Best Fiscal Poems
We have the left; we have the right.
In the political arena they both fight.
Always claiming to be on our side,
With ferocious rhetoric, opponents they deride.
Vote for us, to be saved from a vicious clan’s
Reckless and dangerous life ending plan.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
Now I don’t know what works for you.
I judge not what they say; rather what they do.
For talk is cheap and taxes ain’t.
I’m in support of fiscal restraint.
Now this is a fact for all posterity;
A nation can’t spend itself into prosperity.
Both sides know that this is true.
But look at what the charlatans do.
They simply make a language adjustment;
Government spending renamed as investment.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
The finger of accusation is pointed;
As our nation becomes disjointed.
Now both sides in self-righteousness claim;
The other side is the one to blame.
I’m not sure how you deduce,
But I look at the fruit they produce.
Who supports phony investigations;
The sole evidence of their own making.
Who supports keeping people in places;
Dividing them up into different races.
Who believes they can legislate prosperity;
Ignoring all of human history.
Who believes it a proper choice;
To slay the unborn who have no voice.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
Media acts in a partisan manner,
Thus, I ignore their constant clamor.
People throwing bombs and firing weapons;
The very definition of insurrection.
When people gather to show disgust.
That is what is defined as a protest.
There are few neutral voices.
Everyone is always spinning choices.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
I met someone I know quite well, he gets about in cars, does buy and sell.
He spoke to me upon a theme, we were stirring coffee; I had just added my cream.
When (Fiat) money, he intoned..)
This word does it ring a bell?
Of it have you heard; or known, do tell.?
The cost of Fiat cars I then proclaimed'
No it’s of money I speak,he said if it’s all the same,
I had bought some autos and to me the word was told,
That it is money without collateral backing, that’s the truth stone cold!
So in this stressured contemporary rhyme, I think I must… It’s now high time
In fact a lack of sober views and action which did not ensue...
Control! ….. control!, "well they did not" now high (inflation) pop pop pops..!
Consume, consume they said and greed is good for all..!
Poor old Jim john and Doug..) Rachel, Joan and Queenie McCall..!
A dream was sold and lives were told, It’s Oh! so safe, more so than gold!
Now Fiat cash is on the scene, they run it off Oh! ream on ream
Just like my coffee encircling mug, so here’s to the truth lets give it a plug.
When I again pour in my cream,
as it begins to merge like inflations infusion, Maybe I’ll dream.
That financial fiasco’s and social screams are only rumours on a jittery theme,
However until "their problem" has been (sold), I’ll trade some paper cash for gold.
© Joe Maverick 13-11-2010
What does autumn sunshine gloriously reveal?
When the sun sets too swiftly in the west keel
When a breeze said, "Sweetheart, I admire you."
Now moan the dying chords of the gloomy view?
The cold that begets each blurred leaf moans,
It clangs inside the veins and blisters the bones.
I loathe the mellowed tones of the clock thrum,
The hallway of time strikes a brilliant hoodlum.
I'm ridden that the fig's fallen leaves can't be undone,
I queried, yet has been unfit to mend the core bone.
Those dreary addenda appear to float on the vein,
And reflect my adamant dismay to me within.
He was fraught before dying startlingly,
A load of the burden of debt is crushing loosely.
Then, he learned a lot from this position,
Judge people who have plaid in fiscal coercion.
Hide behind the fig leaf, in the shadow,
Hide behind it your heart's calm to follow.
Never trust that fig leaf; it has a bark
Snack and taste from my oozy limp mark.
It's the fabled stint to delve into the spurts of life,
Lacking a fig leaf, you might swap bare in strife.
None left after the last leaf fell on the ground,
Also, each one saw it clearly, but no sound.
Written: March 28, 2022
1ST Place Contest Winner
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Preening, posing, mouths always in motion
jabbing your fingers high in the air
Shouting and yelling, and screaming an ocean
of high-intensity rubbish and verbal warfare
O, progressive politicians, you make my day
you never let fiscal reality get in your way
You cut dashing figures in your pin-striped suits ~
as your 'tax-base' you fleece and you loot
I heard the owl call my name,
like a backbeat in a child's voice,
etched in shadows of a father's grave,
lonely echoes on a frosted night...
at dawn I'll be immortal again,
renewed by a workaday
and the frigid fiscal year,
my soul stays leafless in damp moonlight...
do we end days defibrillating
in hospice and parchment or
under foreign suns twitching and fluid,
while kestrels dive as doves take flight...
why only in the dark hours,
the soul's midnight,
can we see farther, deeper,
nightdreams wander like a restless wight...
experienced or just imagined,
dreamt but never realized,
conceived yet unexecuted,
an inner eye begs keener sight...
as yellow eyed and dark skinned children,
play with tattered banners,
laughing at rusted armor, bleaching bones,
and history cries that might makes right...
as I, stale pilgrim of no progress,
catch faint odors of war,
in the molded root cellar of my mind,
as hope catches wind like a child's kite.
Oh, Land of the Free
You have presumptuously deemed yourself the mouthpiece and policy maker
Of the world
How overconfident
How impudent
Who makes you...
Oh, King of impertinence
Regulators of the human race...
The monarch of the agitated sea
Who are you to dictate MY household’s wishes?
As with the Roman Empire, your greed and moral deficiency IS your destruction
Your sins are hidden behind plaster, ramshackle, and termite-infested walls
You sit on your throne of deprecated morality
You twist your neck and roil your head in an idiomatic cistern of ethics
Oh, how those merchants whom seek shelter under your fiscal confidence...
Will wail and rip their outer garments, as they witness your
great
Collapse
Nevertheless, just like men whom seeks the warmth of a harlot’s bosom
They will easily turn their face to the next woman of ill-gotten gains
One to the next is its mother
Each fiscal cliff breeds another
There's no golden goose
Oh brother, this chain noose
Causes all commerce to smother
Kick debt ceiling blues in the groin
With Ponzi whose scheme we should join
He's someone now dead
For the platinum head
Of a trillion buck magic act coin
Everything has a fee,
Nothing on Earth's for free,
There is no relation,
Without compensation,
Unless it's just me versus me.
Something always involves cost,
From breathing to auto exhaust,
Imagine, people mating,
Without use of call waiting,
Millions of yen would be lost.
Even intangibles hold value,
A smile from the wind, a song on the bayou,
If you yell at your spouse,
Well, there goes the house,
The true meaning of "I do, I do".
Life is a pay-per-view event,
Due to our voyeuristic intent,
We can't cross the street,
To keep matters discrete,
All we have is fiscal repent.
(3/8/90)
A is for an album to hold my stamp hoard,
B is for back of book where my “specials” are stored.
C is for the cancellation that causes such strife,
D is for definitives with their unlimited life.
E is for excitement, the thrill of the find,
F is for fiscal and its financial bind.
G is for the gum that sticks them in the post,
H is for the hinges displaying those I love most.
I is for imperforates, those joined with no holes,
J is for a Johfra box to soak off without bowls.
K is for a killer mark that destroys a stamp’s worth
L is for local stamps with a limited dearth.
M is for the magnifying glass used for searching out flaws
N is for the newspaper stamps that brought headlines to our doors.
O is for “officials” with a government cachet
P is for postage due when the sender fails to pay.
Q is for the Queen’s head on all British stamps
R is for retouches and forgers re vamps.
S is for a stockbook for stamps that are spare
T is for tweezers to handle them with care.
U is for unused, a stamp postally mint,
V is for variety, it has a fault in its print.
W is for watermark to prove authenticity
X is for xanthic spots, rust, that strikes without pity.
Y is for youngsters and encouraging their dream
Z is for Zemstvo a rare Russian theme.
To see a stamp thrown in the bin, now that is such a crime,
I’ll revere it in my collection making it sublime.
Written 1st March 2013 by Rachel Fawcett. I am a Trained Nurse by day and spend my time off collecting stamps and trying to write poetry. I haven’t been publicly writing very long and this is only the second poetry competition I've ever entered. I love writing as it stretches my imagination and I enjoy the challenge it brings. I love collecting stamps as they bring order to my mind.
I am writing to ask you about yourself
And your family in Nigeria and other black countries.
I have seen the bitter difference here;
The difference between Nigeria and other countries,
Then tears stream down from my eyes as I watch
My people in sorrow and suffering--
I cried as I watched the development here and
Looking back home I remembered our dark streets
And, the roads in tears of potholes and refuse.
Here I am, there is constant power supply,
Good road Network; free from potholes and dirties.
The street lights are working and the drainage
Channels are well strutured like those at Onitsha.
We have an enjoyable atmosphere; free from
Polluted air and polluted water unlike our country.
The government are more interested in Revenue generation rather than revenue sharing and aloitment of public funds.
Everyone is involve in the building of the nation,
They promote fiscal discipline, job creation and economic growth, sport development, restoring confidence in their health sector;
Championing peace, ensuring gender equality and woman empowerment, stabilizing the strength of their sub-region, empowering the youth to be productive home and abroad and,
The educational sectors are not abandoned to strike.
Here I am with tears for our beloved country;
The country whose leaders concentrated more on oil
And abandoning the other sphere of the economy.
Then, we were the highest cocoa producing country but another wiser has taken the glory from us.
Years back, we were the highest oil producing country in Africa but Angola has taken over.
We are no longer producing yam and other Agricultural products.
What happens next if the oil wells dry up tomorrow?
Friend, I have seen the different in my quest for greener pasture.
Tomorrow only can tell where we are going-
Say me well to your family, hope to hear from you
Tales of my country, my craving ears await you.
WILLIAMS
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
#Nigeria# Africa#Tale of poetry#
In Liverpool, England, there is one street containing
all the Chinese restaurants, side to side, back to back
and stinking drain to sea.
where once a year, twirling dragons pierce the afternoon air,
passing old men with suits and moneyed-hands, their
young thugs standing close with tatooed skin.
the crowd, mostly mums and dads and tots in prams, heaves
like weed on a Kowloon sea...hungry for the firecracker
bangs and dim-sum smells and potted green tea.
this riot of shifting colour drags and pushes at the cobbled
road underfoot, as the dragon takes another bag of pak choy
greens placed ten foot high, while the lithe boys dressed in
kung fu black and draped with skill, reach up to pluck the
fiscal bunch and pass it down, hand to hand, out of sight,
to the flashing, bouncing jaws beneath
and soon the fire cracker thunder and emptied shops
call the street to book: and a carnage of paper to-go boxes
and spilt terror join with the bars' beery breath
saying...go home now Englishmen, you are not our brothers,
this is our place not yours..go home til next year
This vetted and fully fettered minute
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- Even before you know it, it's gone
This beautiful garden escape,
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© Goode Guy 2013-07-23
Justice,
is not the sound:
of a banging gavel,
as the result of a man's decision.
It is found in the laughter of orphans,
or in the quiet tears of a widow's distress.
Justice, does not announce its presence noisily,
nor does it appeal to mere reason or fleeting thought.
It is in the silence of a still moment that it rushes in.
A flood of rescue, a team of unsung heroes, without banners.
In the simple embrace of a father to the orphaned, or mother to the widow.
There it is found in the least likely of places, the free offering of smiles.
An undeserved torrent of kindness that drowns out history's pain,
giving a new and beautiful fragrance to the debris left by injustice.
Tears lose their sting, they become source of life watering souls,
satisfaction is no longer measured by simple shelters, or full
bellies, and clothed bodies; this is not true contentment.
Joy ignited by the embers of love, fueling life.
Purpose, not dependent on fiscal wealth,
a life becomes a raging wildfire,
made visibly tangible,
Mercy.
Was the murderers jacket bloodstained ?
Was he caught at the scene and detained ?
There’s a story here to be told
The truth and evidence retained.
The Police are on the threshold
Interrogate him with his Legal
The evidence is quiet dismal
He’s talking but its redirection
His motive appears to be fiscal
But he’s claiming its one of affection
It’s all sounding really quiet frivolous
For the detective it’s all very piteous
Failing is not the planned conception
The case is slipping, it’s against us
What we need now is confession
"Brink of War", the press proclaims
in grand exuberance cause it will know
there will be work for months naming names
and the gory details of friend and foe.
You may notice that the Dow Jones which
has been in the dumpster, with great joy
arises. Investors know without a hitch
which stocks of war will be the ones to buy.
Of course young people, poor and of color
will join the army, marines and navy,
to escape street, family, lay-offs or
surviving desperate moments hardly
found in new patriotism, or think
sacrifice saves old men from fiscal brink