Best Foreclose Poems
Fool's Gold
We cherish Autumn days when Summer goes...
her landscapes of bright colors do amaze.
Just like a painting, brilliant hues foreclose
the thoughts of Winter gloom post Autumn blaze.
Deep rusty red, orange, but mostly gold
stretch wide for miles along the country lanes;
'neath deep blue sky and sunny rays, they hold
the joy of life we hope and pray remains.
Leaves gently fall and coat the waiting ground
to warm the earth with their bright colored shawl;
and happily, we grasp these days renowned
to keep us joyful before Winter pall.
But as all things in life follow a scheme,
a dimmer time will shade a golden one;
this season, in the end, does lose its gleam...
fool's gold of Fall turns dull 'neath Winter sun.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Autumn Colors
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 01/09/2018
Autumn Royal
We cherish Autumn's gift when Summer goes;
its fire of red and ginger scenes amaze.
The beauty of those brilliant hues foreclose
the thoughts of Winter gloom post Autumn's blaze.
Rich amber, cinnamon, and pumpkin haze
stretch wide for miles along the country lanes;
a lovely glow we hope and pray remains.
Yet soon, leaves fall and spread the waiting ground
with Fall's bright orange-saffron-umber shawl.
Still happily, we hold these days renowned
to keep us pleased before cold Winter's call
bedims the glow with its first snow-filled squall.
But, as all things in life maintain a scheme,
the crimson days of Fall must lose their gleam.
Sandra M. Haight
~First Place~
Premier Contest: Autumn Royal
Sponsor: Dale Gregory Cozart
Judged: 10/05/2017
Required Words: Amber Cinnamon Crimson Fire Ginger Pumpkin Saffron Umber
Heaven’s Doorway
Heaven’s Doorway is open wide
All are invited in.
There’s just one prerequisite—
To be free from the taint of sin.
God’s love and mercy
Provides the appropriate attire;
Your surrender is all you need;
The faith that leads you higher.
Heaven’s Doorway leads to happiness
And joy forever and a day.
With streets of gold and beauty rare,
Waiting for all in array.
The grass is so vividly green
And the beautiful flowers never die.
There’s no sickness or depression—
No curse of sin’s the reason why.
We’re all invited to the banquet
Before Heaven’s Doorway will close.
Don’t reject your invitation,
Until entrance does foreclose.
After midnight there’s no more entrance
To enter the wedding feast above;
The majority will be on the outside,
Should they not accept God’s love.
Heaven’s Doorway is still open
And you are welcomed in.
This is your invitation—
Heavens Doorway to find within.
Heaven is full of happiness
And great joy will fill your soul.
Enter Heaven’s Doorway;
Your body and soul made whole.
Entered into Gail Doyle's Heaven's Doorway Contest
27/5/2012
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2012
MIDNIGHT
The hands of the clock show midnight is near
Will tomorrow soon show itself here
As midnight descends tomorrow's not close
Promise gone
when time clock's hands foreclose
Finding tomorrow is chasing shadows
It's elusive as wind on endless meadows
Tomorrow is the mist in morning dawn
Intangible but yet a step further on
Tomorrow promises a whole new day
Getting past midnight makes it too far away
Yester records tomorrow has there been
Yet venture to yester impossible again
One moment nigh morrow seemingly there
BUT
It's fools gold for none get there from here
Little I ask, my wants are few,
I only wish a roof and home -
a simple one this man will do
that I may call my own.
To within its walls live and age
with a memoir to fill my page.
Plain fare is all I need for me,
a ration a day to hearty fill,
and oft to satisfy a thirsty plea
water my dry lips to spill.
And so granted if I should ask
a cold stubbie or whisky flask.
I care not for gold and land,
nor chattel or title to obey -
just a mortgage and at hand
money enough to pay.
I only this need ask and pose
lest the bank on me foreclose.
My clothes I do proudly wear,
no robes of bejewelled ties,
for king ‘n yeoman are I swear
equal all in God’s eyes!
Nay, I am not of that noble ilk
and need no garments of silk.
I do not seek what I need not
like a rich man’s cars or toys -
my contentment is with my lot
and in life’s simple joys.
A humble man beholden for
if this world favour me more.
Truly not I begrudge no man
his Hope, his Fate, his Love -
I seek truths none more than
the word of God above!
And to behold if it is His will
His grace in life to death until.
Written: May 2018
With special thanks to
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
There is a pathway called Lonely Road
That every mortal in solemnity walks.
Its ruts are deep from life’s grated load,
And tales of woe echo there as if a pox.
You have walked it in hours of despair
And so have I, world-wearied in extreme.
As we walk we litter it with every care,
Our pain and hurt sickening the scene.
We have faults that foreclose expression
To some who want to think we’re saintly.
Thus the Lonely Road affords confession
To ourselves and He who loves us greatly.
No’s
Talking to themselves in the third person
Detached, separate,
ominous—a stilted nuance that does want to know
Abrupt attention spans lashing out as the deadends foreclose
Cutting back on all the backslapping
Having wanted to believe all the
smooth lies and all that crap brings
Devolver minds snapping
Struggling to get out from under makes denial clear
That hate will only listen to fear
Ground-zero panderers jacked up on anger and lack of reason
Birthers,
churchers,
hardrighters, flinching through all the circumspect treasons
The angryanxiety fringe
A binge of onthemake bumper-sticker values gone rouge
Corrosive
these druthers and their blackface esthetic:
the avarice acumen pathetic
Offish flaws as validation, rage as wisdom
What the No generation has become
A reality TV worldview that sees itself through its swindled delusions
Overmedicated, undereducated—the slander ethic
70%-off prosperity
Nightmare personalities who just don’t get it
Alibiing
the next impulse—gimme now
Rationalizing the next urge—gimme now
Surging the absurd—gimme now
Going for another denial do or die—gimme now
A Problem
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Worry
Tormenting minds
Over having low cash flow.
Threatening to foreclose on home loans.
Homeless.
Form: Cinquain.
© November 2009
EXPIRATION :
Existence of certainties and uncertainties,
Governed by disclosed and undisclosed warrantees,
The story is actually a mystery.
Promises become unfulfilled,
And the expectants turn to wail.
If we choose to talk about that,
Nothing would be considered by heart.
It's still the same old tale without doubt,
Of which men of ages didn't understand.
We've heard of it more and more,
And we've felt its sharp pain before.
It's bounded by no law,
Thusly, appears anytime it wants.
Many a time we try to foreclose it,
By setting walls against its exhibits.
But we end up at the same junction,
Whereby it present itself as an injunction.
And we only mark it with a memory,
For it can't be forever discarded by money.
In fact, it can be avoided by nothing,
As it truly remains inevitable.
Its visitation is unpredictable.
How we wish we would overcome it,
But freely does it shows itself in a flit;
Causing a precious life to cease and efface.
That's when the soul goes to an unspecified place,
And the soma also returns to its origin.
Then ammased earthly treasures become futile.
Absolutely, we're all standing aghast,
As one day we all would breathe our last.
Mother in the kitchen stirring a batch of lemonade,
Children in the wheat field hide and seek is what they play,
Father in the shed tinkering with his little trains,
Grandparents listen to music talking about the evening rain,
Years later mother drinks to time and the end of days,
Children all gone one in college and the other slain,
Fathers shed empty for the stroke showed he was not to stay,
Grandparents lay together on a bed of flowers in a casket frame,
More time passes and mother doesn't want her prescriptions late,
The last child works hard but wants to place on the temple a .38,
Fathers gambling debts makes the bank foreclose their place,
Grandparents property was only hope but was seize by the state,
For a brief moment happiness was all time could make,
But all these tears through the years brings only a depressing fate,
If these walls could talk they would say wow life use to be great,
Until reality brings in the real world burden with pessimistic hate.
(2017)
Did I hear them sing Hosanna, yesterday?
What did you drunk them on
For the passover feast is not real alcohol
Did you call them to repentance too
So they before your heaven comes
Could settle old scores with you?
No priest nor prelate told them
The meaning of the covenant you made
They just said: change, yes, we can
That said that before drowning in the desert sands
Piling manna and largesse in Pharaoh's hands
That was the only difference
This variation strange to them
This separation between you and God
This wrongheaded experiment
I vomit with the dying Quayles
I cannot foreclose the callous serpents
Biting at my heels
All day long across the dictionary of my rage
I ponder our crucifixion, and our age
So shallow, so shallow and unforgiving
Men we are impelled by sin, we can surrender
But we cannot change, we cannot change
The history of the multitude that littered the desert floor.
No particular rhyme nor,
reason explains to boot
within mind of this (boyish
looking) ole coot,
why sudden flashback didst
kickstart metered metrical foot
when during bout with anorexia nervosa,
I did not give a hoot
analogously harried and swiftly kicked
with barebones styled tailored jackboot.
Said eating disorder, sans
self starvation arose
without explicit explanation
this grown man tries
till he gets himself bluenose
to recapitulate an ill fate,
he conveniently chose
still baffled, thus
without aversion disclose,
silence of echoes
confidential matter
I willingly expose,
said trauma that
nearly did foreclose
emotionally mortgaged corporeal property
boarded figurative
windows, whereat up goes
for sale sign testament to
recalcitrant stalwart hardnose
father and mother felt
obligation to interpose
lest premature demise,
would invariably juxtapose
dealing mortal psychological
(albeit unfair) blow
to parents plus two sisterly kiddoses
perhaps family pets (cats and dogs),
whose meows and lows
punctuating equilibrium
volunteering, (when suicide
gripped stranglehold)
spurring personal tragedy
with sincere manifestoes
(mainly not a verse
to dabble with poetry)
striving to cater to nonheroes
to thwart tragedy, whose nose
(mine) sniffs fallout mainly upon me
woebegotten life somber
(time to cue oboes),
asper the plethora of
influences that predispose
one in the throes
of adolescent experiencing
oh ma dog...gushing hormones
analogous to young lives
loose then taut like mama's yoyos!
Just sign here please
I just received the foreclosure letter
the foreclosure letter
my God is this really happening
no one is coming to save me
don't they know
if they would start lending money
people would put me to work and
they wouldn't have to foreclose
yeah, I know
there is no one to lend the money too
because we've all been financially abused
and what is a nation to do
shouldn't those who print the money
hold those in charge of it accountable
like they hold us accountable
I'd say in comparison my debt is very small
compared to those who pat each other on the back
and line their pockets
with the money that their monopoly demands from us all
the money has failed us
the government has failed us
the banking system has failed us
nothing left to do but hang our heads and bawl
and try to ignore the devil
offering comfort through vengeance and evil thoughts
today I am strong tomorrow is not here and some have weaker minds
think they'll make the news when they answer the call
I wonder who will be the first to die
and will the murderer become a hero
in the tortured minds
of those put out on the street
by those who charged them usury
what valve will allow the just working man to rise
the cap is rusted the machine is busted
blood will surely flow
when the pressure causes the tank to blow
like a lunatic moon's incoming tide
go ahead, repo a few thousand more homes
then go home and kiss your wife
and let her know
that when they come in to say hello
you'll be saying good bye
to the cruel world that you helped build
with your career and your time
think your going to heaven
we don't want your kind
because heaven is full of the ones you abused
and you belong in the dog eat dog
for this is house of refuge
and we need refuge from likes people like you
take my home and God will take yours and what can you do
some one has to pay the devil
because he is just like you
Oh Happy Day
Financial crisis
the Dj's sold out to the man
oh happy day on the radio
collective karma is the God they believe in
while Mammon teaches his machines to use phones
bill collectors and spam salesmen are calling
voices without souls
equity
and the bank wants to foreclose
billions of dollars for a bail out
and where the hell did it go
all of the really big spenders know
I guess they needed some of our tax money to blow
government programs, Ha!
just try to get some help or some info
and you'll find some scam artist ready to rip you off
or some over priced attorney
that just wants to take your money and laugh
as he drives away to go play golf
and your losing your home
yeah, your losing your home
and don't you want to put a bullet into somebody’s brain
who are ya gonna blame
two wrongs might not make it right
but it'll make a pretty good flame
try to make amends
there's no one to talk to at the bank
sorry, our mortgage department is in another state
just call this number then
press one for a circle jerk hot potato maze
the machines are in charge these days
and their's no mercy built in to their programs
but some of them do have names
I guess their programmers try to make them human
ice cold humans
ice cold humans
they think you and your money are the same
go on and take humanity out of the humans
their icy cold hearts dwell in the dark anyway
while the machines chew us up
just like a hammer headed shark
dive dive dive
let's see how low we can go
dive dive dive
these days lawyers are thugs
and nobody cares and everybody knows
and we're the greatest nation
oh play oh happy day
for me just one more time
there's no fear of God or compassion anymore
and I am just a poet
in the year 2009
Of the orb I speak in awe
Of the Moon with its slender claw
Finite in size, elysian in presence, there to watch
Crop the doubt, step up a notch
As is he - facile princeps - a sublunary prince,
Devout and intense ever since
The days of deportation from Attica of North
In the downtown Abaddon he came forth
To denounce neither world in order to live
Only in you could he ever believe.
Yet the stigmata pierced the skin
Grafted the soul infinitely thin
Battles abated but the burden rose
From the nadir of the pith to foreclose
Every chamber of every pore
And then, disappeared into nevermore.
In the dreams I see time and again
A stoic oak tree turned into a cane
An untamed ocean of tenacious fire
Almost silent voices of desire
Composed while whispering into his ear
Go back to Attica of North
Reset in Abaddon where he came forth.