"taxed" poems
Goodnight.
The evening has arrived and the Sun has become weary
Goodnight
The stars have come to reclaim the deepest blue
Speckling across the dark wide blanket of the cosmos
Goodnight
The daylight has faded and your energy has been taxed
Perhaps it was a productive day....
perhaps not
But the evening calls and the night follows
The mysticism and superstition is heralded by cricket calls
Reality becomes enervated now, rest your head on the pillow.
Nirvana inside of the null............................
Finally, Goodnight.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
Friedrich Claus Owner at Self-Employed
All copyright belongs above
Tax his land, tax his wage,
Tax his bed in which he lays.
Tax his tractor, tax his mule,
Teach him taxes is the rule.
Tax his cow, tax his goat,
Tax his pants, tax his coat.
Tax his ties, tax his shirts,
Tax his work, tax his dirt.
Tax his chew, tax his smoke,
Teach him taxes are no joke.
Tax his car, tax his grass,
Tax the roads he must pass.
Tax his food, tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.
Tax his sodas, tax his beers,
If he cries, tax his tears.
Tax his bills, tax his gas,
Tax his notes, tax his cash.
Tax him good and let him know
That after taxes, he has no dough.
If he hollers, tax him more,
Tax him until he’s good and sore.
Tax his coffin, tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he lays.
Put these words upon his tomb,
“Taxes drove me to my doom!”
And when he’s gone, we won’t relax,
We’ll still be after the inheritance tax.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 6:26 AM UTC
Sigma sigma on the wall, who's the skibidiest of them all?
Is it Baby Gronk?
Is it Grimace?
Is it Skibidi Toilet?
Perhaps it is I, who rizzed up a level 10 Gyatt, and fanum taxed her heart.
She is the Chick-fil-A sauce in my McDonalds.
Forever griddying in Ohio.
Oct 16, 2024
Oct 16, 2024 at 12:06 PM UTC
I don’t really like to play the victim,
But I'm being failed by this system
7 hours, a hostage to cinder block rooms
With nothing to do but let myself be groomed
Into someone's labor source
If I don’t have money, I cannot live
But nobody seems to have a thought to give
To my Life being turned into a commodity
Something to be owned, taxed, a luxury
That sometimes I’m not able to afford.
So much stock is put into democracy
But we don’t matter to bureaucracy
Unless we use the paychecks earned
From the Liberties we burned
To fill their empty promises
They call us ungrateful and lazy
For recognizing that this life is crazy
And resenting all the thought and time
Spent in the Pursuit of a rich man’s dime
Instead of our own Happiness
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
this isn't ugly
i have my business with you
where we sell emotions
and get taxed for our intimacy
at the hotel rooms
and the cafeteria
when we export our mood..
...
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
Stressed out to the max
Head uncontrollably whirring
My patience being taxed
My stomach is stirring
Blood rushing, veins bulge
Muscles tensed, tearing apart
In this instability I do not indulge
This madness, lost in dark thought
I need to be alone
Prevent any harm
Lay like a cold stone
To return to calm
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
if she had asked me, then
"Do we all die?"
i would have answered in a solemn sigh:
"Of course we do."
the realism impenetrable, the grounded logistics.
she asks me now
"Can we exist in other dimensions?"
and i reply, with a taxed, drudging honesty:
"I have."
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Unprovided -- the pleasure of pleasing
is, after all, a painting that resolves
the irritating swings of a taxed evolution.
It seems that energetic trainees
of the future keep firm invitations
on the list of approved measures.
Yet living is not a guesstimate, reality
is attached by humor to the document
that simply reads "I'm not sure."
Imagine civilization as eight-years-old.
By want, business drains, not one laugh,
but the replacement of being one's own.
Shaped, the body is wary of the
counselor and satisfied by the character
of a farmer and time away from scorn.
Hang a map of sensibility in the kitchen,
where bare eyes can respond -- tokens of
action are the door prize for motivation.
The lessons not yet learned are musical.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
A shuddered sigh, then some hope inhaled.
A wince of distrust, yet a heart unveiled.
A cautious smile leaves a little too late.
And a hopeful look rises to the bait.
A tensed up brow begins to relax,
For peace and joy have been too long taxed.
Sorrow still lurks in the back of the mind,
But reluctantly it is left behind.
