Best Pittance Poems
Sigh you wind whispering willows
Green sentinels of the ocean blue
Her feet edge no more the billows
Where canoes dock and salt sprays spew
Sigh for the loss of responsiblity
Sigh for the death of sensibility
See you not these cold, worn stones
That in their stoic composure stay
And water laps sand muted of groans
Though a mutual tenant passed away
O willows weep, for the sun is set
On my heart made barren by regret.
She lived here without pretense or grief
Scrubbing floors, clothes, pots, and pans
For pittance spent as dust in a sieve
She earned her status with her hands
And knew all the fishermen by name
Who sold her the small ones when she came.
By light of night she fed her family food
And by the faith of her soul she stood
Against fear or doubt, grace was the mood
Tears was from the smoke of cooking wood
Weep then for the lady gone in silence
And stir the stones to standard sentience
Categories:
pittance, death
Form:
Verse
Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
you plunder through life taking no prisoners,
with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your
circumstance; narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any
tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free -
a lover of women among inept men,
but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with
runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.
So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting shame,
littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,
I am free.
Categories:
pittance, loss, passion, political, romance,
Form:
Blank verse
Black Powder Dreams
Vast o’ the seas carry forth desperations
Lives cast aside in the faces of war
Rotted wood planks, salted skin aspirations
Wind tattered sails bound of endless explore
Black powder dreams aft the end quarter season
Cannons at wait, closer still to the bow
Manned by the weak, none in need of a reason
Chilled to the bone, never wondering how
Darkened the depths beckon angry waves crashing
Bound to the rail by a pitch and a shove
Visions of loves and the homeland a’ flashing
Prayers slowly drowned before floating above
Scar rippled flesh, leathered treachery flailing
Shrieks in the night causing laughter below
Tethered by fear o’er the desolate wailing
Shadows await harbors safe to bestow
Compass point dangers adrift in the distance
Forced to push on to the end of the fall
Death shrouds belief in a fractured resistance
Down on their knees longing nothing at all
Endless the journey for pittance bled wages
Deaf to the thoughts found alone in the screams
Forever lost in the unopened pages
At the expense of their black powder dreams
11/7/18
Written for the: Black Powder Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Categories:
pittance, fear,
Form:
Rhyme
THE GREATEST TREASURE
All the world’s diamonds, silver, and gold,
All the world’s antiques, polished and old,
All the vast treasures of empires now past,
All these together at Jesus were cast.
He took one look at the pittance there placed,
Said, “That’s not enough man’s sin to erase.
You cannot buy even one soul with them,
I’ll give my blood on the cross for all men.
I’ll shed on the cross just all they will need
To from sin’s shackles forever be freed.”
Lying, adultery, stealing, and crime,
Violent treatment of all of mankind,
Drug abuse, drunkenness, passion, and lust,
Rebellion from anything moral or just,
Perversion of sex in an act not intended,
Minds so corrupted and lives that were bended—
These were the treasures He wanted that day,
Not gold or silver or all that array.
They were the souls of mankind bent for hell,
He wanted every one in sin now had fell.
Yes, one soul has value beyond all we know;
It caused the Savior to Calvary go.
Now His great victory o’er all of my sin
Becomes MY great value when I let Him in!
Why, then, does waste from my past not let go?
Why does the damage it did bother so?
It’s only because I allow it to be,
I must trust in Jesus to from it be free.
He paid all the debt I could never repay—
Lord, please place this great treasure in my life each day.
Categories:
pittance, christian, forgiveness, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
The mining villages of Wales
are steeped in history and tales
of sons and fathers, duty-bound
who earned a pittance underground.
For generations miners toiled
with picks and shovels, faces soiled.
Their throats parched dry and fingers raw,
black gold the aim, etched scars the score.
And mountains whisper tales of men
who failed to re-emerge again.
Or nevermore could breathe with ease;
Sad victims of black lung disease.
In valleys shaped by pride and grit
within the black and hostile pit,
black powder prowled and took its prey
but brotherhood did not give way.
