Best Parsimony Poems
My best friend just had
her wedding ceremony
She's as hap-hap-happy
as a new bride can be
What's her groom's name, you say
Why, it's John P. Marconi
We suspect she doesn't know
the 'P's for Parsimony
A Modest Proposal
By Roy Merritt
Doctor Swift wrote it anonymously
His delicate modest proposal
His idea to save the poor Irish
Was to make their children disposal
He was lampooning Petty and Bacon
Quite popular upon that year
Their notions of how society be taken
And socially engineered
He wrote of the poor Irish
How they going to waste
And how a child of just one year
Might appeal to one’s taste
They could be roasted, stewed,
Or boiled long in a pot you see
To be sliced into ragout
And made delicious as fricassee
So let no man talk of expedients
Of taxes on landlords absentee
Let no man talk of new taxes
Or leveling them at me
No clothing do they need
Or furniture to sit astride
Not one penny for luxury
Or vain human pride
It would cure much idleness
Keep women safe and pure
Parsimony and patriotism
The only way to endure
Prudence and temperance
And love of one’s native sand
Was how they should differ
From the Laps in Lapland
And thus the small children
Could prove a fine subject
Not be bemoaned as a burden
But a benefit to the public
You might would put on weight
If the child is particularly sweet
And I don’t doubt be easy to chew
So tender would be their meat
I don’t doubt either as times
get worse in this nation
That some bloody right wing fool
Bring Swift into the conversation
Instead of depending on food stamps
When little food you got
Just reach over into that crib
And throw the kid into the pot
Just reach over into that crib
And throw your kid into the pot
One dollar and eighty-seven cents, that was all
And sixty cents of it was in pennies
Pennies saved one and two at a time
By bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher
Until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony
One dollar and eighty- seven cents
And the next day would be Christmas
Christmas would be different
From the previous years
My dear baby Suzy would not get that new toy
That baby doll she thought looked so much like herself
My boy Tommy would not get the new train set
That we would set up around the Christmas tree
That the cat would try to catch with his paw
My lovely Julia would not get that diamond ring
She's been hoping for
The best I can do this Christmas
Is prepare a feast of bread and soup
With my one dollar and eighty-seven cents
I strongly believe that the wheels of fate
Are not controlled by some empty chance,
For if they were, I would not have found
Your life-turning love and gripping romance.
I believe there’s some unseen benign hand
That spins the direction and the strides of men
Toward the compass of their ultimate joy;
And that arm led me to your sweet poetic pen.
Your syrupy kiss is not the work of mere luck,
It is the considerate ordination of the divine arm
That comforts lonely hearts and sullen spirits
And waters the arid hearts with caring calm.
But then there is another opposing hand
That tosses whatever Providence has wrought;
The evil hand of hate and greed and parsimony,
One that smothers love in the face of drought.
the tattoo on her eyebrow frowned
at the sight of yesteryear’s cutlass
the well-rounded blade had become
blunt dull and worn down from overuse
and yet straight to the point of salvation
the pain cut unceremoniously deep
like a double-edged sword that
protracted the kill in anticipation
of slicing from a lacerated mind
saw teeth serenaded an ode to demise
one more incision and the blood flow
would take her across the river of tears
lacerated dreams punctured and carved into
her epitaph a forgone pleasant conclusion
the point of no return loomed un-capriciously
her wounds had festered in purulent beauty
and she appealed to her inner resolve
why prolong the inevitable release
and she was calm with no tremor
as she faced the extinction of terror
her glance fell upon the scalpel
next to the toothbrush and lather
and the mirror liked what it saw
cracked glass a few shards missing
a borrowed fantasy and reflection
of a bloody life unwanted as she
pondered upon what message
to inscribe on her tombstone
the shower curtain ready for a last splash
cheered her on ‘don’t you worry’
‘I’m easy to clean the mess will abide’
grout bleach and tiles lured a whitewash
and the toilet brush smiled in applause
cacophonous bristles caked in foul smell
took her closer to the crappy memories
which had darkened a life not worthy
of living and she let out a flatulent moan
ultimate and terminal the fizz pounced
and she gripped the rapier with
surgical precision and intricate joy
then Occam’s razor pleaded for parsimony
and she went back to self-laceration
prolonged suicide suited agony’s hurt
much better than a knife in her heart
17th May 2021
Knife’s Edge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Carlos Bousono’s poem : Recordando a pastora imperio
for Damaso Alonso
(Poem published in the collection : Metaphora del desafuero, 1988, and dedicated
to Damaso Alonso, who exerted on Carlos Bousono an avowed influence and
patronage, concludes my own present tribute to the Maître. I confess I had not
read Bousono’s poems – I may have glanced at a couple of poems when I first
bought the Espasa-Calpe anthology some years ago – before I began translating
them on October 16, 2013.)
I have always thought that in the state of sudden immobility
of the immemorial dancer of flamenco the entire dance
is concentrated of a sudden in this posture
of an instant,
under the weight of centuries,
all of its foregoing agitation,
in such a way as in its absolute fixation is to be found
its passing and its minute ad mysterious simulation :
the flight of sea gulls over the sea, their avid and sudden swoop
onto the prey,
and she herself, the flamenco dancer herself, becomes in that instant,
like the form most refined and pure
of such an incomprehensible paradox : velocity and paralisation,
becoming more dense in the procès
between Aquiles and parsimony,
or the tortoise and despair…
No, there is no différence,
because to differentiate hère is to make a descent,
while here there is but an ascent.
And has the flamenco dancer understood suddenly
that to make a move
is an intolerable imperfection
for whoever aspires to the most arduous achievement,
to the supreme compromise with the fire in the beyond
and the surprise, sacred and full of rejoicing between
the fresh flames,
a compromise, then,
with the truth of the highest form of living,
and so the dancer of flamenco
remained for this reason without moving
in a difficult equilibrium
to see if that position, without touching it,
in not moving any of the pièces,
without turning a page, without causing the hinges to friction,
could by chance last, keep enduring there,
on the razor’s edge,
maintain itself on the head of a pin’s unlikely verticality,
balance itself on tip-toes, without breathing, each instant
succeeding the other,
on the verge of the abysm itself,
earth and boulders coming loose,
and one after another in succession, and in succession…
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
The overhasty mind gets cluttered
often losing concentration,
not doing chores or things
rationally, but overloading
itself with unneccesary thinking;
it happens to me sometime,
leaving the car key inside the ignation!
Imagine my grumpy mood...
I get very skittish and to get that out,
it'll take a sleight of hand!
Once I made a delicious
barbacue chicken,
and left it on the grill
on low heat, because I liked it
well-done; I went back
and my yummy bird was gone...
the hungry sky-larks
snatched it away,
ate everything, but left
the bloody bones!
Absent-minded guy,
how can you slacken
on attending the most important things?
Sometimes you slip and shuffling
there's a chance you'll lose control...
that's when trouble comes in!
When was the last time
you scrambled off a ladder,
and landed into the coldest water of a pool?
All the kids watching...surely thought it was cool!
Another way of saving lots of money
is not excessive frugality,
absent-minded guy!
Get rid of the parsimony
and allow yourself to spend it wisely,
not forgetting to check the balance
in your checkbook...before going
on a shopping-spree!
Absent-minded guy,
be attentive and be aware of forgetfulness!
Somewhere decorum, somewhere pandemonium
Somewhere parsimony, somewhere bleeding heart
Somewhere love, somewhere hatred
Somewhere revenge, somewhere forgiveness
Somewhere bondage, somewhere liberty
Somewhere eccentricity, somewhere selflessness
Somewhere egoism, somewhere humility
Somewhere complexities, somewhere simplicity
Which ones to permit the soul?
To acclimatise and dominate
Life keeps changing every spur
Discrepancies are inevitable
To be water or a rock?
Will it attain a pool of boundless solitude?
and Par-Policy: Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse
It Was Due To Prior-Parent’s Vain-Disobey,
so They Diminished, That-Dare-Day…
The Delectable…
and Passed Up The Palatable –
Main… Held-Accountable
Course (so not hard !)
But They Failed to Avoid:
The Ditch, The Decline, The Devoid
They Deformed; Distorted…
and Perished, at Path of Disdain- Deported!
Prithee, Who Wants to See… A Dashed-to-Pieces Pottery?
Not even-Periphery-me!... It’s No Longer Picture-Pretty
Despite Protocol-Deficiency… ‘til I get a Decent Setting Plate
On Broken Dresden- my Pheasant-Dinner Won’t be Ate
And Now… Disorder of The Day…
is Devious, and Double-Dismay
… Disgrace, Depression…
and A Putrid-Depraved-Puke-Stain-Progression
Plunged into Disease and Death;
Some Plummet and Pose-Deranged-Stealth
Percolating Panic…
and Picking Up Pride-Plagues- Still-Pandemic
from-Cain’s Prozac-Paddock … Pathetic !
Though, All Are Not Dissidents-Decayed…
Deteriorated … or Dastardly-Dross-Sprayed
Applaud- When Prodigal-Lost is Found,
and Those ‘Punching-Back-At-Pangs-Bane’ Pound!
By Adhering to The Dedicated-Drive,
of The Deft-Guardian-Defender’s Eyes
Who Points Where Our Polished-Pebbles’ Sling,
Put-Practice-Ping-Ping-Aim (ing)
Dove(ing) Over to Dangle The Desist…
or Meet Thy Downfall Pretenders-Risk…
For We Pummel Problems…
and Dent and Pelt Puzzle-Plight-Chains (Pop ‘em!)
Definitive Deeds, Decorous…
Meant to Disable Dynamite Pipes-Porous
To Prevent Our Pulverized-Maim
and Proffer: A Predicament-Slain
Our Pilgrimages In Pursuit of Paragon-Virtue…
Must Make Distribution or Divesture:
the Property… of Pomposity
Pageantry… Profits and Desperate-Popularity
and don – Parsimony, and Penury,
Pariah, Pest-Control and Peculiarity
yet Pleasurably, we have heirloom-Pendants and Pence-a-Few …
and Pearl-Gates and Doubloons and Dew Drops Too
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …
When I look about and gaze,
And see the stars blaze,
I look about and see,
It runs faster than the bees,
What is it?
Oh! What is it?
That never turns and waits
For us at any rate.
Yes it is our valuable time.
Waiting for no one in life.
Time passes fast
But memories always last.
Time brings happiness and sadness
Success and failure
Love and hatred
Friendship and enmity
Parsimony and magnanimity
Let time take its own TIME
To reap the fruits of labour
Nothing flowers a spur earlier or later
But just at the appointed hour
Death too arrives at its own appointed moment
And will not spare anyone or anything bother.
Thus wasted time can never come back
And time and tide waits for none in fact.
Two hearts unite in holy matrimony
Pledge their troth in sanctimony
Yet in a year or two, up springs acrimony
The likely cause, ungentle parsimony
All that money spent on pomp and ceremony
~ Was better saved for alimony
Close up, on the smooth couth
meretricious pod, vibrantly
violating my optics violently,
even through the microscope.
Its swarthy stare is maliciously
resplendent and evoked from
parsimony.
Nature's beauty is suicidal.
pulchritude through lens,
but a spike to the neck.
Even in risk, identified ignorance is ignored.
veracity is a voodoo doll,
if you toss it out it re-emerges like
a comet
relentlessly.
the microscope aggrandize on its perilous magnificent shock.
like an arboreal boat it is shielded but
pops in agitation, adjudicating what
personality to adorn.
It feels like a placid charade,
for toxicity comes with respect
and beliefs, adherence.
just like a horse belch loyalty
and a den of destruction
her seeds swell calmly in hot dosage bean.
opulently lethal.
I see her dancing high on the bed of pleasure
through the microscope, with feets enveloped in predicament and her lips covered in crimson ichor.
A queen, so clean, a routine as green.
Words are phantom neckties
in and out of style they go
From parsimony to paisley
ignominious to indigo
From wide to narrow
sissified to antihero
Here today, gone tomorrow
their return, beg or borrow
To Phillies fans, there is great news as of late.
This season, J. T. Realmuto will be back behind the plate.
Many consider him the best catcher in baseball.
For both hitting and fielding, this man can do it all.
Of course, his new contract called for more money.
You have to pay some more if you want quality.
In professional sports, there is little room for parsimony.
from www.mlb.com/phillies
Omnifarious cancers
Appear to elutriate the air
To the sharp turning leaves of parsimony
as fallacious acts brand us
and the flourishing hunger
betwixt our passionate fidelities
with loveless hues of death