A cautious faith is restored anew
And I open myself
back up
to you.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
*Deadly deluded deceitful demon's of: inter-racial racism; murderous religiosity; frightful jealous hackings; tribally usurping genocides; atrocious political strength-of-arms; invading ferocity; selfish presidential reasoning;
Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window;
self-effacing prime ministerial decrees of war; sanctioned moves by greedy banker pawns; designer labelled terrorism; War, a game now called 'Texas Billionaires Commodity'; a countries paid survival; seeded maniacal jealousy; globalisation's murdering grandiose; grandiloquent made walking bombaster(s) ; revenger mob leaders; our taxed Fools World !?
Globalisation - orchestrated profiteers, betting our losses*
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
I've noticed that my mustache grows in thicker on one side,
made to wonder if this blunder's due to my brother, how he died,
Never will my reddened beard grow in and lay with grace
because my brothers lifeless body layed a pressure on my face
Most men primp and think of happiness in mirrors and in breath
However, whenever I clean my face I'm forced to think of death,
(with the face of a brother I've never met)
So I celebrate life and do my best to think it limitless
Go out and do, create for you, make proud the worlds dead triplets
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
All the worlds dead triplets.
I've noticed that my beard grows thicker in just this tiny spot,
'Cause the way they lay, I cannot help but think a rather morbid thought,
The way you are is picked afar from waned or waxed moon,
but what happens there when you're prepared a rather taxed womb?
The newest of 8 darkened waters with no help to navigate,
You'll admit having dead brothers makes it harder to relate.
But they never were alive so I can't say I have regrets,
I must make with my life, for all the worlds dead triplets
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
All the worlds dead triplets.
My mother calls me her surprise and I think "jeezez kryst."
In honesty I'm accident, but the way you said it's nice.
I feel and see it differently inside my orange head,
But, that's just the way **** happens when you're born beside the dead.
You see, I was touched by death before I even knew of life,
I cuddled it and swam beside it up until the knife.
So death, with mercy, stays away and out of sight it gets,
for it knows I held it close, I live, a ghost, of my dead triplet.
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
All the worlds dead triplets.
But it can't last forever,
I've already lived too long,
So immortal I'm on paper
and in the wind in song.
I said it cannot last forever,
I should already be dead,
The world it has a shortage
of another orange head
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
My dead triplet.
So with all of that in mind, defined,
my chances should be none,
I never should have had a first,
so I make all my seconds battles won.
I am the living ghost of my brother Joseph,
and all the worlds dead triplets.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
We salute you,
Gentlemen,
And Ladies,
God bless you,
(He clearly has)
We bless you,
We support you,
At par,
So far,
Lest you bring us all down,
(That was the threat,
Was it not?)
You are so
Wicked smart,
Except those few,
Who couldn't hold on,
For our gravy train,
To respond,
For those few,
We hope last year's bonus,
Will help you survive,
Your trip down the tubes,
(Sigh)
And for all,
We are led to believe,
That you're back on your feet,
And doing quite well,
We were glad to help out,
Your derivative pleasure,
Just makes our hearts soar,
And to help you to help
The economy heal,
We're taxing your janitors
More than your managers
'Cause we know you're the source
Of all job creation,
Within this great nation,
How do we know this?
Well,
We've been told this
Been told by some very fine folk,
Some folk whom you... own?
For sure there are doubters,
But we question their wisdom,
We don't even think that
They're being good citizens,
But there are some suspicions,
My well heeled good friends,
That what's good for you folk,
Might be just a bit toxic,
To those of us few,
Who compose,
That diminishing remnant,
Of what once we could call,
The vast middle class,
Today,
We ain't even,
Half vast.
Sad to say,
Now a few of us wonder,
If you're not quite our friends,
If you don't have our best int'rests
In your schemes and your ends,
All of those yachts,
They're critical – right?
We believe in you now,
To make every thing bright,
To bring our economy
Back from the dead,
To create all those jobs,
With that barely taxed bread,
So,
While we're eatin' those grits,
In this world that you've made,
With the pols that you've bought,
Just Remember my friends,
Rot infects not just wood,
But your hearts and your souls,
And the Fire Next Time
Might be more than a book
It might be unhappy folk,
With your ***** in their sights.
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
You played my heart
When I didn't know
That you were a coward
An award of aloofness
One that you wore along
That robe you hang on to
You played my heart
When I gave my all
My sincerity and core
A naive genuineness
One that I wear on my soul
The one you rolled downhill
You played my heart
When emotions strangled
My struggles to balance
As I closed off from love
The chorus of bluntness
The song you taught me
You played my heart
When you needed a muse
A bold and beautiful image
To ****** your taxed brain
A goal to hear me fall hard
As I lost guard of my life and all
You played my heart
When I felt I was going crazy
Effused with pain and cold
Strained and stressed
Lost in a jungle of the lonely
Gifted with battles and concepts
You played my heart
Then made me learn hard
That I was stronger than I was
That I was unique and visioned
That I was a capable phenomena
Able to pass on the pressed alleyway
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
No inner turmoil,
Will hold me back
I’m facing the world
And I’m poised to attack
I’m ready to fight
Before I die
Who are you to say
That’s he’s only getting high?
Who are you to say
That it won’t cure the pain
Of cancer, glaucoma,
And everyday strains?
Who are you to judge
Without knowing all the facts?
Why should we destroy
This very useful plant?
Hemp fiber is quite strong
And it’s easily taxed.
Legalization- an ongoing war
That mainly takes place
Behind various closed doors.
But I’m a supporter,
Like thousands of others.
You probably know one-
An aunt or a brother.
See, they’ve proved THC
Can shrink tumor size
In less than three weeks,
It’s the truth, not a lie.
All of these studies
Have successfully shown
The only harm known
Comes when it’s smoked.
But there’s so many methods,
Like brownies or pills.
With zero deaths a year,
Mary Jane doesn’t ****
But cigarettes do,
And alcohol too
Over 500,000 deaths yearly
What should we do?
Our forefathers grew it.
So why is it wrong?
Propaganda has brainwashed
Americans for too long.
Prohibition is immoral
And I will not be silenced
The only outcome
Is increasing violence
As the drug cartels rage
Below us in Mexico
We turn the page
To a brand new War on Drugs
Which, let me remind you,
Can never be won.
So many free citizens
With so many free minds
But the government controls
And accuses of crimes
As billions of tax dollars
Wash away, down the drain
Non-violent offenders
Are locked up and contained
Over-crowding prisons
It’s obviously insane.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 3:58 AM UTC
A flatulent king sits
Slouching, scratching,
Congealing to his throne of gold.
His army of a billion men
Are clad in ****** bibs
And grins.
Equipped with hate
And hollow eyes
They stand redily assembled.
The king is a miser.
His face is a lie.
His motives are equally clear.
Royal subjects within the walls
Respect only of weakness and fear.
They are taxed and harassed.
For knowledge they're knived.
The wisest of Wiseman
Are forced to take bribes.
Their children are taken and
Hidden away
At the mechanized dawn
That announces each day
To learn to be
Ruthless and cruel.
To take advantage of fools.
Greed and malice are tools to be used
At their s and m brainwashing schools.
So their eyes turn jade
And their words turn black
As they cut up their hands
Stabbing themselves in the back.
They're just being taught
How to buy and be bought.
To serve the king;
A gear in his machine.
The ones who concede,
Buy into the greed
But their weakening teeth snap!
One by one
As they go round the vicious circle.
So they end up
Defunct,
Sunken eyed.
They dangle their
Dot spangled
Hands at their sides.
And although they loose,
Somehow they win.
They end up running
The world we live in.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Dog Tired, Bone Tired, Dead Tired.
all in, beat, bored, burned out,
bushed, done in, drained, drooping,
exhausted, ****** fatigued, fed up, flagging,
just about had it, indifferent, knocked out,
out of gas, pooped, punchy,
ready to drop, spent, taxed,
wearied, wearing, wiped out, worn out
plain old zonked.
there are only two words, for which there are no precise, exact, synonyms.
To mind, they flash instantly,
For they are the constants in the equation of life.
**Love
Responsibility**
Man, can they make you tired!
But they are constants, so we accept and pray for ourselves
To accept them both with
Equanimity.
5:45am
August 24th 2013
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
The vets that fought for the Boston tea party
native impostors of tea tossing
or the vets that were slaves and fought for freedom
the vets that go to other countries to **** non white people
all of the care vets have or not
and funding and compassion
should go to freed slaves
the vets that killed slave masters
and saved their children from **** and torture
the independence that declaring freedom with broken chains
dead slave masters
beautiful songs and music
the blues
jazz
art and technology
affords
or the independence declared from being free of being taxed
The independence declared when a slave felt
knowing that in Britain the emancipation has already been declared
seeing the desperation in the slave profiteers
seeing the desperation of whiteness
and the independence declared when experiencing the freedom
of Escaping liberty
proving that a human being is not a resource to exploit
Independence day
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
I went out without wearing makeup
without feeling the need to constantly
check myself for perfection
and I ask myself
why can't woman
just be allowed to be human?