11/11/18
'Black powder poetry contest' : Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Your Choice (3), sponsored by Brian Strand
Categories:
pittance, courage, work,
Form:
Rhyme
Murmuration of starlings high. I’m high!
Low stars twinkling with wings. The trumpet’s call!
As winds of war, incline, in warm wind sigh,
the flock, a shock, sans enemies appall.
These friends do fascinate, heard like bombers,
like Japanese over unsuspecting
Pearl Harbor fight ~ these darling bird-balmers.
The nudge of melodic buzz, quite affecting.
Not of national consequence, abuzz
not with politicking but peace of soul -
remains of war pittance, the scrawling-t’was.
My awesome sight, this di’mond-bling of coal.
Mere humans offer crumbs ~ my heart flaps wings.
With murmurs high and low, communion springs.
Categories:
pittance, bird,
Form:
Sonnet
Hand Puppets
Hard, calloused and dirty, it pleaded with me.
It had no eyes, no face, no soul. Or so I thought,
or didn’t. Yellowed fingernails, dirt covered and
trembling faced upward as would a beggar’s
face. A sound, perhaps its voice, startled me. I
heard nothing but the plea from the open, soiled,
begging hand. It seemed to say: “please, sir, please,
I was once like you, one of you. I worked, as you can
tell by the sinewy strength now buried in despair’s dirt.
I touched – the cheeks of loved ones. I held – an infant,
a child, my child, and somehow lost my grip on all.
I have felt tears, my own tears, running through clenched
fingers yet not knowing whose tears they were or for whom
they were shed. I know cold, bone chilling, painful cold
and stiffness borne of pain, yet cannot, or will not,
reach for help and so I beg. Namelessly, facelessly,
but not shamelessly. For if I had eyes, I could not look
you in the face, nor could I smile or frown, or say thank you.
I am but a proffered hand in need, not of help but of
sustenance, not of kindness but of indifference, not of
awakening but of oblivion.”
I listened to the hand, looked not upon the face, and placed
a pittance against the enormity of the lifelines torment
and walked away. I looked at my hands and wondered
what story they told to those who took the time to look
at them, to listen to them. I covered my face with them,
and I too felt tears running through clenched fingers,
not knowing whose tears they were
or for whom they were shed.
John G. Lawless
2013
submitted to – Your best free verse poem –
sponsor – SKAT A
Categories:
pittance, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
I came looking for solace
But you only gave me pain
I came looking for sunshine
But you only offered rain
I came looking for safety
By my soul you then abused
I came looking for a touch
But you left me feeling used
I came looking for wealth
But you gave me a pittance
I came looking for passion
But you gave me impotence
I come looking for a song
But you sang me a lament
I came looking for repose
But you only gave dissent
I came looking for a feast
But you offered me a crumb
I came for tender embrace
But you left me feeling numb
I came looking for love
But you showed me your disdain
When you come looking for grace
I will only give you pain.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
pittance, satire,
Form:
Quatrain
Of first embrace and broken glass
I cherish that first spark
New light upon our forest' dark.
Do you recall that northern wind?
It came at first so swift
Perhaps our growing light enraged
Poor Hopelessness', her whims denied
Inspired shadows from retreat
Those having once left us in our light.
"There's hope for you!” her battle cries
“Forwards; towards the glowing night
Attack! The lion will not bite
I promise he will turn blind eyes
Go back! I will cover your eyes!”
“Follow storms winds descent
True path through forests dense
Enter hence.
Rip, tear, rent!
From low to high
Head to toes
Even to above
Where dark forest glows
Churn even these shades
Whites and grays
Yellows arrayed,
Where once were dulled
"My children do not stop there!"
She would say,
"You must inscribe them full
Lest unseen hopes, occupy as slivers
As pretending tones, they have been known to hide
Shimmers upon the edge of shades
We must leave them emptied, lost whims, denied
Their ways left as waste to ruins
Despairs do not relent with dooms
Leaving chance to sparks in time
Per chancing kindles from hearts that loom.”
