkered souls—
Who loitered at the barrier’s feet
Waiting on God to warrant entry.
But we who were of cogent view
Detached deterring catch
And entered with our chins *****
A light-bulb-vacant sanctuary
Where taciturn shadows took a seat in every pew.
And down a velvet aisle stood
A lonely, weeping priest
Inhaling in unblemished palms—
That not a single pious doubter
Would dare inspect.
“Welcome to my church,” he said
With breathless, choking sobs,
“I am the congregation here—
The pastor, choir, usher, and Sunday school teacher
Of Wilmington Church of Reason.”
Inquired we what hidden woe
Enlaced with torment cast
Those salt discharged convulsions—
Quaking the sanctity of exultation
In the House of Apollo.
And with concise, unleavened words
He justified his tears
And whispered to our weary troop—,
“Alone, alone am I,
Isolated within this box of omitted truth.
“O, give me soothing slumber deep
And strip these sentient eyes
From ghastly sheaths of consciousness—
Repair this mended paradigm,
Or tell me that I am mistaken.
“Imaginary friends and foes
Make wretched hearts a wreath
Of roses red and mistletoe—
And bird of paradise to keep
Hope alive, alive and awake and well, hope alive…”
So each of us, a brimming cup
Of empathy, remained
To keep old pastor Wilmington—
Old usher, choir, teacher, congregation Wilmington
Alive and awake and well.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 6:09 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
I love life, because in living you get all problems
I love eating because you can constipate if you eat a lot,
I love women because they reduce pocket giants to beggars,
I love children because they instill economic tension to parents,
I love trees because green snakes derive poison from them,
I love poor people because their life is pure experiment,
I love rich people because they snobbishly love themselves
I love motor vehicles because they depreciate in a decade,
I love Americans because they have drones for Gaddafi,
I love Americans because they know nothing beyond their borders,
I love the British because they have a monarch in their democracy,
I love Europeans because they were perfect in colonialism,
I love Africans because they are natural stooges, but very showy
I love the Chinese because they are all short, young and commutalists,
I love the Catholic Church because it has liberal piety,
I love Muslims because they are not intellectually tolerant to Rushdie,
I love young girls because they rarely sense danger,
I love Germans because they made a beetle car; Volkswagen,
I love the Japanese for honesty; they declared me Shinto of poetry,
I love my wife for her spendthrift culture
I love my son for his disgust of school and books,
I love myself for being a poetic rapscallion,
I love everything for in love you display your folly,
I love music, wine and money; they expose you to the robbers
I love short people for their mediocrous thought pattern
I love tall women; they are dull, honesty and rarely divorce,
I love English hunchbacks for they are famed for being erotically strong.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
We Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident
My life is bequeathed to me alone.
Title passes to me,
With my first breath.
Thus endowed, thus entrusted,
T'is my duty to throw off the
tyranny of fear and despotic rule of a
Life of looking over one's shoulder.
Therefore,
My life is mine to take,
Should I wish to choose the
Place, date, the time
To let the poetry cease,
I will announce it mostly gladly
with a blessing of
Shehecheyanu* and a
Smiling "by your leave."
Thrifty, stinking-thinking, I could hoard joy
Until such time, when best savored.
Backload the best for the latter days,
When worry was deceased,
Self-preservation necessity not a daily awakening curse,
The daylight-reminder, of my human status,
Check the box next to human stiff.
Choice,
Picking the time and place,
Freed me in away I had ne'er known,
Confounded the mind's logic,
For the heart murmured, joy is not
A penny earned and a penny saved,
But a disposable with a short shelf life.
Spend and spent it fast,
Be a spendthrift of life,
Viewed the miracle of the
Canister of oil and the burning bush
(Neither could be consumed)
Become me, and my song's refrain.
Ode to joy and self evident truths,
Owning this truth gave me
Pleasure without measure, for it
Replenished itself by daily use,
Evident then to preserve one's self
Best served by wild, mad living.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
what if we had
just
one day
to
love
live
and give
something
back
to
this
world
in which
we
live
how would
you
spend
your
allocation
of
precious
hours
take
your
time
think
it
through
would
you be
spendthrift
miserly
or
provident
selfish
selfless
hope less
can do
devil may care
buyer beware
seize the day
rue the moment
sing and dance
weep and cry
accept the loss
bemoan the lost
savour the day
pack your house away
24 HOURS
even less
hours to live
be a blessing
and in turn be blessed
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
...Portend for the life of you--cast your
eyes as far from you, as what you could
not see coming otherwise.
A living through and through...of what
came first--word or sound, sound or word?
These spaces...spendthrift pages that are
but doorways to their impending figure,
wind coiling at its corners...coiling at its
corners.
As a thing grows into itself invisibly...
as so you fall the falling curtain--with no
audience at one side, nor actors upon the
other.
Irrevocably you are, that you are--sun
halved, golden bowls burning--of good and
evil--a miscellany saint's evocation...that
you are, irrevocably you are...amaranthine.
Gesticulating beyond time, times, and half
time...a procession of one whose sojourn
repeats upon itself.
A heaven ago...hell now...a hell ago--
heaven now, change knows all your names--
and because you withstood all it can ever
be, it holds them steadfastly.
Amaranthine...irrevocably you are...that
you are.
You, the faces of disambiguation--whose
seal you smile to open...with full marks
for bravery.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
Spendthrift zillionaire,
parsimonious pauper,
wrong!
God, redo if you can.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
My finance is getting no better
Fast is thinning my purse
My pocket is now a deep crater
Where money is growing sparse!
Spending what came was my craze
Bucks pouring in didn’t stay
Blissfully forgot the adage
Keep aside for rainy day!
I spent my earn on what not
Bought everything catching eye
Possessed by the only thought
Should spend last penny fore I die!
It had gone like this for years
I went on a spending spree
Till one fine morn in tears
Bade me goodbye the last penny!
Now in old age and low spirit
With money dimming too faint
I can no more be a spendthrift
With my purse’s meager remnant!
Laments soul my unheard muse
If only you had paid me heed
Put all those money to better use
And not just cared for own need!
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Neither too serious
nor too frivolous-
neither too optimistic
nor too pessimistic-
neither too spendthrift
nor too deep in thrift-
neither too trusting
nor too mistrusting -
neither over-eating
nor under-eating-
neither too confident
nor too diffident -
neither too ambitious
nor being unambitious -
neither over-planning
nor under-planning-
neither too careful
nor being a reckless fool-
this above serves as the Golden Rule
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 8:50 PM UTC
A man amidst two fools
Is a fool, a big fool
So it's for most of us
Cos' we ditch our dreams
To Paul pry with friends
We forsake our missions
For the flash of friction
With cast of distraction
Today might not really pays
But it's the truest of days
Dare not waste a bit of it
Nor spend a morsel like a spendthrift
Invest thy cowries of time
In companies of focus men
March beside valiant soldiers
That thy victory may come with ease
Friends are thy armoury
Don't battle with the rust of them
Thy friends are thy clothes
Don't suit-up with the rags.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
as i descend into the mad sun
i visit blue brothels and calm green seas.
i rip cables out of butterflies
to suture my wounds.
i change my course,
to my Fate.
As Must
we all.
II
i've learned a great many things
about dead ends... they always start
where you live.
they bend the moon to your aspect.
the red death to a -
false hope.
with a real
hope.
and as much despair.
III
gather where ye may, the very laurels
of your heart. But, be neither spendthrift with your anguish -
nor copiously disarmed.
have your adventures where a god -
can pardon you...
For having less faith
than an abandoned
thought of You.
go only to return.
and burn your memoirs in the attic
to **** the dream.
leave no fingerprints in the vacuum.
wash your hands of the spiral -
and feel what
It Means.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
Imagine a day quite probable in future,
When our expenses exceed our income,
We both will be spendthrift for our kids,
Both of us will have to overwork hours,
We surely will, let us take this pledge.....
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Spendthrift,
malingering
along
uncharted frontiers
liquid sorrow
bastes
unformed words
whose crystal
resonant vibrance
reverberates
within
a pilgrim soul
gaze once more
upon your
lint-filled navel
and share
the blossom
of heaving *****
therein find
a brokenness
with no need of mending
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
.
The fly makes his way through the house.
Its tongue, like billions before, is tainting
All it touches. The fly has wings to spread
His mess, and though he has innumerable
Facets to his eyes he cannot see
The swatter coming.
The house surrounds the fly and is sacred.
As the great blue world beyond is sacred.
And the fly is spreading fast, flitting here
And sticking there trampling his own
Shelter, spreading pollution and excrement
With a rolling tongue
That spews and spits upon his own home.
And though he is happy while he soils
His house his eyes are two dead worlds
Barren and still, born to die by the hand
That flies even higher, so, the fly cannot
See the swatter coming.
Buzzing, like a burn, through the innocent
Air he dreams of vast minions rooting
His world with legion hands. The house was
A garden that led him in, he cannot
Wait for his seed to fester, all's he needs
Are God’s green plants
And clean water, some fresh air to conquer.
This house was made for him he would have
Himself believe. But when all has dried
And all is soiled the fly would wish to move
On, if only he could, trapped as he is
In the earth and wooden house.
He could taste it all, oblivious to oblivion
In God’s green wooded world— all spinning,
The sands are running in the sacred home
That he himself has always defiled,
As he has never shown any grace;
The swatters hand is His—
Own spendthrift hand.
.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 12:25 AM UTC
Somewhere between lost and totally lost,
There we became unconscious,
Indeed! Really lost,
Daunt like an evening shadow,
Then my breathe seemed shallow,
But, we poor men in our poverty,
Carried away with ample manifestos,
I objected to that saying,
Very naive like a girl in her puberty,
Who know only how to wash her toes,
On the contrary, she is dying,
So I strife,
Striving in our emaciated life.
Then just like a cow
Led to the abbatotior,
They ruin every sector,
But we were fools in mere ecstacy,
They made us believe colonization was necessary,
But it was a foul,
Now we beg leniency,
Unlike spendthrift of our currency.
Now we cry for antidote,(change)
Disregarding That oat,
But through what doors?
The west?
Perhaps East?
Probably the south?
Or from the graced North?
What doors?
That which no writing could criticized,
No satirical work could correct,
Indeed! The best materialized,
But speaking of the change, what earth?
But pray a calmed storm,
Even after our hypocrisy,
And false democracy,
When will the truth come,
All is well, the mother had told,
But I guess sometimes the truth is best left untold.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
autumn leaves
spill down over a roof
to a pocket of yard below,
generous currency
scattered to all who will value it.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning ********
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
Though I’m
Less attractive
As I’m not a fool
I set criteria
My wife to be
Ravishingly beautiful.
Though I have
A wandering eye
Cast yours
On lothario’s why?
Though my
Achilles’ heel
Is infidelity
I demand from you
Unflagging loyalty.
Though
The breadwinner
Is I
To juggle
Two or more jobs
Try not you why?
Of course
Forget not to tackle
Domestic chores.
Though I come home
When peep stars bright
Get home when
Days cede place to night!
Though I’m spendthrift
I expect you
To prepare a dish
I relish.
Though I don’t know
My son’s grade
I’m afraid
Help him out with
Assignments you have
Before he
Goes to bed.
Though I’m
Growing grotesque
And old
Why don’t you
Exercise care
Your beauty to
Maintain or hold?
Though I’m peevish
Fix in your mind
You must not
Pay me in kind.
Though I’m
To you
Less respectful
And rude
To whatever I say
Be crude.
Though I’m dictatorial
And prefer to use
The stick
This habit of mine
Get not sick.
Though I’m
In love making weak
Contentment elsewhere
Do not try to seek.
Though I’m
Willing with you
On marital avenue
Long to walk
Shun we must
On the complication
A hard talk.
Though I’m
A grown up
Pamper me
As a newly born
Its mother
That has to worn.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
Immediately after I
Fetched my salary
From a Bank
When I get drunk
Getting into a bar,
From my home not far,
No longer subject
To my inhibition
I become bold
To make an
Open breast of my love
To my inaccessible dove,
For on such state
I become easily capable
My financial challenges
And physical appearance
Anxieties to dissolve.
I crunch her number
Getting no answer
"U R Z best Chick
On earth! "
I SMS her
But go not any further.
It is early in the morning
I ask myself
"What possibly could
Be her feeling! "
Also into a bar
When I make
A divine entrance
To rub shoulders
With colleagues
I stand a chance
Or above them
On the ladder of success
A bit advance.
Also when at night
When I see
Pub's dazzling light
My timidity
No longer in place
Myself assertiveness
Proceeds apace!
Also I bet
Alcohol, dunker's pet
To tension management
Has some effect.
On the morrow
It is when I get
Out of pocket
My spendthrift bent
I regret.
Aside from my health
Going downhill,
I am becoming
Incapable to foot
Electric and water bill.
Tipsy, at times
Blunt, for a fight
I begin to hunt.///
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 2:21 AM UTC
WOMEN
Women live by heart
Men by head,
Former is ever alive
The latter is emotionally dead.
Heart represents love
So women feel more deserted
Head is crafty
So men are less broken hearted.
Men are extroverts
Always look out for pleasures,
Women are introverts
Staying in is their nature.
The former is bumble bee
Never is contented with one,
The latter is honey bee
Collects for the she loves one.
Women are for what they have
Men look for more and more,
They squander for pleasures
Women take care of the store.
Men are like South Pole
They are haughty and aggressive,
Women are North Pole
Humility makes them submissive.
This variance makes
The former very intolerant,
The latter bears the brunt
As she is by nature very tolerant.
Men are too spendthrift
Are fond of too much flirting,
Women are preservers
As she is fond of saving and saving.
But these differences
Are in tune with Mother Nature
Positive mixed with negative
Produces the newest manpower.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC