Long Scrimp Poems
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The wife and I just recently, joined the clan of scrimp and save,
But we’re hoping that this attitude won’t send us to our grave,
So we added to this latest fad, and put upon our plate,
That we’ll never buy another thing without a use by date.
Shopping in the supermarket, we would amble down the aisle,
And one by one we’d check the goods, and give a nod or smile,
For we’d check for fat, then sugar, and seek its healthy trait,
But before we made a final choice, we’d check the use by date.
And if by chance that day is gone, and the goods are still on sale,
I’d protest to the manager, ‘take ‘em down or go to gaol!’
Often I am offered little bribes, but I just tell them straight,
‘My wife and I will never buy, an over use by date!’
It’s turned our shopping into art for the wife and cagey me,
Perusing every label on the shelf; and every use by date we see,
And as we shop we plan our week, so nothing’s wasted on a plate,
Making sure we use, what we do buy, before its use by date.
Of course there’s bargains on a Sunday, found at a local fete,
Where some will compromise a price, when out of use by date.
You don’t know what you’re buying. You could be tempting fate!
So money doesn’t come into it. We live by the use by date.
But today is one occasion when, me nerves are put on edge,
And it very nearly changed me mind, about me ‘use by’ pledge,
So I’ll take you through the reason why, I’m forced to strive and strain,
And I told me wife who caused it, ‘don’t put me through that again!’
So I have to mention that today, sort of makes me face go red,
For me wife’s been taken off the pill, because of what the Doctor said,
He mentioned there’s been side effects; therefore the pill must be rejected.
He then suggested we use condoms, to avoid the unexpected.
This stopped me in me tracks it did, for now I have to buy,
The product made for ‘safety first’… but I’m too flamin’ shy!
So we compromised for what is best, the wife walked out the door,
And came home shortly with the goods… a box of twenty-four.
She threw the pack across to me, and said ‘now read the box’.
‘Hey I don’t need instructions!’ Is my reply that duly mocks,
But scanning just for scanning’s sake, I felt this jolt of horrer’…
‘These condoms have a use by date, and it runs out ‘tomorrer!’
As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests. But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.
A heartless milieu also asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator,
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests,
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms
THE STRANGER MAN (3)
But let life live its life and I mine.
I ease myself of all worries
And drift where I may such as liberal
As a wind and unheeding to the obstruction
Where of the fate of the wind lies.
With same velocity on toward the hurdle
And whether it shall scale through or not
It is of no concern to the wind.
In this wise, once I burdened the future.
Of what will be is the mundane-minded query
Always to guard against the future
Is as to the cloud preventing away from sight.
Thus I scrimp and stake all that I earn
As savings for futurity yet behind the cloud
Haba…again and again lost it all in a duel
With forces of circumstance ascribe not to!
Love is an elusive finch that flutters
And made me become both foolish and wise.
The elixirs of love are the very banes,
Anxiety, longing, heartbreak…name me!
So lovesick for love I lost compos mentis.
It is all a delusion I bargain with my heart
I pursue her no more, let her seek for me
If she loves and I shall test her genuineness
With life-span patience while I wander still
Till I return we shall unite yonder the horizon.
The mind alone the power of love can feel
And her essence can tell in absence of her.
Let it be so, I shall not be enamored
While she crave for my presence
My wistful heart is not for her I see
I do without her and keep the beat on
I sold her my heart even in absence
And now she is gone to have a soma.
Farewell dear to blow air to the wind.
Why tug scudding cloud and cling a shadow?
I will let go of all I love and heave the burden
Not on my shoulder but the ease of my heart.
From the piles of corporeal stocks abscond,
I tire of them because they content me not
From years searching for gold and myadestes afield…
But from within the recess of my heart I find
An amber gilded gem concealed in the depth.
I never was good mixer having to know first myself
For men someday shall walk the solitary path
While also to sing the soloist song;
Friends are strangers for they shall depart
And strangers are friends for they shall arrive.
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.
Socked and winded unconscious checking account...
(alternatively named last poetic endeavor for 2019
issuing out cerebral petrified complex edifice fount
wobbling as hood winking ornament mount).
Speedily rushed to intensive care unit
courtesy Brinks armored truck
Citizens Bank emergency crew
monied staff got no luck
after electronic wires connected
vital signs needle painfully stuck
showed absolute zero change
according to Huck
Finn - whose hushed tones
only audible and
understandable to famed,
feted, and fistbumped woodchuck
Punxsutawney Phil, his
off season gig include sporting
as security detail retired formerly
legendary ice hockey player
pearly whites doubled as stick
indestructible teeth hard
as steel no matter
smacked hard with puck.
Aforementioned metaphorical
add verse city
totally (tubular) ludicrous ditty
predicated upon itty bitty
financial resources faintly analogous to
meek and bumbling man
named Walter Mitty
me haint one to wallow and seek pity
only trying to buck up spirits
(think) lamely trying tubby witty.
Dirt poor penniless Joe Schmoe
more times than not finds
himself steeped within financial woe
linkedin to 2009 Hyundai Sonata toe
tilly, regularly, predictably... status quo,
one major malfunction after another no
way could adequate funds
be scraped together for I know
newer pre owned vehicle
would be dogsend,
versus panhandling hobo,
who scratches out lame poetry ergo
not long past me prime,
still able, eager, ready and
willing to secure a bow,
and make an arrow escape,
perhaps within eco
friendly intentional community,
where resources shared
among pseudo family
rather than scrimp and scrape
alone along boulevard
of broken dreams
loathing begging for alms
as arms loosely drape
analogous to overripe grape
cluster hanging toward the ground.
Too many yesterdays
Used up and thrown away
Like Christmas trees on New Years Day
It's getting hard to know
Which way the wind will blow
Must be more than dying slow
Here in a dead end town
I don't let it get me down
Something good will turn it all around
Baby, how 'bout you and me
Head down to the Dollar Tree
Maybe we can find us something sweet
Everyday you get a little bit older
Heaven's just a little bit closer
Cherish the things that matter most
These are the days of gold
There's a hurt in some folks' eyes
Some, they don't advertise
Smiles are free, don't cost a dime
Mister Jimmy he waves hi
Passing on his bike
Good Lord's willing we'll all get by
Everyday you get a little bit older
Heaven's just a little bit closer
Cherish the things that matter most
These are the days of gold
So I do what I do
Working down at the Foo
You got me, Baby I got you
We'll scrimp and save, find a little place
A pretty garden, some sunny space
Where the dogs can play, live out our days
Everyday you get a little bit older
Heaven's just a little bit closer
Cherish the things that matter most
These are the days of gold
On some planets it's raining diamonds
Here too if you can find them
Eyes wide open, keep on trying
©2018. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
The majority of mine lxiii years
expended delving deep into imagination,
yours truly escaped, loosed, thwarted...
reality courtesy bookland
roaming cerebral cortex terra firmae
did not amp pulley satiate
seemingly depression found me
(an uncompetitive, oversensitive,
intuitive, contemplative bookworm)
with scrunched pate,
a day short and a dollar late
one dime a dozen lad
hood scrimp and scrape,
a familiar pattern typified fate
viz - hand to mouth bleak
how zing existence aye equate
extant throughout three score
plus three years date
journeys round el sol,
this varsity schlepper, procrastinator,
malingerer did create
current emotional state
mottled with sea henna tint
financial, emotional and
psychosocial characteristics stint
aye serum eyes while
in utero the blueprint
indelibly etched analogous
brand York Peppermint
also analogous to musician
recording tracks upon primed glint
ting digitized compact disc
clear polycarbonate plastic substrate,
a reflective metallic layer,
and a clear protective coating
of acrylic plastic
breakable as flint.
Riverboat on the Mississippi
Folks dining on scrimp, grits, and cornbread
Drinking booze and gambling like crazy
Going to Bourbon Street just ahead
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on rolling
Down to the Cajun Queen of the Gulf
Where the real money is unfolding
And a thousand green bucks is small stuff
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on churning
Black coal keeps that steam boiler humming
Noxious fumes from the smokestack blowing
Nightlife on Bourbon Street is jumping
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Cathedral spires standing very tall
Off Canal, near downtown Bourbon Street
Near a hotel by a shopping mall
Where folk are getting some daytime sleep
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
They wait for night, ‘til just after dark,
To find the places of blues, jazz, and rap
A swamp of raunchy acts, joints, and bars
Folk can get caught like mice in a trap
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Well, Railroad Bob’s done lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
his wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a damn, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
and boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
Bob walks the streets and begs for eats or little jobs for trying
“the answer’s no, you ought to know, no use for you applying,
and don’t be sad, it aint that bad, it’s soon your time for dying.”
The air is thick, his baby’s sick, the cries are multiplying.
Bob’s wife’s in town, she’s broken down, she’s ranting with a fury,
their baby coughs, the doctor scoffs, the snow flies all a’ flurry.
Hard work’s the sin that’s done them in, they skirmish, scrimp and scurry,
and midnight dreams are filled with screams; Bob knows he needs to hurry.
It’s getting late, Bob’s tempting fate, his choices cruel and blurry,
He chooses gas, they breathe their last, there’s no more cause to worry.
Some moment dreaming the middle of a day
Some hopeful dreamt touched spiritness
In sometime of a while you spent
Some place of a time when you touched
The fleeting ghosts in rightful pursuits of happiness
As a wistful sigh escapes your breath
Wafted upon a memory of where you'd rather be
Preferably not where here is this day
Help to pass the time away
Some day you say
Some day I will hold that hope
Hold it whole in my grateful heart
Echo humdrum carries on
It's ever demanding rigmarole leads you on
Scrimp and save, saves the holiday
Each tiny eked out momentary
To wish for a life better than this
Some blink of an eye dreamt in a day
Lingered on its wishful rememberance
When peaceful never was a struggle to be
Where living it in life
Is the rightful pursuit of happiness
Helps
To pass the time away
Your time away
Dream a wish for another life
Sigh then and hope it comes to pass
In the life you have