“Descend, my raging opaque!
The dense itself engrave
Teach young love old lessons
That she may now know at such young age
The heart of this forest lessened.”
“Now go' my shadowed tails delight
Slice sharp paths without care
Cause those within their ears too bear
The roaring of fresh leaves…
Torn from their rightful place
Before the given time”
“Dying screams let them endure
Let them feel your shadows
….Purge!”
The cold so swift
We were so sure This was spring
........residues
Your body’s naked form, lovely
Dropping, encircling our flame
Dying breath
Woman’s instinct
Nurturing
Disregarding winds intent
Then came the rains' extinguishing
Saving coals
Your hands were warm
My feet were cold
I shiver at this memory.
…Rains cold intensity
The downpour overcoming
Me
I'm sorry I could not see
My circle enclosed circles now
Circling
I knew the dark complete
As our smoke heavenward arose
To late this pittance; ash offerings
Ashes on the ground
Then came the rivers rage
Cutting its path through the heart
Forever too leave
Forever leaving its mark
Upon our forest dark
Meandering on; its choosing path
And I with it beside; belonged
For a chosen time
My love again I say
For a chosen time
Do you understand?
I chose the time of days
My shame
Categories:
pittance, devotion, life, love, passion,
Form:
Free verse
It happened back in time, quite a long way,
Back in the day, as they today like to say:
An era when most donations to yeshivas** **Rabbinical academies, often
Didn't require much of a man's pay-- with a preparatory high school
$18, $36, $54 at the most--
If you gave $100, you could really boast...
Annual banquets were different, however,
Promotions for them being quite clever,
Promising 'Full-Page Ads,' 'Silver-Page' and even 'Gold,"
All for a relative pittance, truth be told:
For a $180, $250 or $360 fee
Your good name would be trumpeted constantly,
With great pomp, dignity and high pedigree.
As 'a mere teacher in a yeshiva,' my own ads
Were quite modest: $50 for a quarter-page,
To pen something brief, but sage
About the yeshiva I toiled for out of love, not a wage.
So one year, quite way back in the day,
Imagine my surprise, my happiness, my elation,
Then my CONCERN and my SHOCK!...
...When browsing the banquet adbook journal ad hoc,
Just to see if anyone had penned a kind word about me,
I came upon THREE ADS, "Thanking Mr. Wolf," all paid for in Gold,
For over a thousand dollars! they had been ANONYMOUSLY sold.
The blood drained from my face; I felt faint and quite dizzy.
The room swam in circles, my nerves on edge, in a tizzy.
I looked around in amazement; who might have done it?
I spotted the adbook's creater, the man who had run it.
"Far be it from me to reveal the secret," he intoned.
'I don't deserve such a great honor,' I felt in my bones.
In the days to come, I asked everyone in town,
Yet no one would admit that he had plunked down
$1,080 to sing my praises to the world of the yeshiva,
To pay tribute to me like some big star or great diva.
So I had to give up my crusade as 'Super-Sleuth,'
Had to graciously acknowledge what seemed to be the truth,
That the anonymous parents of one of my students
Had been sincerely thankful that I was teaching their youth.
Categories:
pittance, appreciation, education, how i
Form:
Narrative
Alone, alone, all, all alone
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Rime and Reason I Shall Not
Rime and reason I shall not wonder about,
but the wonders of the sea and its wandering.
I zip in quickly, unzip these Coleridge lines.
I’m all alone as I wander and wonder about.
How pitiable we are as we seek pity,
a pittance of our inside-outs, our doubts.
A whirlwind of living dances about,
in one’s unparalleled walkabout.
All alone in the fog - how does no one else
fathom-see the endless waves of gravity.
Like a lasso-chain about one’s ankles,
heart, lips, mind, emotions; the mourner’s trip.
After, all the battles of cancer are history,
I’m hanging onto Queequeg’s coffin,*
that ebbs in things gone by and flows
with tears that steer my little lost ship,
Rime and reason shared, a lot, and rocks
the boat. Inevitability of solitude in one’s thoughts.
Your hand grips the phone to reach out
but ultimately you phantom-float, and drift.
Sam says “never a saint took pity on…”
The answers are not found. You have to beat
the imagery to death. You end up back in the room
more than the hospice worker, where walls are bright.
The waves close in. Its eyes blank stare
and circle about. You find the smallest details
and ruminate as family fill in the blanks.
You pick each herring up, as if their death’s your fault.
Others take credit for what you know you did
and you question and doubt what you perceive.
All alone on the mourner’s island. It’s not pretty.
But you’ve joined the club, your only solace.
When you’ve picked the scene to death,
like a bird eats his prey, you leave it all,
all alone. The memories are stored away.
Those memories, real or imagined.
Categories:
pittance, death,
Form:
Free verse
I move along my path in cosmic silence,
a boulder to those shiny stones,
the stars I keep in sight.
The many times I curve around
the radiating fountain of my force
seems everlasting.
The space I travel through
is vast, and yet. . . .
to the eye of my Creator,
this voyage I make is but a jaunt.
His wait for me to cease
will have been a pittance of a pause.
I believe this has lost twice. Trying for third time a charm. hahaha
Categories:
pittance, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Bits 'n Pieces of my soul
to be downloaded by the Marketplace
(or souled for a pittance at your request)
Doth thou find me Likeable?
God Bless my Fakebook Self!
All the shiny bots N pieces I've manicured just for you?
Why, they're just a miniscule reflection
An endless mirror,
scattered pixellated gems--
An electronic finger pointing back at Me.
The manicured, curated Me I've
divvied up for you to see, Yes--
but Nonetheless, you didn't protest;
Or did Thou?
Categories:
pittance, conflict, irony, perspective, satire,
Form:
Free verse
Upon the horizon darkness loomed
mocking the shadows in my heart
Love was doomed, dismally abused
Emotions bleeding out
Have I succumbed to malaise and died
If there's a faint pulse
I have no notion
of a vortex if one is whirling
There's a windstorm's fury howling
somewhere in the distance,
an angry thunder is roaring back,
mimicking the zephyr's bullied shout
revealing the deviant taunt
lying deep within his black soul
A safe haven have I found
since I've been swept away
into a sanctuary he cannot enter
Emptiness is but a pittance to pay
for a portal into the eye of a storm
Lightning flashes outside my sheltered nook
striking as quickly as words pummeled me
Emotional scars from verbal blows
left me numb, drained, void of feeling
Twisters are not appeased or reconciled
by anyone for the devastation they cause
They refuse to say penance
Slowly, the tempest soothed. Quiet its bellow
Was I to be left naked to eyes that pry
And what of the coward, the spineless fellow
who ridiculed my love with a smirk
Turbulent gusts calmed, ceased blowing
I was fetal tucked on sodden ground
Loneliness reigned in solitude,
tears overflowing beneath closed lids
I was saved by the eye of the storm
but he was never found
I found that profound justice
Heavy had been the albatross of emptiness
that had long strewn itself around me
I suppose he lay somewhere among the debris
Wounds healed from the storm's cleansing
I no longer cower for I have been set free
Clear skies as I rise
Categories:
pittance, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
If I had been a governess, I would have been paid.
Maybe a pittance, maybe a penny, maybe in francs or yen.
Who knows?
If I had been a race car driver, I would have been revered
By my pit crew, I would have made them laugh as I left
The others in the dust, as I lapped around, refusing to
Wear my helmet. Varoom! Varoom!
If I had been a princess, I would have been bored, talking
Politely, wearing gloves to tea, learning dreary protocols,
My life not my own, a slave really.
Let me out of here!
But if I had been a pirate, I would have been daring and
Dashing. My crew would have adored me. They would have
Been terrified of my terribleness. I missed my chance.
Dang it!
Categories:
pittance, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse