Best Misers Poems
The end of days draws in so fast.
Nothing we know will ever last.
For some, time feels like real ice;
Be it lousy, or be it so nice.
Time flies against their will.
Nothing stops it, no one will.
We can change how we live.
We can learn how to give.
We can live like frowning isles.
We can live with shiny smiles.
We can be as mean as misers.
We can be as kind as givers.
The choice we make time will tell,
How we honor or how we sell!
The choice we make remains ill.
It dies away without a will.
The choice is just one tiny step,
There will be more you have to prep.
Between the cup and the lip.
There is but many a sip.
13/7/2014
We will forever be carrying the lamp of redemption
On top of the high seas we utter in silence
That we are the misers the lepers of instinct
We sit through the words of the beaten the battered
The movement will cry out that we have forsaken
The burdens of culture in structure we cry out
We shall listen to those that are thrown in the deep end
We always will be but never to be uttered
Our hearts will be born from the minds of shattered
Forgotten we are through the sound of an echo
So let me be brief be more truthful than white light
You will only see us when you have your eyes closed
We will never be more than what we are in pages
In stages of if, when and then the conclusion
To serve is a cause never to be repeated
And let us be frank we will never be seated
Glory to those that have been solely structured
It matters to them that we look to the learned
Compounded we are but never to be bounded
Yet grounded we be through the minds of the founders
By Athi godlo
They’re entering my place
And they will ask no question
I’ll understand through days
They took my world with action
Of thousands high-boots
Of coloures of the martial
The God won’t help they’re rude
And everybody’s marshal.
They step with bayonets
They say they carry freedom
Their hearts are full of weeds
And only blood can feed’em.
There’s madness nothing more
In their eyes of bastards
Oh misers, but what for
Their freedom? They are masters.
There’s freedom in their hands
That goal of any soldier
The battle never ends
Give them Satrap – the Holder.
But I can’t understand
When you destroy all tyrants
Where will you send my friend
Your liberty with violence?
The snow will fall again
The faith will die tomorrow
Nero has brought the pain,
But Robespierre – the horror.
Ivan is not so bad
And terrible and risking
As Hitler with his herd
In Forty One, say, is he?
The Wise has said that we
Get knowledge in comparison
The fire runs you see
The tyrant fell, just listen
The Fatherland is cried
Hang cruel tyrant! Hit him!
Hey people see he’s dead
For better goal for freedom.
And soldier washed his hands
The page has turned it’s boring
The battle never end
Oh soldier where you’re going?
TV will give you fame
The Press will not be silent,
But who deserves this name
The name of cruel tyrant?
The One whose different ways
Are hard and complicated
Who gave us the sun rays
The stars these are so splendid.
Who doesn’t let to kill
So what if we have reason
Who’s making us to feel
To love in any season.
Let’s cast Him out from throne
His bondage of the tyrant
We’re lucky He has gone,
Of course, He was so silent.
I think we will destroy
His buildings to the ground
No words just shoot for joy
Rise flag we won this round.
We won we won again
The peace is reached forever
We have love of the gain
We have it we are clever.
The wounds are healed, the debt
Is paid we are just hit Him
Don’t ask me what is left? –
The tyrant naming Freedom!
So few needs that humans have
that some say bread and water.
Forgetting clothes and shelter
to leave you cold or hotter.
Who will make their list up
of what it takes to live?
and who will cross it off
should they be one to give?
Some will call them cheapskates,
skinflints, even misers.
Those who would pass judgement:
ignorant and chastisers.
So share yourself with others,
that rich may know the poor.
and both will be the wiser
forsaking all the boor.
Then think of those with nothing,
to know their many needs.
Remembering food and water
is the least of what they heed.
I hear the sharp raindrops
tap the budding green leaves
like the ticks from my wristwatch.
Through the childlike window
I see gigantic maple pillars
and a forest of wet grass.
The ghostly smoke from my pipe rises
towards the lightbulb,
air bubbles in my wine.
My fingers skim thorugh a magazine,
the glossy pictures reflect the bulb's light,
but it still appears dark.
The turntable plays an old Sinantra album
I found somewhere in the corner of my mind.
As the record spins,
the needle gets closer
to the center hole with each revolution.
The shower outside intensifies,
shallow indents in the earth start to pool the rain,
saving it for something,
they hoard the water
like misers with their fortunes,
waiting for something.
The diligent needle hits a groove
and plays the same short sound over again and again,
not wanting to finish,
it prolongs its time, waiting.
Waiting for something.
The rickety wooden chair maons as I lean back.
I sit watching some raindrops sneak through the window,
like ants upon finding a fallen piece of fruit.
1994
Initialising silhouettes submit to midwinter dawn
Beginning willingly to swallow colour of choices
Fledgelings' flamboyant campaigns display oblivion
Audacious adolescents distribute chafing thoughts
Attach entire esteem to securing peer approval
Frivolous get transfixed in youth's lurid allure
Bustling balloons launch from high vaulting hearts
Adventurers revel in joy during jaunty occasions
Concerned observers avoid havoc's banquet
Money cascades proportionate to patrons' appraise
Circumspect travel with kaleidoscope analysis
Attentively pensive address torrid scheduling
Pallid consideration accompanies shaded misers
Assorted sections bolstered by merciful sharers
Principled accord favoured by fate's ultimation
Aura of agitation promotes copious desires
Hushed heeders find freedom in relinquishing
Dilating ease determines to exit temptation
Plethora of pleasures pledged by reoccurring sunrise
Replenished spirit operates as a doting shepherd
Validates delight in desiphered silence
Supreme reckoning denounces pretentious credentials
Clarity invades tainted captivity's insatiable tirade
Mortal manuscript mirrors sequel's assembling
20th April 2020
Submitted to Chantelle Anne Cooke's
Best NA Poem 2020 Re run
I see hell,
I see fire,
I see more than desired.
I see truth,
I see liars,
I see all we've inspired.
I see planets,
I see cages,
I see war for all ages.
I see ants,
I see men,
I see it happen again.
I see hope,
As it falls,
But still captures us all.
We will brawl,
Till we crawl
Against the walls.
I see heroes,
I see cynics,
I see all that they mimic.
I see angels,
I see saints,
I see lives that they taint.
I see Gods
I see Devils,
I see misers as they revel.
I see living,
I see dead,
I see rot on God's good bread,
I see comets,
I see black holes
And sentience on the threshold.
I see prescience
To behold,
I see travesties to be told.
I see life
that is free,
Just past eternity
I see plans,
I see lies,
I see all we despise,
I see jesus as he dies,
And is picked apart by flies.
I see god
In his grave,
I see none of us are safe.
Filthy filthy
Foolish flake thieves
Dirty tricks up their sleeves
Hurting good people and destroying our earth-
Their very essence has no worth.
The duds of humanity
The ickness of vanity.
The mere mad misers-
The filthy filthy
Colonizers !
In a world full of
misers and robbers, he gave
away prizes in
cash. His generosity
I applaud and wish to say
we get back what we
give many times multiplied.
Also what we don't
desire we surely have. He
will get more than what he gave.
8th March 2021
Inspiration: Recent contest where he gave prizes of poetry soup membership to many.
Might need to work on this a bit; tried to make a poem with words starting with M and S only.
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Ministers serenade motley misers
Mostly seeming sincere – maybe!
Morose morons, shaving slivers
Masters sharing money-see!
Messer’s mumble silly sentiment
Sold mainly, so morons see
Many misters make Miss Malcontent
Madder mostly, so say’s she!
Mercy, save me – seriously
Main-stake must mean - mooning me!
So Mr. Minister miserly
Muster means and sanity!
Serenade me, moron soon
Money maker – misconstrued
Surely master’s measly spoon
Means misery - so sweetly screwed!
She rises, she rises like the sun that knows no shame,
this woman-teacher-poet-mother-flame,
her soul vast as the sky that holds all storms
yet gentle as the dewdrop kissing the earth at dawn.
O Universe, behold your daughter who has learned
the sacred secret whispered by the wind,
that worth is not a treasure buried deep
but seed-song scattered wide like prayers across the hungry soil of sleeping hearts.
For thirty-five years, she has danced this divine dance,
her feet steady as mountains, swift as rivers,
Her hands, like mother birds preparing nests,
for 131,000 dreams to take their flight toward horizons bright with possibility.
They spoke their "no's" like thunder without rain,
but she said ‘oh’, she became the monsoon miracle,
teaching girls to read is like learning to breathe,
writing policies like love letters to generations yet unborn.
Her kitchen table glows like a temple altar
where the sacred and the daily merge,
stirring soup and stirring revolution
with the same blessed hands, like prayer and practice.
She rises, she rises, phenomenal woman,
her self-esteem flowing deep as Ganga's grace,
not hoarded like misers count their gold
but poured like oil upon the lamps of those who thought their light had died.
The eternal sings through her: I am not what I grasp
but what I give, not what I hold
but what I release like is, birds in the morning
to fill the sky with songs of freedom.
Like the underground river feeding the surface springs,
never asking why?
When I sank...the friend I had were blind leaders;
Among thorns and thistle and innocent robbers
I did spend and spread my gold without manners;
I was rotten and dying but was soaked in flatters.
Parasites and predators build mansions within me,
Arrows and shadows stings and threatens me:
All these terrors I could not see but could feel,
…I was lost in the mist and could not see.
As a sheep without shepherd I went astray,
Useless as the sewage; I was rotten, stinking and decay,
Hopeless and restless; hopeful in nonsense I was all day;
For in the factory of fear and failure I did serve without pay.
In seasons of sorrow there was none to comfort
Blind masters could only help increased my tears with cost,
All they could offer torn my pocket and emptied my pot,
Master of all misers was I when I was lost.
The days are gone but now are stories:
I was blind and blurred and used bad glasses,
I was weak and lame and used broken clutches
So I came to the cross and rolled in dust and ashes.
I surrendered my sins and sorrow;
Now, His saving grace and glory I know,
I’m free from the forceful, fiery foe,
I now enjoy God’s glory grace and glow.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and baby
Liz-Beth cried, crawled, and sat waiting for me.
My police neighbor trains a NARC doggy
Liz sees, does, and sits by her need…daddy.
‘Twas the night before Christmas with kitty
run up our tree limbs from NARC-BARK doggy.
Families oldest—not me—son Kenny
went out on a limb. Said, ”Come here Monkey.”
‘Twas the night before Christmas…Slippery
slides on floors and walls. Very neighborly
keeping feet on chairs and tables. Snotty
caught a cold it can’t shake—from son Franky.
‘Twas the night before Christmas…Alexy
is a skater. All seasons with Nosey
her bandit raccoon get very messy.
Alexy’s coon will be skating someday.
‘Twas the night before Christmas—misers turn
as a Fifth Avenue trunk is well-earn
for the unwrapped gifts are of no concern.
Emptied pool covers bike/motorbike--yearn.
Money
The most preferred content of a bulging envelope
For those with a project to develop!
A solicitation by the poor,
With sometimes bent knees on a floor.
Tempter of twenty – first century thieves
Hoping to receive the accolades of Chiefs;
Motivator of wildfire ambitions!
Rooms widening for intuitions!
A guarantor of treasured privileges,
Has had people plucked from stagnant villages;
Money is a capital concern to all bursars,
As much, the singular obsession of grabbing misers
To whom making it is pretty hard,
Once with little, turns its fierce guard!
Not itself an edible
But makes each one saleable.
The reward to tune-singing piper,
His beads of perspiration, best wiper;
The trusted charmer of a woman
To nearly all her man says “Amen”
Let me repeatedly unite my two hands
For the feat like feet on wet sands,
I can infect with euphoria my band
For the just seen, all-too-grand!
You yourself twang your lead guitar strings
Making their subject king of kings!
Applause, also a thumping of piano keys
That a chaos of praises frees;
An intoxicated crowd standing like trees,
Some minutes to Admiration lease.
A reward for breathless musical raps,
In wrestling commending some resounding slaps…
Applause for Misers donations
Echoes not across nations,
The one stirred by million dollars
Loudly heard Earth shakers:
The First, often sickly in Resonance
The second a Swaying Assonance…
On guarantee, an attack of one’s ear drum
By persons who hadn’t neared rum,
Merrily approving the superb
Or simply sympathizing with the drab.