Why do we have to shave to
look perfect the whole time
to birth children
and still be expected to always function perfectly
why are our bodies constantly taxed objectified
in **** movies music and in so many relationships
why do we have to wear makeup
to disguise our beautiful
so called imperfections
that are just so human
why are we fed lies so often
that we must shrink our bodies
our pain
and laugh off our abuse
our rapes our ****** abuse
our ****** assaults
why do we have to always say but its not everyone
its implied
why can't we just be allowed to walk home
without always feeling cautious
why cant we go to parties alone
why can't we just live alive
in our beautiful bodies
and not be hated.
I can't wait for the men to heal
and for the women to heal and
that maybe one day
the world can be a better and safer
place for us
and for all of the future woman
all I know is
the amount of violence that exists
makes me so so angry and so hurt
I wanna turn away
I wanna look away
but I can't because its my own face
staring back at me
begging me to tell our story
begging me to feel my anger
my anger at all the men
that made so many aspects of my life
very messed up for a very long time
that I still cry about every single **** day
of my life
for a very long time
and I when I didn't cry
I drank I numbed
for the pain
that I felt
for the shudders
I felt in my body
when I felt the men objectify me
abuse me use me violate me
hurt me in the worst ways possible ,
it is a pain no human should ever experience.
For in my religion
it is taught
that women are blamed for everything
for every **** thing
and still we must be submissive
and they tell me" that this is life".
No I always yelled
it seems like slavery,
so I yelled I fought with my voice,
just to be woken up to see the non religious world ,
a pretty bad place as well .
So I guess this is my silent but loud cry.
Sep 10, 2023
Sep 10, 2023 at 3:35 PM UTC
The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.
The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to ******
That put an end to talk.
The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand the holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.
The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.
1.6k
Didn’t I hear you say the lawn I would mow?
Sundays come and Sundays go.
Grasses are taller so are the ****
Season is going where’s the flower seed?
Words aren’t taxed you use them free
Said this Sunday you would clean the chimney.
Wash the toilet scrub clean the commode
Sundays come piles up workload.
Lot of things to mend lots to replace
Why Sundays trudge in leisurely pace?
Why the bed conspires the morn breathes chill
Why must I lie back to get the Sunday feel?
Why Sunday is one day and not a whole week
Comes up the Monday devilish and bleak!
Sundays will come and Sundays will go
As for my work only a poem or two to show!
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC
refract |riˈfrakt|
verb [ trans. ] (usu. be refracted)
(of water, air, or glass) make (a ray of light) change direction when it enters at an angle : the rays of light are refracted by the material of the lens.
******* ash out of a little cardboard tube- what else would you have me do?
Taxed gasps but not as heavily as my thoughts- it is brought to my attention that,
perhaps I think too much.
and focus too little.
But as I’ve enunciated countless times before
what it is I’m waiting for
Refraction
Would it be wise just to make it happen?
Refraction
Nothing ever came to be by accident
Refraction
Except when the sunlight shone
and the wind did blow
with capricious direction
Refraction
and then a human crawled from the
cosmological wreckage
absolutely ******* random
Refraction
I suppose it’s within my grasp
to change my path
If only I knew where I was headed
Refraction
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
Whitecaps coffee-white, a bay frosty.
Sails, 99% white,
Always, gotta be one, black or blue,
Freaking tradition-breaker
White man with white baby,
In a white onesie,
Astride his daddy's tummy,
Dad, he ain't dressed warm enough.
All these observations recorded,
Taxed and paid for, with dandy words
Floating by the nook, overlooking
The whitish sandy beach mapped
As Silver Beach,
Where I pray.
Whither white led?
A summary of twenty writes
In four labored days,
A poetry *****
To say anything else,
Too little, too more.
Overstayed my welcome,
But a white cleansing accomplished,
With look-backs submitted, got some debts paid,
Bills marked overdue, resolved.
The children unblemished,
To new schools and new troubles,
I can only inky-dinky-rinky worry.
This fall is the season of produce or die.
Of these things I don't joke.
If I get pasteurized, won't be a good thing.
This my style after all.
Simplest, to the point where
Poetry is a luxury,
I can't always afford.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
The day the sun refused to rise
Weathered and taxed, people began to fade
This was the beginning of our demise
Sickened by all the mortals lies
The divine produced a solar shade
On the day the sun refused to rise
The gods were unswayed by our cries
Through the darkness man was left to wade
This was the beginning of our demise
On the darkened horizon we left our sighs
Cold and sodding, crops rotting in the shade
On the day the sun refused to rise
This is the time that man withers and dies
Sickened with the trespasses we have made
This was the beginning of our demise
Tears and broken dreams stained our eyes
The Gods enforced their fatal blockade
On the day the sun refused to rise
This was the beginning of our demise
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC