Long Mortgages Poems
Long Mortgages Poems. Below are the most popular long Mortgages by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mortgages poems by poem length and keyword.
prism rays of an original author
report life's guidance treated as a synonymic opera
sequenced by acts of kindness and walking in blindness true to your kindness
shallow creeks awaiting the prodigal beaver now that the meat markets gone
inept gold diggers euthanized domestic pets
cremated with mortgages soaked with industry's liquid assets
thee who must eat and drink from be truly concerned
then a step to a place that constituted our justification to be
freedom's price has become infinite
we will be the cut our blade holds above the beast as spirit
when thought first spoke was a time no nursery rhyme
no warm cuddled and just the song of nature
to hush to sleep
and learn what we lost
and part avoid to be put back
back on a leash to be led to a cage of disbelief
accomplish from what words you choose to clothes
to put at ease any thought of control
in this court of silly societies bounds, collars restrains
our counsel truth to be our choice is drugged just like one class to another ones freedom
and another man's fortune
would wish this world back to horses wish the Nanete's, protons and atoms colliding with
industry and amuse alot of bored people
smartest men leave a lighter path for those who can't see, what was defined as man
now an amusement ride
shine your soul like a star, share it loud
secure in nature, we look to compare without essence toxically cornered by uneven walls
silently slipping into no form at all
and a mysterious start chi blind passion from the heart
engage your hate with a rage towards the machine
lift us to a place to dwell free
Sometime ago, I was fat in the land of Plenty.
I lived on the Savanna, and worshipped the ancestors.
Sometime ago, a horde of barbarians came to the Savanna,
They called me “Savage”. Yet I had no idea of what “Savage” meant.
So I asked the ancestors, “What is a savage?”
And the ancestors said to me, “It is what you will become if you do not fight the
horde with all of your might!”
But I did not listen. And I became greedy, and struck a deal with the horde.
I said, “I may be savage, but I will give you many savages, and you give me gold
coin”.
And the barbarians smiled.
Sometime ago, a horde of barbarians took my brothers and sisters to a new land.
And made them into “savages”.
And now they walk the streets of their own neighborhoods, seeing whom they
may devour.
And me, I did not receive gold coin from the barbarians.
Rather, I received a shanty and diamonds that I couldn’t touch, and oil that was
no longer mine.
Rather, I received prisons with salt water, when I spoke against apartheid.
And I am thin in the land of plenty.
Barbarians now hunt on my Savanna, and call me a poacher if I do the same.
Barbarians call my brothers and sisters to the west “street savages”.
Yet they watch people die inside from exclusion.
Yet they watch people die outside from frostbite.
Yet they watch people struggling to pay medical bills, and scream, “No Taxes!”
Yet they watch people struggling to pay mortgages and scream, “My hard earned
money won’t support those dag on shiftless savages!”
Even though some time ago, they sat inside while such savages made them an
empire.
Even though it is not just savages, but barbarians too, who can’t pay their
mortgages.
But me, I am thin in the land of plenty.
I am thin, and getting thinner.
But soon, soon, I will remember what the ancestors told me.
I will remember to fight with all of my might.
Not with spears or swords or guns, the way of old.
But with my mind!
With logic, with reason, and with the mighty power of the ancestors.
I will overthrow the way of the barbarians.
And I will be fat in the land of plenty.
The grass is not always greener on the other side
Just like everything- it will die.
It will wither and fade- nothing ever stays the same.
We must accept what we now have
And strive for something more
or make it an unfulfilled dream
That will crash against the shore.
We all have burdens that we must bare
So stick with family and friends who really care.
Keep a positive outlook on life
and everything will turn out right.
The rich and famous have their problems too
And like us, they don’t know what to do.
They get every thing that wealth can buy
Then strive like hell to survive.
Mortgages and homes that they can’t
Afford to keep.
Then sit in their brand name chairs
And begin to weep.
We exceed our incomes by the thousands
While they exceed theirs by the millions.
Who has more to lose? Which one would you choose?
So when they tell you the grass
is greener on the other side.
MAYBE JUST MAYBE-IT’S A LIE
Variations on a Punishing Theme
When people are hungry and at risk of homelessness
despair
chronic depression
and climatic extinction
Is it because their leaders
and community developers,
learning incubators
and technical assistance providers,
grantors and lenders,
representatives
and public sector service providers
absorb too many investments and nutrients
for their own mouths and mortgages?
sleeping soundly at night
unaware of how their Continuous Quality Improvement intentions
economically and ecologically miss their mark
of solidarity and mutual subsidiarity,
of recreating the comfort and nutrients
they intended to invest in those with greater need.
Perhaps the self-blaming unruliness of hungry homeless people
Is due to oversight interference of well-intended practitioners
expert administrators
senior consultants
expertly dominating fragile margins of poverty
feeding dissonant anger and fear
and mistrust.
Chronically at-risk species fear living death's dissonance
and entropic non-thrival trends,
Because we are anxious to survive,
to build life; not so much death and perpetual advent.
Wilting personal lives
have no bandwidth left
for righting macrosystemic death trends.
It is mutual-mentors who co-invest in cooperative thriving,
That incarnate wise evolution of deep ecologically balancing lives.
Self-composting toilets
have surprisingly greater nurturing value
to people without a pot to pee in
than community-composting banks
and governments.
It started last night, gently falling, large flakes.
I was back again almost instantly.
All the faces, my brothers, friends and neighbors.
Everyone is bundled, wearing half the clothes they own.
The speed and thrill going down the hill and
the long, cold trudge climbing back up again.
The warmth of the bonfire once you finally reach the top.
Jokes and heckling about the previous run,
then do it all over again, and again….
There are no worries here,
no democrats or republicans.
No one has children or mortgages,
and no one has been to war.
We pile onto large inner tubes from tractor tires,
the more the weight the faster the ride.
Piled high down “Suicide Hill” with reckless abandon,
headed for the frozen creek below.
The bodies of snow warriors are tossed aside,
we are the children of the cold dark night.
Our laughter and screams echoing as a song,
throughout the surrounding hills.
Classmates — Back in Time
by Kevin Davis 2024
Just the other day, I paused at dusk,
Sifting through a box marked “school.”
Inside lay yearbooks — creases worn,
Smiles frozen in time’s gentle pull.
Teachers and classmates, familiar as breath,
Once roamed those locker-lined halls —
Four fleeting years of chatter and change,
Echoes caught in cinder block walls.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Some leapt toward campuses lush and wide,
Chasing knowledge like a breeze —
Dorm-room debates and midnight oil,
Midterms rustling autumn leaves.
They became the dreams their parents spoke,
Diplomas framed in quiet pride,
Following maps of purpose and chance,
To futures they shaped and amplified.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Others stepped into workday rhythms,
Brimming with resolve —
Steel-toed boots or office chairs,
They let their talents evolve.
Paychecks turned into baby shoes,
Mortgages, and Friday night grills —
Love found early, steady and bright,
Blooming in everyday thrills.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Some answered a greater call to serve,
In boots, fatigues, and creed —
Letters sent from foreign lands,
Written in dust and dignity’s seed.
Whether drafted or drawn by honor’s flame,
They bore both pride and pain —
Many came home with deeper truths,
And stars stitched into their name.
So where did they all go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Then I closed that yearbook gently,
Its pages worn like a friend’s old coat,
And reached for voices I once knew,
Chasing echoes their hearts still wrote.
We met again beneath summer skies,
Where laughter healed the space between —
And found that though we’d wandered far,
The roots of us remained unseen.
Now we know where we went, where we live,
And what we do with our time —
Most seem happy and content,
And satisfied with how we use our mind.
I.
When Sullivan ‘Reno’ Richards rode into
the small, northern Utah town of Stillman,
he’d been unemployed going on three months
since he’d left his job as a hired gunhand.
He’d turned in his badge to the agency
when his brother Samuel had been killed,
and after settling things with his family,
he’d rode off to put to work his skills.
Reno would see that real justice was done,
he’d find the bastards who had done the deed,
and though his family looked down on it,
Reno was good at making bad folks bleed.
His father had disowned him for this fact,
Samuel had been his favorite child,
the man had expanded dad’ baking empire
way out west in the great desert wilds.
Dad had no respect for a ‘mere gun-hand,’
and wouldn't speak to Reno to this day,
but Samuel had not shared these beliefs,
and nothing ill of his brother did-say.
For that understanding, Reno now rode,
to the only hotel in this small town,
he’d sworn to his family that he would
put poor Samuel’s killers in the ground.
When settled in he went down to the bar,
ordered whiskey and took the sounds in,
listening for gossip that could be a clue,
when a young stumpet walked right up to him.
She said,”Hello, my name is Meredith,
and I can tell from the look of your eyes
that you must be one of Samuel’s kin,
you should know I was to be his wife.”
Reno looked at this woman in great surprise,
he had not heard Samuel planned to wed,
so he said to her,”I am his brother,
I came as soon as I heard he was dead.
“I’m here to take care of his affairs,
though I fear it might take me a while,
I understand he held the mortgages
of half the ranches within fifty miles.”
She smiled,”I’m glad somebody came out
to take care of the things left behind.
If you would like, I can take you out to
the grave where my poor Samuel lies.”
He nodded solemnly, and they walked to
a plot laying behind the town’s small church,
the dirt was still fresh, the stone not yet done,
there’d been no time to finish the work.
Reno asked then,”How did it happen?”
Meredith frowned, and then told hit the truth:
“Bandits bushwhacked him, in the back-country,
They took everything, even his shoes.”
Reno just nodded, took down his broad hat,
said,”I hope that the sherriff is on it.
My brother and I sometimes disagreed,
but he did nothing deserving of this…”
IN THE DARKNESS
That woman was me years and years ago,
when everything around me was darkness
embracing self-pity, trapped with nowhere to go.
I prayed and prayed to get out of the bleakness.
Days turned into months and I did not feel
any better, the more depressed I became.
Falling into the pit of self-pity made me immobile
and stripped me of hope and anger, rage came.
I asked You, why you did not hear my prayers
to get out of this mess, this depression, to get better
so I could get on with life and take care of my affairs.
Why, why have you given me so much to shoulder?
I never understood why I had to go through so many
hardships, struggles, losses when I never used
or took advantage of anybody and I knew many
people who did and they had it easy and no excuse.
I lost all my savings, all my hard earned money
for my tenants could not pay the rents and I had
to continue the mortgages and lost everything at sixty?
I have to start all over again, why Lord, why this bad?
12/22/20 A Rhyme Story-Poem With Eyes On Poetry
Mystic Rose Rose
Pulling and pushing and dancing up and down
Like monkeys no one is watching but the behaved crowd
Who paid to expect what they came to see and get their moneys worth
In a humble and normative way as the rest of their fellow neighbors
Would brag about what places to visit and crave
The onlookers are consumers who come out during the day
Only when time allows them away from their computer and
Obligations and time with their families off the clock
And race against time to outstretch the day’s moments into
Lasting memories they rush to create
And be in the moment somehow
At the same time they wish to obscure and automate
With their own helpless hands and hearts they give their all
Of all they have to give to what they’re allowed to predict
And in these moments they plan for themselves and everyone
Else that they love and care about enough to sit down
With and talk as if time stopped ticking
Oh wouldn’t it be a dream of us in a world
That kept no clocks, timecards or mortgages to bear.
Do you remember ever holding your deeds.? Paper
Links to real estate freehold' an epitome; one seed.'
Of human independance.? Be that what it may be? In
A bundle of actions' often tersely displayed dotted
Lines on draughtsmans paper-like a greaseproof affair'
Pages upon pages quite a bundle i declare.' Swirls of
Trees there depicted solid lines for the boundries. Dotted
For water or gas? Pastel shaded sections everything
That you had' shown by the inch and draughted with care
On your 'title in freehold' all was done for you there'
And then in the noughties.!! Everything changed? when
You recieved your entitlements (nothing was the same)
One sheet came out of a printer with no history there .?
No notes in 'the margins' cause they neither were as spare!
Just your name' and brief details, the sum of the sale this they'd made!
All so bland and impersonal' my thoughts were assailed.'
I complained to the lawyer..Who informed me they're real!
Yet i saw anyone could get a copy.' I did not like the feel; of this deal.!
I requested the familiar ones!! She said they are now gone.'
And no longer legal.? My thoughts were whats going on??
Its like the worth is devalued!! in a communist way??
Oh no I was informed all is..As it was! And all's still au' faire
Then there were cases a few years along of deeds being
Downloaded to take mortgages upon.? The freeholder
Not knowing' till the imposters default.' Then the baliffs
Came calling to posses' what was bought.? Causing
Heartache and trauma un-needed legal re course.' All this
Should be telling us whats occuring with legality whole'
I now see I've been robbed lied to and cheated in short
The real deeds..The were stole.) There must be many of
You out there with just such a case? The redress would
Be worth chasing.' Indeed to stop the erase' of a pillar
Of freedom that maybe even Russia has re-built? not to mention
Re imbursements make them pay to the hilt.' There may
Be those on the street' who fell foul of this all?? Their
Only fault being too trusting' in the failing city halls!