Best Accountants Poems
E Pluribus Unum ~ Out Of Many, One
[Author's note: E Pluribus Unum is a traditional motto of the United
States, but the scope of this poem is intended to be of a more global scale.]
We are farmhands, postal workers, we are rich industrialists
We are pilots, sailors, warriors, mathematicians, scientists
We are doctors, nurses, dentists; taking care of those in need
We are teachers, flight attendants, moms and dads with mouths to feed
We post blogs, develop websites, we are software engineers
We are athletes, video gamers, we're retired volunteers
We are dancers, painters, sculptors, we are actors on the stage
We are clerks, construction workers, pay for night school with our wage
We are high school educated, college maybe, or hard knocks
We are barbers and beauticians, drive a truck or work on docks
We are clergy, civic leaders, wardens at the county jail
Roll in wheelchairs, use sign language, wear prosthetics, read by Braille
We are bankers, tax accountants, proud grandparents, husbands, wives,
We are activists who strive to give our children better lives
We are widows, orphans, childless; we feel sorrow to the core
We are social workers, advocates of justice for the poor
We make music or just listen, sing out loud or softly hum
We are common, we are special, we are those who overcome
We are poets and songwriters, we write letters to our kin
Sharing stories of our life, of where we're going, where we've been
We are those with beating hearts, with flexing muscles, red blood cells
Kidney donors, missionaries, we help dig fresh water wells
We praise God in mosque or church, in synagogue or kingdom hall,
In a temple, or in nature, maybe have no God at all
We are from around the planet, we have skin of every tone
We have short hair, long hair, no hair, kinky hair; we're not alone
We esteem diversity; you value me, I value you
Always with respect for those who hold a different point of view
This, my dream: to be united when it all is said and done
Though we may not be there yet, we share this journey -
We are one.
Written 1 Feb 2022
Fear of Numbers
Fear of numbers is real
They carry adding machines on their backs
And loaded numbered guns
Divide and subtract from families and everyone
With two times the pleasure two times the fun
Double their trouble on the run
You cannot escape the digits on your hands and toes
They are counting on you to pull them through
Children fear math and numbers like the plague
Run from them at multiple fractions of a second
Poof!...Like zero, (Is that a real name and number?), they are gone
Figures hide behind accountants glasses
Hitting you with tons of taxes
Not to be divisive or derisive
Or taken down in dividends
I think they’re out to get you
In the end they have no =
Something’s don’t add up
You can count on that
......a strange color, green
Become better informed, listen to your teachers,
educate yourself....which branch will the bluejay
survey from?
The hawk, circling, choose his best option?
Bleeding soldiers depend on doctors, rich men
depend on accountants, souls depend on preachers,
tap water depends on scientists and engineers,
nourishing the parched vagaries of citizens
and houseplants.
Words fall like acid-rain, seemingly harmless,
we thought we understood rain, it falls, it
nourishes, fills our reservoirs....then leaves a stain,
a clear outline of abuse, like evaporated salt, clinging
to our shirts after a hard day, sound bite upon bite.
Still, we wade through flooded streets, hoping the
tides will descend, rhetoric return to sanity, our lives
safe, from future floods.
after the elephants parade through every mind
the straw left behind
collects promises dumped in the streets
polled, polished,perfumed
ready to sweep it all up on election day
hit pause... wait four years
repeat
wait four years
repeat
09/08/12
6:09 pm
When I was young my mom, like most women, donned a hat when she went out.
Dad said it added to her beauty…of this I had no doubt.
My mom had a collection of hats she stored in boxes under her bed.
So many different kinds of bonnets that sat atop her head.
Moms of today are different they go out with their heads bare
but one thing they share with Moms of the past are the many hats they wear.
If we tried to count the hats they don...we couldn’t...they go on indefinitely
Perhaps one way to approach it...is alphabetically.
Moms are:
Accountants
Babysitters
Chauffeurs...they do what
Doctors and
Electricians do…they are
Farmers
Governors
Housekeepers, and
Ice cream makers too…they are
Janitors
Kitchen and
Laundry workers, and
Maids who clean the floor…they are
Nurses
Optometrists,
Painters
Quality control inspectors and furthermore they are
Receptionists
Seamstresses and
Teachers…they can
Upholster that sofa or that chair…they are
Valets
Washroom Attendants and
X-Ray technicians…ready anytime and anywhere…they are
Yard managers and every Mom I know is also a keeper of the
Zoo
That’s 26 different hats they wear…
26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multi-taskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet!
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store the boxes under their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience as a mother until the day when we were born.
Because it was at that miraculous moment, despite their fearfulness and qualms
when they smiled as they looked at us and realized……’I’m a Mom.’
For that is the hat that encompasses the rest...the hat we call motherhood
and I must admit, from where I stand
Moms…you make that hat look good.
So Moms, here’s to a wonderful Mother’s Day as this poem bids you all adieu
For all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY
We used to play Cowboys
We used to play Indians
We used to play Pirates
Sailing swift the Caribbean
Now we play worn out Doctors
Accountants counting others millions
Now we play overworked Business Men
Stuck behind cubicles locked inside buildings
We used to climb mountains
Explore backyard jungles
Always at the ready to take
The adventure set before us
Now we set the alarm
Every morning to wake us
Not ready for the adventure
Or where it will take us
We used to fly high like birds
Not knowing our limits
Along the way take what others would say
Knowing they really meant it
Now all we do is drive
Each other insane
Putting up with lie after lie
Day after day
We used to be kids
We used to have fun
Something we seem to have left behind
The day we grew up
Long tennis matches stretch on and on for love of deuce,
While endless freight trains mercifully end with a little red caboose.
Domestic snits could be shortened dramatically with a fruit juice truce,
Though kids keep on playing 'Super Elite 4' when they might be watching
'The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle the Moose.'
Some highly-paid accountants play with their clients' numbers, fast and loose,
As weight-loss specialists do patients' expanding waistlines fail to reduce.
More and more often gynecologists must early labor unexpectedly induce,
So that a healthy, social-media-acceptable baby be rapidly produced.
Romantic poets with winsome words do their audiences seduce,
Since philosophers do airtight, logical conclusions no longer deduce.
Injun squaws are still known to carry their young ones in a papoose.
Whereas a hanging by a noose is a custom quite understandably out of use.
And, of course, the current Oval Office Occupant continues to rule the roost
By tweeting, texting, and twittering a refuse-storm gallopingly profuse.
Which all leads to the inevitable, inescaple, perhaps irrefutable con-cluse
That some people will and others won't throw up their hands, saying
"What's the Use?!"
they say
children can’t be psychopaths—
as if innocence were a law
instead of a rumor.
as if the soul comes standard
with warning labels
and a conscience
pre-installed.
but some of them speak
like accountants of pain,
measuring tone,
studying delay,
watching faces collapse
for data.
they don’t rage.
they don’t cry.
they note.
they ask questions
that sound harmless
until later
when you realize
they already knew the answer
and wanted to see
how you’d lie.
no voice saying stop.
or maybe the voice is there
and they’ve learned
to mute it
like a bad radio station.
they hurt things
not for pleasure,
not even for curiosity,
but to see
if the world flinches
or stays quiet.
sometimes it stays quiet.
sometimes that teaches them
everything.
are they born this way?
or did something leave early—
a hand that didn’t reach,
a word that never came,
a look that should have said
you matter
and didn’t?
we love clean answers.
they don’t exist here.
hope?
maybe hope is just
intervention with good timing.
maybe it’s medication.
maybe it’s distance.
maybe it’s supervision
that never sleeps.
or maybe hope is a story
we tell ourselves
so we can keep eating dinner
while the future sharpens itself
down the hall.
some kids grow out of it.
some grow into it.
some never choose—
they just continue
like weather.
you want a verdict.
I don’t have one.
I’ve seen monsters
with birth certificates.
I’ve seen saints
raised in hell.
and I’ve seen silence
do most of the damage
while everyone waited
for proof.
Adam was an
acceptable accountant
And Eve a bubblingly
bright bookkeeper;
Adam loved the
First-In, First-Out
Accounting (FIFO) system,
While Eve preferred
The Last-In, First-Out
Inventory (LIFO) system;
Together they testified that
Inventoried sweet fruit
should neither
Sits and spoil
nor go to the
Garden wastebasket
Wrongfully.
Farewell, then, AUKN boss,
The next this year makes three.
By the time they find a substitute,
Slovenes will be at sea.
He tried to cover his behind;
AUKN boss of bosses,
As every week, balances grew bleak:
He weighed merits and losses.
With all this he'd no time to eat,
And round and round he flew.
And now he's split in a hissy-fit;
So helmsman, too-de-loo!
Day after day, day after day,
He drifted on the ocean;
Guano-vernment rained on his ship
Their suggestions for promotion.
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Corporate boards crosslink;
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Let's take you for a drink.
Accountants talking rot: O Christ!
Missions, visions - oh please!
Yea, slimy characters need legs
And slimy policies.
So has he done an hellish thing?
Not hired who? We dunno:
Was it absurd, to have a separate curd
From the whey Slovenia owes?
This wretch won't play, after 60 days;
Pissflaps, he'll have to go!
God help ya, gospod Bencina
From the fiends, that plague us thus! -
It's time to go — shot like cross-bow,
The AUKN boss.
Ah! walk-out day! what evil looks
Had I from Ernst and Young!
Who's at a loss? AUKN's boss
Wouldn't take a bung?
"You'll be" quoth one, "abolished - no
Stigma to double-cross."
He chose to go - why? We don't know:
Harmless AUKN boss.
Re-reading the original gave me a great idea for dinner until I realised all the storks have all flapped off to Africa for the winter. Pity, as I have some ancient marinade from Tuš. Like the subject of the poem, I didn't have the stamina for a Coleridge-length effort.
Story: http://www.sloveniatimes.com/total-mess-in-state-owned-capital-asset-management
The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world. www.maria.si
IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA
BASE FORTHWITH.
ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS,
SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS,
WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, SHRINKS, COLONEL
CLINKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES,VENDORS, SUPPLIERS,
SALESMEN, ACCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS,
HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS,
COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS,
RELATIVES, FIANCES, BOYFRIENDS, GIRLFRIENDS, FRIENDS, FOES,
ENEMIES, EVIL NEMESIS’, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS,
TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS,
QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, FAGS, DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY
ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, [PRE OR POST] MALE IMPERSONATORS,
DICKS, DYKES, VAN DYKES, DICK VAN DYKE, LESBIANS, LONGSHOREMEN,
SHORTSHOREMEN, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET
MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, JUVENILE DILINQUENTS,
SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS,
LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS,
DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS,
SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICENE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES,
WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS,
VIGILANTES, VICTIMS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS,
PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS,
RIGHT WING, LIBERALS OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS. THEY ARE NOT TO
CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBERS.
BUT, IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME.
BA-ZING!
?
My lawyer drives a Jaguar,
a slim and glitzy marque.
He seldom ventures near the Law,
(the work's done by his clerk),
buts sends in bills at Partners Rates;
that avaricious shark.
My Broker's Merc is spanking new;
it takes his fishing rod.
He, as of right, once gently slipped
in shoes his father trod.
All pomp and circumstance he struts,
this self appointed God.
Accountants' BMWs
have litres by the score.
Mine's filled his up with gadgetry
and Wilton on the floor.
And now he's had his Coat of Arms
emblazoned on the door.
I used to have a set of wheels,
a Morris Minor van.
It was a dear and much loved friend
which ran and ran and ran.
I polished it with tender care
and was its greatest fan.
Alas! It's gone to pay the bills.
But why? I cannot see.
All day they guff and huff and puff
and then demand a fee.
I do not want their 'sound advice',
I want a car - for me!
~
For Carol Brown's 'First Car' Contest by Charles Clive.
In the Orient it's called Karma,an inescapable butcher of beasts continuously chopping,slicing & trimming the meat of our mentalities,precisely weighed,
Occidentally the official judge of justice is commonly greeted as God,punisher of aggravated appetites,gatekeeper to the blissful & blightful kingdoms,
perhaps there are astral accountants tabulating spiritual treasures of ours,scribing with blood & bones,celestial lawyers indicting us on ancient legalities,
no action eludes the energy of Nature's ear & eye,to sing with no voice or weep with no tears is to try & erase facts from flesh,removing silt from river,
sometimes good fortune arrives in our awry lives,unanticipated & unsolicited like dreams of victory teaching us its possible to outdo the odds,dance on defeats,
however,recompense is irrevocably required by the Divine source as agony is requisite for birth,a timeless tax that gives everything a welcome worth,a value,
a mother who delivers a deformed child,small business owner increasing sales,a professor thats worshiped,pastor of an indigent church,self content poor man,
the purse of Providence is heavy & organic like a full belly always digesting,making space for more & more charity & confiscation,smote with a kiss,
a balance of thefts & rewards,lies that give loss,love that provides learning,poverty that lends perspective,sorrow sowing strength,profits producing paranoia,
justice is a blacksmith that will heat you & cool you,strike you & smooth you,shape you into something appropriate for your properties,polish your planes -
J.A.B. 2010
As we bring in spring the thing I mainly dread,
Is preparing overbearing taxes for the Feds.
If I had the power to empower anything,
I’d shower that power on a tax decoder ring.
This sure thing ring would sting right at the source,
Of our outmoded tax code that has strode off course.
Have you tried to pry that awry tax code of late?
It’s a crazy maze that takes days to navigate.
There are fleets of sheets that compete for chaos.
I’d say this, there’s more bliss in kissing an a**.
I’ll be damned buying logjams of programs galore,
Plus I weep since that heap’s not so cheap anymore.
There are mountains of accountants wanting your money,
But their inflated stated rates aren’t very funny.
Fed’s have misled and bled the profits from us fools.
It’s time to realign by denying old rules.
We’ll put uncommon common, back in common sense;
Saving dollars, in our jars, instead of just cents.
My decoder will reorder the disordered code,
To a simple flat tax that enacts a fair load.
There are seven levels of bedeviling rates
That ascend from ten percent to thirty eight.
Yet history shows, tax inflows to government
Do come to, since WWII, 18%.
If you earn a thousand or a thousand times that,
You pay the foreseen eighteen, and that will be that.
Then all payers will say they have skin in the game.
As the proportion per fortune will be the same.
The norm filling out the reformed form takes seconds
Just sign on the line that defines dues or refunds.
No loopholes to patrol or breaks for anyone.
It’s an equal sequel to our Constitution.
So to all who fall under rich, medium, and poor,
Will never be favored by favors anymore.
A flat tax will attack the elite’s status quo
Though not a bettor, it better, coz I’m low on dough.
We love to make lists,
To describe, name, number.
How can it have value,
If not on my list.
As logger I stand
Before the green forest,
The numbered trees
Are ones to cut.
The forest cut down
Is only to me
Bigger box to live in,
A shiny new car,
The species I slaughter
Are not for my count,
They appear on
Another mans list.
Naturalists say
We'll not care to,
Protect animals
We're not taught
To love.
But lists stand appalled
At life in the forest,
So long they peter
In our dismay,
Jaguar, Lemur
Capybara, Agouti
Blue Morpho Butterfly,
Tree Toed Sloth.
Tapirs, Ocelots
Even Kin Ka Jous,
Countless insects
Eagles and bats.
Scarlet Macaw,
Reptiles, amphibians,
Snakes and lizards
Too many to count.
Epiphytes, bromeliads
The Bougainvillaea
Ferns, moses, lichens,
Quite without number.
Two thirds of flowering
Plants are found
In rainforests
Going on lists adinfinitum
But do you really care.
Capitalist drivers
Economy must grow
Making it cheap
To maximise profit.
Palm oil a desert
Hard wood for looks
Till next years fashion
Changes the rolls.
Who can make lists
Play the accountant,
If the bottom line
Only shows human worth.
How many species are
Bought for ten dollars,
Balanced in columns
Of profit and loss.
What accountants
Hand or eye could
Frame the aeons
That go to create
The beauty
Of the ecology of life.
Tiny movement
On the wicker chair
Jumping spider
Catches the eye,
Instant spring
Strand to strand.
All its being
Compact perfection,
Taut intent
In the moment of life.
Awed to wonder
Begs the question,
How can anyone
Cut the rainforest
That I learn is,
Though never will see.
Lonely people in a crowd, lonely people all around
People chatting everywhere, sounds of laughter fill the air
Laughter loud throughout the room, loud pulsating empty sound
Inconsequential chatter, idle gossip all can share
Lonely people in a crowd, lonely people all around
Laughter ringing in the air, laughter hiding their despair
Chatter, chatter everywhere, the intellectuals and the snobs
Doctors, lawyers, accountants, sad drunks and gay movie stars
Young girls flirting, men staring, overweight people eating like slobs
Part time hookers , some divorcees and the men with large cars
And yet together their patter it means nothing at all
Their laughter so empty as it drifts down the hall
Desperate lonely people, wandering in and out of bars
Unhappy people grabbing at air, their lives filled with lies
People who won’t comprehend money won’t buy you the stars
People with no real meaning to their dull and hollow lives
People without knowing, giving out sad empty vibes
Lonely people in a crowd, soundless sobs and soundless cries
Chatter, chatter everywhere, as shrill laughter fills the air
I don’t want to be part of that empty shallow sound
Laughter ringing in the air, laughter hiding their despair
I want to be needed with caring people around
I don’t want to hear my empty laughter in the hall
I can’t bear to think that life has no meaning at all.