Best Fritter Poems
I am corruption
A citizen of all Nations
The UN calls me complex social, cultural and economic phenomenon
Nevertheless, I do not mind
Countries of the world detest me publicly
However, they romance me secretly
So I relocated to Africa
To become a citizen of many African countries
Where I thrive with impunity
I am embezzlement of public fund
I am the looting of public treasury
I am economic crimes
I am bribery and receipt of illegal proceeds
Some call me theft and privatization of public resources
While others shamelessly refer to me as extortion, clientelism and patronage
However, I do not care about that
I manifest myself boldly as illegal appropriation or forgery and falsification
I am also blessed with quadruplets: abuse of state funds, waste, nepotism and favoritism
To maintain my citizenship I employ abuse of power(intimidation) and election falsification
I steal the continent’s wealth and fritter it to foreign countries
I live in slums of Africa
I live in cities of Africa
I am as ubiquitous as I am powerful
I have caused so much pain to Africa
I am the most powerful agent of African impoverishment
As you fight against me
I fight back with venom
Most African leaders love me so much
They cannot do without me
All religions worship me
The military is powerless before me
I hold the Executive to ransom
The Judiciary is my familiar abode
I am the permanent occupant of the Legislature
In me, there is no separation of power
I corrupt independently and collectively
I am a citizen in whom most African leaders are well pleased
As you can see I am well entrenched in my adopted continent
To eliminate me requires efforts
To diminish me is herculean
To tolerate me is dangerous
However I must die so that Africa can live!
After 30 years together,
Carol tells me late one evening
in the manner of a quiet wife
that I have yet to write a poem
about her, something she
will never understand in light
of all those other poems
she says I wrote
about those other women
before she drove north.
And so I tell her once again
I wrote those other poems
about no women I ever knew
the way I now know her
even if I saw them once or twice
for dinner, maybe,
and a little vodka
over lime and ice.
Near midnight, though,
she says again
in the manner of a quiet wife
it’s been thirty years
and still no poem.
When morning comes
I motor off to town to buy
a paper and a poem
for Carol
but find instead
undulating in a big glass case
an apple fritter,
tanned and glistening,
lying there just waiting.
So I buy the lovely fritter
and a single long-stem rose
orphaned near the register,
roaring red, and still
at full attention.
I bring them home but find
Carol still asleep
and so I put the fritter
on the breadboard
and the rose right next to it,
at the proper angle.
When she wakes I hope
the fritter and the rose
will buy me time until
somewhere in the attic
of my mind I find
a poem that says
more about us than
this apple fritter,
tanned and glistening,
lying there just waiting,
and a single long-stem rose,
roaring red, and still
at full attention.
Donal Mahoney
Being a non meat eater
I'll never eat a spam fritter again,
So why is the special offer on the counter so inviting?
Am I back at school again?
Queuing up for dinner
And hoping for something nice.
No menus then,
Probably just as well,
And the fritters are there
With baked beans and chips,
Treacle tart and custard for afters.
So I'm in the queue
Feeling dippy in the chippy,
Longing for something
I can't really have.
Veggie Spam anyone?
Didn't think so.
An old man who looked somewhat young
But after he had a song sung
Held tightly to his right lung
And to a nearby chair clung …
An Old Man who now truly looked it:
Blotches on a weak skin poorly lit;
He had many times dared a twitter
And in his lungs they proved a hitter …
Then, why wouldn’t he look much bitter
And accept that he did away an hour fritter
“Christ! The Goodwill Cigarettes at me flung”!
He’d henceforth be dodging them like dung;
In the spirit of a cigarette-smoking musician
Not wishing an early visit to a physician.
Fritter and waste
toiled in haste
My life was stuck on fast forward
Outa my mind...
Couldn't rewind
Even as my life raced toward
The cliff just there
Beyond the glare
Of life puddles, spilled not poured
Out of the noise
Echoed a voice
A distant life where serenity soared
"Cash it all in"
Again!... Again!
"This life begs a price your peace can't afford"
We found the boy
Bursting with joy
Singing of life, gently measured not harshly scored
We walk the ledge
Peace from a pledge
life is lived now, clarity of charity restored
The life I dreamed
Whispered not screamed
Promises refound resound, communion with my Lord
Apple Fritter and a Single Rose
After 30 years together,
Carol tells me late one evening
in the manner of a quiet wife
that I have yet to write a poem
about her, something she
will never understand in light
of all those other poems
she says I wrote
about those other women
before she drove north.
And so I tell her once again
I wrote those other poems
about no women I ever knew
the way I now know her
even if I saw them once or twice
for dinner, maybe,
and a little vodka
over lime and ice.
Near midnight, though,
she says again
in the manner of a quiet wife
it’s been thirty years
and still no poem.
When morning comes
I motor off to town to buy
a paper and a poem
for Carol
but find instead
undulating in a big glass case
an apple fritter,
tanned and glistening,
lying there just waiting.
So I buy the lovely fritter
and a single long-stem rose
orphaned near the register,
roaring red, and still
at full attention.
I bring them home but find
Carol still asleep
and so I put the fritter
on the breadboard
and the rose right next to it,
at the proper angle.
When she wakes I hope
the fritter and the rose
will buy me time until
somewhere in the attic
of my mind I find
a poem that says
more about us than
this apple fritter,
tanned and glistening,
lying there just waiting,
and a single long-stem rose,
roaring red, and still
at full attention.
Donal Mahoney