Long One hundred Poems
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Waiting in line,
Before the ATM of closed banks for 60 Euros to withdraw under the scourging sun
Old and invalid people are submitted to this daily torture, constantly moaning, for Our country’s suffering and for our own devastation,
While twenty-seven percent the unemployment has climbed
Forty percent the salaries and pensions went down and twenty percent the taxes up
Rendering hundreds of thousands of families poor with no money to feed themselves And their children
When
Close to one hundred thousand of our countrymen have attempted suicide of whom Ten thousand, unfortunately, have succeeded in ending their lives only in five years Because of the ruinous austerity measures taken to pay Greece's lenders
Parthenon, is mourning Democracy's assassination in the place of its birth
By the mighty creditors that suck the blood out of our veins
The Greek government in agony has turn to our allies for help to restore our Economy and thus to prevent the catastrophe that is approaching,
But the creditors, most of them anyway, with Germany leading the way,
To obliterate Greece wish with their unbearable and inhuman terms they have set
As though were our enemies and not our partners, because
Humanity has been lost in their hearts and only for them the profit counts
And I, one of the suffering Greeks, that shares the same lot as any,
In anxiety, a few words try to arrange for the tragedy of Greece to illustrate as a New Euripides or Sophocles but to no avail,
So I am waiting in line under the scourging sun, hoping my turn to come,
The sixty Euros, if am lucky, to get into my hands before the AMT is empty!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
15 JULY 2015
The neighbors gazed at the sky with the nighttime stars.
There is plenty to see while they’re living on Mars.
Since the planet is dry with a thin atmosphere,
so much can be seen because the sky is so clear.
The colony has been peaceful and serene here.
However, concerns about earth clutched them in fear.
The colonists viewed as they sat on their front porch,
their home earth shining brightly like a blue-green torch.
From one hundred million kilometers away,
nations have begun to fight each other today.
One night, they were watching as the earth burned with red.
An atomic war began with millions feared dead.
The blinking light Morse code box relayed a message.
It described a global war with massive carnage.
“Detonations obliterate Australia.
Explosions decimate Cape Town, South Africa.
London, Paris, and Los Angeles are all gone.”
This made all speculate of what was going on.
“Are my parents, brothers, and sisters still alive?
From what happened, will civilization survive?
I have not written to my brother as of late
because there’s a five dollar first class postage rate.”
The new circumstances perpetuated fright.
The luggage store in town stayed open late that night.
The decision to leave was made amongst themselves.
By the dawn, the luggage disappeared from the shelves.
Based on "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury
sitting outside in my pajamas
a beautiful breezy May morning
dandelion, clover and violets at my feet
my puppy is splashing in his pool, making it muddy
King dog lies in the shade under a hemlock tree
fluffy white dandelion fuzz barely moves
I hear a small plane engine
not one bit of traffic here
birds are chirping and tweeting
diverse colors of green between trees and bushes
interstate noises are far off in the distance
someone shuts a door up the road
motorcycle engine
a lone car drives past
dogs used to chase the fence when this happened, not today
baby dog is digging a hole to put his face in
King dog sits on my foot, all one hundred and twenty-six pounds of him
perfect morning
You've heard it before that love is the answer.
What of those who are incapable of being loved and giving love?
The loveless sniffing the throat of society
Predators in the mist spreading their stench.
Lifting their leg on societal dreams.
Opportunists waiting for an opening.
Of which rose colored courts are providing.
With four-leaf clover revolving doors.
Gambling on our dime-with our lives.
Spinning vermin back into our throats
killing our songs time after time.
One hundred and three prior arrests for this latest pest.
Not the poster child for "prison reform, that they were hoping for...
One hundred and three prior arrests.
Including assault and sexual predation.
His latest game,
He nonchalantly punched a ninety-two-year-old white lady.
Knocking her to the street...
You say love is the answer-I say not in all cases.
Rabid slugs belong to none but the grave.
One hundred and three prior arrests. And counting.
a true story
As one gets older
One often looks back
At all the things you did
In your life.
The good, the bad, and the ugly
And we all have those moments
Because we are human.
And some things you desired
But never pursued.
For me, it was a dream
Of becoming a famous writer
While I can write poems
And short stories,
My greatest desire
Was to write
The Great American Novel.
And sadly it will remain
An unfulfilled desire
As I don’t have the patience or energy .
To edit my six rough draft novels
Turning them into something publishable
And they may die when I die.
And I am in good company.
The rule of ten rule applies
Of one hundred people
Who want to write a novel
Less than ten percent finish it
Of those less than ten percent publish it
Of those less than ten percent make any money
Of those less than ten percent make a living
At writing their novels.
In the dire moments of constant fear,
anyone can sense danger from all sides...
wondering if this is our final chapter,
or the continuation of more absurd lies!
I sold my gold to pay off some hefty bills:
a bracelet and a chain I wore at gala parties;
I agreed to a lesser price and feel at peace...
kicking off many worries to the lowest degree!
I asked the bearded guy behind the glass window,
how much they were worth trying to make a deal;
he looked at me and with a raspy voice not so genteel,
" To be honest they aren't worth much, poor fellow! "
He handed me one hundred dollars
enough to survive a few miserable days;
I walked away unhappily, I was ripped off...
yesterday it felt good being an admired toff!
I sold my gold feeling deprived of excessive pride,
it served a purpose but it left much emptiness inside;
greed is not the rule we must live by: gold is a wealth
well-earned, but it can't save us from destined death!
written twelve years ago
when yours truly about two score
and twelve years old,
and fishy financial fiasco
about twenty six weeks
before being scalloped
courtesy villainous fraudster
otherwise known as scam artists,
blithely, glibly, and pliantly
fleeced with shear trickery
my coveted nest egg.
TO: TWO PRECIOUS HARRIS LASSES
WHO LIVE ON GREENTREE LANE
THIS FAST APPROACHING CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY
AS WILL READILY BECAME PLAIN
RECEIVED A SPARTAN GOVERNMENT LARGESSE
WHICH AFFORDS PRESENT
ONLY ONE BOX OF COAL APIECE
DISAPPOINTMENT THIS PA
HUMBUG HO HUM FELLOW
WILL TRY TO EXPLAIN.
OUTRAGEOUS COSTS
TO CLOTHE ELVES
WHAT WITH DESIGNER CLOTHES
AND THE LATEST TECHNOLOGICAL GIZMO
NEARLY BROKE THE PIGGY BANK
IN ADDITION TO FEED THE REINDEER
COMPOSED OF BUCKS AND DOES
THIS I TELL YOU
TO BE EARNEST AND FRANK
WHICH GRUELING BUSINESS
NEARLY FOUND LITTLE ASS(ETS) FROZE
THIS GOVERNMENT ACTION
NO HALLOWEEN PRANK
NEARLY FOUND ME BEHIND BARS
ADDING TO UNFORTUNATE WOES.
SMALL TOKENS ACQUIRED
BY THE ABILITY TO SCRIMP AND SAVE
A PITTANCE COMPARED
TO LAST YULETIDE
YET NO INTENT TO BE MEAN SPIRITED
NOR RANT OR RAVE
FOR BOUNDLESS LOVE SPILLS FORTH
FROM SENSITIVE PRIDE
NO MATTER SOME
PERCEIVE ME UNSAINTLY
PURSE NICKETY KNAVE
RANK AS A WORSE CREATION
THAN FRANKENSTEIN’S BRIDE.
TRY TO REMEMBER
TIS THE THOUGHT
FROM WITHIN TO GIVE EACH
AND EXTEND THE SPIRIT
OF GOOD CHEER
THAT COUNTS MORE
THAN SPEND LAVISHLY
AND TO REALLY TEACH
SO CHERISH EACH
AND EVERY MOMENT
WITH PASSION TO SPARE.
NOW ONWARD AND UPWARD HO
WITH THE SOUND OF SLEIGH BELLS
BACK TO THE NORTH POLE
THIS POOPED OUT HERD WILL GO
AND THE EXPECTED GIFT
FROM THE MISSUS A LUMP OF COAL
PLUS A LAUNDRY LIST
OF DUTIES PERFORMED
WHILE ENDURING TEMPERATURES
(INCLUDING WIND CHILL FACTOR)
THAT FEEL LIKE…
WELL BELOW ONE HUNDRED BELOW.
Juan Marques Lopes
Juan Marques Lopes lives in Spain,
To move one day is his only wish.
Free himself of a poor life with his wife,
For he knows he can do better than this.
One hundred years have come and gone,
since the day that he was born,
To a Shepard’s daughter on a farmers land, he was her only son.
Three decades ago he received a bite to the neck
and thought he would die from the blood loss,
For the pain to stop and to save his own life,
he said he'd sell his soul whatever the cost.
One moment of weakness and his soul was the Devils,
To do as he pleased, just to not die like this.
Freedom from death must come at a price,
For a vampires thirst craves the deadliest kiss.
Juan killed all his friends then he killed his own family,
To feed his thirst for blood and for power.
Three times a day, he must feed on their blood,
For he sold his soul to Satan, this is his last eternal hour.
(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
as a GMO gluten
and monosodium allow
wing glutinate free
NON SPORTS fan, holy cow
a gentle fear shakes, rocks,
and trembles thru every dDhow
ting fiber of me one hundred
and forty five pounds (give or take a hun
dread ounces) finds me feeling
like a castaway
on an alien nation, none
share totally tubular,
where athletes revered
as holier than thou hook hen pun
which craft
this wordsmith doth shine,
and experiences the equivalent run
tooth ha goal post, and envision
me octogenarian widower papa
paying attaboy with "way tug hoe son"
or a similar comment,
which unasked for unsolicited praise
would be worth a ton
as if this bone a fide wordsmith
would cherish as a sentiment hard won,
which figurative convenient truthful
( Earth in the balance) tangent
arced geometric fender
to express gratitude
(nevermind their gender),
who unwittingly boost and tearful lender
my morale doth render
akin to a spender
for anonymous readers,
yet moost likely an appealing sender
via flattering comments,
an emotional legal tender
this sensitive chap also makes apologies
(and steers clear) ass king for any alley byes
unwittingly me to refrain ushering my demise
hence...THANK YOU
unknown gals and guys
this honest to dog statement
summoned deep within me...noel hies
NOR NON FAKE
saccharine steeped sincere lies.
The final kismet of three hundred sixty five days
Which charmed me in time’s remembering jaunts ,
As radiant eyes winked ,
and lacy veils blew
Beyond late dusk as old tower gongs pealed,
When hymn of joy was one blessed song
That cuddled me back
where I came from:
And now, a freshly ripe morn inscribes my dream
Inviting my heart to raise,
to adorn new curtains on the hall .
Emerald leaves sprout birthing moments in bold flight
First pages of excitement
revel through evening, gold--
Like new chapters’ written intents quite spirited
Buoying lithesome aspirations still to be done…
How childlike thrill
awaits more literary adventures,
My travel pursuits that may need a heady romp...
Undaunted, I would scribble
mementos on December’s path
Hoping the coming year, Twenty Twenty, would take me there
--------------------
8/1/2019
One Hundred and Thirty Six Words Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
Checked via wordcounter.net
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~ In our country, the informal yet jovial mood of
Christmas and New Year commences on September 1.
Holiday songs ring on the radio; women begin to order gifts.
Last night, my family and friends discussed freely our
wishes for next year. This is our Asian- Christian tradition.