Best Ledgers Poems
I was just drifting off,
A quiet snooze on the bench
Under the tree,
When I heard:
"I hereby declare this meeting open!
The frosts have given way,
The hush of winter loosens,
Spring has stepped up for Lady Day."
A busy chatter of squirrels start to gather
For the branch meeting.
Trees unfurling into bud
Yield a promise of nest eggs
Soon to pay dividends
For the nimble and resourceful
Tenants of the Woodland Guild.
There's a quiver of quills of feathery tails
As the squirrels brush up on stocks and shares -
Who's invested the what-s and the where-s?
Secret maps drawn in ledgers of lichens.
Arboreal advice given,
"We must maintain balance,
Reduce risk, but stay agile."
The squirrels of this midland bank listen,
They bustle and bristle.
Ears pricked, steady their nerve
Ready to go,
"Remember, time is your friend,
Impulse, your foe!"
Each squirrel a proud custodian
Of assets, ground hidden,
Hedgefunds.
A treasury of nuts and seed
Saved through thrift
In times of need,
Dug deep in the vaults of the earth.
Beech, pine, hazel and oak.
"We sit in these trees of plenty
Because of what squirrel folk planted before."
Then, with a scamper and flicker of tails,
They were gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The body keeps its ledgers~
purple ink beneath the skin,
a ledger of missteps and collisions.
Some bloom tender as dusk,
others harden into topography,
maps of what we survived.
They whisper in fading yellows:
here,
you were alive enough to hurt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The body keeps its ledgers~
purple ink beneath the skin,
a ledger of missteps and collisions.
Some bloom tender as dusk,
others harden into topography,
maps of what we survived.
They whisper in fading yellows:
here,
you were alive enough to hurt.
The November skies darken early
Citizens walk in
To vote
Nationwide elections
High school gym
Opened just for them
Voices echo in the large hall
Clerks check names and addresses
Pointing to names in musty ledgers
As lines get longer.
The ones I can spot
Are the old veterans
Who spent their youth at
D-Day, Battle of the Bulge, Guadalcanal
I say
Courage to them
Who knew how to be brave
At so young an age
They walk slowly now
Wives often leading
You sense that for them
Time is running out
The hour glass near empty
They never bragged all that much
To them voting is a right.
You can spot the others
Waiting on line
Veterans of
Korea and Viet-Nam
They walk a little faster
Stand a little taller
But time will catch up
And the hour glass will reach its mark.
The voting is over
Discarded papers litter the floor
Doors locked
Lights turned off
As darkness slips into the empty hall.
Across town
Politicians congratulate
The winners
Deal are made
Promises promised
And on this cold night
Honest taxpayers turn in bed
Knowing that the next workday
Always comes early.
My 86th Birthday
Another Birthday…another year
They seem to be coming
Much faster I fear!
The Sands of time are flowing
Spring and Summer have run their course
Fall has shed her brilliant leaves
Winter’s fury has no remorse
The years fly by so quickly
The Bird of Youth has flown away
Our springs were squandered blithely
As have our summer’s play
Autumn’s sun is fading
A little more each day
An early frost reminds us
Winter is on the way
Winter is upon us
Ledgers to be read
How can we rewrite the wrongs
And repair them before we’re dead?
Will we look back upon our seasons
Spent with nary a thought
Or know that we were mindful
Of the lessons we were taught
The winter of our birthdays
Should be cherished all the more
For we never know how many
We might have in store
The hands of time keep ticking
Always softly…never bold
One day the bells will ring
Will we be ready when they toll?
Copyright©2014 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
Matilda was two when her dad passed away,
from a drug overdose on that fateful day.
Heath Ledger's love child had no certain fate,
Things moved too fast as he lay intestate.
What's to become of this child left behind
Ledger's father a thief or could he be kind?
As the media frenzy continued to soar
Ledgers friend stepped up to settle the score.
He gave movie proceeds as a very first step,
"They may deny Matilda but NOT Johnny Depp!"
Jude and Will antied up as sort of a Shrine,
And little Matilda's life is going to be fine!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Special thanks to Johnny Depp,
the highest paid movie star in the world, for caring.
War Horse by Steven Cooke
Taken from Cloven fields,
Where skylark and Grouse Linger.
Into the bowels of a troopship,
No scent of Morning Dew, No Bird song
Only sweat and urine,
And the distant sounds of war.
No light, no grass of home, only the whip.
For he is bound for Flanders field.
His rider glorious in his regalia, sword in hand.
He was his master now, and the horse’s salvation.
Kindness, a quiet word, an apple, their bond complete.
His last feed, bathed in a red sun,
Which hovered above the morning mist hiding yesterday’s sin.
For this is the place where death is king and reason is lost
This day, where man throws sacrifice to the gods,
Like so much sour grain, crushed, and discarded.
To blow away into the winds of time,
Recorded by nations into the ledgers of loss,
For now it is time
The lines gather, then the slow trot, their proud heads, restrained,
Their mouths foaming on the bit,
These beasts of burden knowing no fear,
A site worthy of Valhalla
Their Trust, in man, galloping where heroes dare not go
Onward, onward, they gallop,
Row on row into the fog, No grass here,
Only mud, and wire,
Waiting for the days cull.
This place, Mans ultimate betrayal,
Onward, Onward, Nostril’s flared, Eyes wide,
steam rising from his Flanks,
Every muscle, straining for the next stride.
Then the Stumble, a moment’s recovery,
Blood pours from his proud neck, then the ground.
His head rose, a hand strokes his brow, the last kindness,
A wavered shot ushers his life away, like so many before,
No one will weep for you my War horse,
No letter home,
They’ll be No mention in dispatches, No Memorial
For you are just an animal,
Sacrificed on the altar of man, left to rot in Flanders field.
But for those precious minutes, he was more than man,
This day, of all days, he kept his bond, did not flinch,
Though death was all around,
Galloped blindly through the death rattle of the guns, face on,
No retreat, Onward, Onward,
The magnificence of the horse, No equal, never forget,
For it is the shame of a nation, a sin of mankind,
To undo the hand of god.
No glory here, only an empty cup left on the altar of insanity
Taken From Cloven Fields,
Where the Skylark and Grouse Linger
For I will weep for you,
My noble friend,
My War Horse, You Magnificent Beast.
When the mind with numbers grappled
The heart with thoughts dabbled
When the eyes on the ledgers are fixed
The soul with different hues mixed
To keep the different personas
From trespassing I strive hard
When one dominates the other
The other retards
The heart disobeys the mind
The mind reproves the heart
The tug of war continues
The form bearing the wrath
At last the form too rebels
Expressing in its own way
This story is not new
Has spared only a few
Some say follow the mind
Some say follow the heart
But is not the mind incomplete
Without the company of the heart
One signifies necessity
The other desire
To strike a balance between the two
Lies the success of the affair
Pantoum about Ernie Petersen,
Trader At Rose Prairie
Fur Trader
The buyer and trapper jawed trade
“What’s fur fetching at the Winnipeg auction?”
At Rose Prairie the deals was made
At the wood burning stove with caution
“What’s fur fetching at the Winnipeg auction?”
Cold winter makes pelt with heft.
The buyer fingers a beaver with caution.
“You’ve got four winters of debts still left.”
Cold winter makes pelt with heft
He checks account ledgers for bills overdo.
At jawing for credit the trapper was deft
“I needs credit for more than just stew.”
The buyer checks account ledgers for bills overdo.
The trapper needs wire, bullets, sugar, sour dough.
Doesn’t think of account ledgers or bills overdo
For a night with Maxime he’s in need of some dough.
The trapper needs wire, bullets, sugar, sour dough.
The buyer pours the brewed coffee and stokes the wood stove.
Says synthetic fur drove the auction real low.
Celebrities protested before the fur market dove.
He pours the brewed coffee and stokes the wood stove.
They chat about beaver, lynx and grey fox.
He tops up the mugs from the whisky alcove.
Talks of kids, dogs, and women and child lost to pox.
They chat about beaver, lynx and grey fox.
They share season from cabins, and tales of trap line.
They share bannock and bacon and butter from box
Of seasons they talk when barter was fine.
They share season from cabins and tales of trap line.
The buyer gives trapper snuff dark and sweet
Closes the deal with a ball of tough twine.
Then he sharpens a knife to serve some moose meet.
The buyer and trapper jawed trade.
" YOUR Signature ... "
( Genesis 1: 1 / Rev. 4: 11 )
(Part 2 of 2)
YOUR Signature ...
Signs On All Existence's Account Ledgers
... Is A Literary, Moniker-Masterpiece
A Singularly, Most Stentorious-Stenography
As A Monogram-Monument That Documents
& Slants To Grammar-Mercy's Typed Guarrantee
(Yet Stands Upright In Justice & Audit-Identity)
YOUR Signature ...
Each Letter Is Love and Luminosity ...
A Stencil & Substance-Mark of Perfect Symmetry
and Punctuality With A Written-Resource-Resonance
A Sacred-Sequence of Letters Wrote In Such Serenity
Signed In Stone and On Souls and Of Sovereignty
YOUR Signature - - Reigns So Superlatively
YOUR Signature ...
Signs & Emblazons The Promises & Prophecy-Fixtures
and Heavenly Holy Scriptures
and Is The Greatest Designation In All of Literature
Throughout Space & Spirits & Strenuous Storms & Seas Divesture
Yes - - We See YOUR Masterstroke-Signature ...
We See YOUR Signature ...
( Rom. 1: 20 )
Written & Copyrighted © : 5/8/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
Begins with an appreciation of ledgers,
Clear, true and definite in appearance,
While a long journey through the never evers,
Finding fallacy in every reverence.
As much As I can I try to never,
Subdue that darkness within, such pain severed.
Sweats and strength wasted as it recur,
Anguished in thoughts of constant repeats and anger.
Truth be told of tales so epic in yawns,
A few incantation of deceit. A Fraud!
How can I expect the precision when I am fabricating pawns,
Selling axiom like lush apples hiding all the rot.
The sanctimony of speech hassling for honesty.
Cage it in. Suppress with overflowing control,
Never again a lie or any casuistry.
In hopes to speak rightness and be bold.
An inventor. A story teller. A fictional character.
The emphasis of unjust letters that story unworldly.
Never a point of view. Always an actor.
Only the point from you. Yours Sincerely,
Clutching the premise of these various words and thoughts,
Baptising the impurity within thee,
For only I will know the the battle raging in from GOD.
My truth. I will always try. Believe me.
The long hard journey through
past to progress
These day's has far few many stops to make along it's tried and tested daily route to commute
As cutting costs has so many
uneconomic station laid bare
in it's path
Deemed unsustainable via
accounting computer program
ledgers with countless bites
of memory to spare
Once filled with dumpster full
of coal and shoals of eadible
fish pulse and grain
To steel the masses for another
working day to breathe new life
into industry
To service the never ending
escalating intresest on banking
loans that prop-up wall street share
prices
In order to finance and build a new
Mall , Factory , Hotel or Flats
On the grave of our past long
before they have even been
pronounced dead
It happened to the cowboys
It happened to the miners
It happened to the fishermen
It happened to the farmer's
What paradise for a car park
And job security for my family
And an honest day's work for pay
And human value self worth
And yet and though it is with our
blistered hand toil sweat and
tears it takes to build your tower's
It will be enough or shall it enable
us to afford us to live reside inside
your castles wall's
As for us we are merely entrusted
and expected to garner you with
security
Guard your carparks
Guard your gate's
Guard your monetary wealth
Good enough to raise your children
Place them firmly in our custody
Pick them up from Ivy Schools
When one is busy out shopping
taking lunch , partying or upwardly
socializing
And all of this for the measly price
of knowing one's place and one
mistake could cost you and your
family
It's one and only breadwinner
who put and set aside his pride
to hide it deep inside a box
That signals the future is the station
boarded up you just past
I’m hot in a careless way,
Like a barn fire, or a stolen Mercedes.
I’m the B-side of a 45
That never got much air play
Except at the request of lonely girls
Sitting home on prom night
With thin slivers of moonlight
Slipping through their drapery
To caress their disappointments.
I’m an organ grinding gypsy,
A vendor of cognitive provocations,
Subliminal symbolism,
And academic totems.
My vagrant delinquencies
Have accustomed me
To settle my accounts
With handy lay about cash;
My ledgers are always well balanced.
So, when I need a little bodily love,
When I need a little bodily love,
Yes, when I need a little bodily love
I summon that sylvan nymph coven
Of nubile forest vixens
To witch their carnal spells
With dirty talk and tongue lashings
That cleanse my insecurities
And teach me the usefulness of emptiness.
Dusty lonely antique chair
lost your lustre modern fare
whittled wooden hardback saddle
broken wheeled tipping mantle
Covering floor with aged graces
missing party interfaces
one time sat a master...mistress,
now forgotten sitting listless
What accounts you must bestow
stories written young and old
ledgers full of erudition,
...alphabetic composition
Once a time of well oiled use
forgotten,time has made recluse....
Barbara the Farmer
By Franklin Price
4/10/2017
Barbara the Farmer works hard every day
You may think that Farmville is a funny place to play
Started farming, on line, about ten years ago
Now a mega farmer with too many farms to know
There's so much accounting for all that happens there
Without spread sheets and ledgers would no longer even dare
With hard work and planning she's a multi-millionaire
I'm so proud of what she's done with diligence and care
You should know that Barbara is the true love of my life
I am so ecstatic she's my loving caring wife
She's the only one that's working by farming all she can
I write some poetry for free, cause I'm a cared for man