Long Too greedy Poems
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All that I can give
The sky is falling and my future is always calling;
A voice in the wind screaming at me like a banshee.
Everything is ugly.
No beauty to be found in anything.
As I fall to my knees in shattered pieces,
I need just one love to make me become happy;
But depression strikes, engulfs my life, woe is me
And it drags me down to where I never want to be.
Too old to start again; so full of apathy.
I have no wife and I am all out of time.
They say cheer up;
I want to say shut up.
I will not listen, to your words of sunshine.
I have given up; I have had to take too much.
I have no need for any more of your pretty lies.
I’m so bitter sweet; no symphony.
I write another verse; I guess I’m too greedy.
I have a total lack of self-sufficiency,
Because this poetry is mine, so I build my fences high.
Must keep everybody out, letting nobody in;
My place of misery is the only way I know how to exist.
So kept apart from all your love;
I have no heart, so have a heart, because I’ve never had any fun.
I can’t recall happiness; I can no longer try my best,
Because this is it.
This is all that I can give
And this…
This is nothing.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
I’ve been watching political commercials,
Though they don’t tell me for whom I should vote;
They just say why I shouldn’t vote for the other candidate,
Of these I am taking close note.
I shouldn’t vote for this one who is a liar and that one who is too greedy;
This one hasn’t done anything good and that one steals from the needy.
This one wants to raise taxes; that one is morally corrupt;
This one the president bashes; that one is a bit too abrupt.
If someone doesn’t tell me and tell me precise,
Why exactly I should vote for them;
I am going to do what I’ve done more than twice -
Put Mickey Mouse down as a write in.
What does this world need?
seems there is so much
so many people with so little
needing to receive a special touch
So much disease all around
many lacking nourishing healthy food
there's many rich lands have a lot
too greedy to themselves it's not good
Infections abound throughout this earth
good water lacking being not purified
bring death to many poor souls
so sad for many have cried
But it's all material nothing will last
spiritual is world's greatest need
for that is truly everlasting
as God it's author this true indeed
For this world is wrapped in sin
death is coming for it is sure
but God's remedy is there to receive
providing Christ as world's only cure
As Christ God's son has died
to cleanse this world of it's sin
so the need is to believe on this truth
and then to enter eternity within
My lost friend for years,
I spent many days trying to find you.
I don't even know when we lost our communication,
but it happened. Perhaps we were to busy with our lives,
and in the middle, we untied our bonds.
We were young fighters,
helping each other all the time.
Enjoying our friendship
we've spent the best of those beloved moments that will never come back.
My dear Loly, believe me when I say that I tried hard to search for you, while the answers never came back. I don't know if you did the same, or you felt abandoned and gave up.
Your only child was your rose to water everyday after his father was too greedy to be encharged of both of you.
My dear friend Loly, you raised your beautiful rose alone, with your long journeys working for him to have a future.
You didn't care how tired you were, you wanted your child to have what you've never had.
My friend Loly, you tought me honesty, humility and wisdom,
and in spite of your battles, you always used to have a smile and good advice.
Now, I miss not only those beautiful moments, but I miss
not to have held your hand when you had the last breath.
My lost friend for years,
looking at the best beach in the world you are resting forever. Now saddly, I don't need to keep on searching for you anymore, because I know where I can visit you, that dark place where I have never meant to meet you again.
I suppose I should have been satisfied
with the first letter: I mean, just how
often does the Almighty write to us?
Not since He did it on stone, I suppose.
But I am human and so rarely content--
then too, I still had so many questions,
like why must children suffer cruelty or
deathly ills-- and why are the aged so
often forgotten, ignored, neglected?
Why do so many hunger for vengeance
while others thirst for a drop of love?
Before the act is always the thought--
so why do we lessen the other, turn
him into an animal, some predator
to be feared and hunted to extinction?
And why do we peacock ourselves
with plumes of ego and pride, then
go strutting into the world like
petty kings, wood-hearted queens?
And always, always, we are we less
than we could be, sad thin shadows
of that person we know could, and
should walk free on the sun-lit earth?
I wrote this unmailed letter knowing
He would read the words before I
could put them down-- but I did
not expect an answer... so when I
found another letter slipped under
my door, this too written in a hand
of unearthly beauty, I gasped with
guilt and fear: was I too greedy and
just foolish to want to know the
Mind of God: why He made us
the way we are, what He wants
from us, of us, for us? Now I
began trembling, my fearful heart
pounding like it would burst open!
Still, I opened the letter and read:
"I really am breaking all my own
rules in writing you again, and
I'm not sure why-- yes, I
don't always know my
own mind-- I told you all
a long time ago you
were made in My image--
I suppose I am intrigued,
for the answers you seek
have been sought always,
throughout time, ever really
since I put that immortal part
of you in your ancestors, and
so turned animal into human,
and instinct into choice....
I gave your species
everything needed:
reason, imagination,
speech, and my
greatest gift-- love
strong enough to
transcend even time.
And what did humans
do with these wonders?
You waged war endlessly
and oppressed the weak,
breaking them as though
they were clay pots and
not my beloved children.
So I sent prophets to warn
you to choose light before
the dark ate your souls.
I even sent my only son
to lead you home, but
you killed him-- and you
wonder why life is hard?"
As always,
faithfully yours,
God
THE SMOKE CLOCK
I bought, as always, for two, two nights' worth of smoke,
it's eight thirty, and your chair breathes empty beside me,
you, who used to come early, never late, like rain
that knows by heart the window it's summoned to;
now it's turned two, and nothing of you remains
but ash of a name on the thin lip of evening.
Fine, I'll light them myself, one by one, like days,
it was never a problem to burn alone, except
this smoke has the shape of your shoulders when you cried
and won't rise, it settles on the rug like a dog
waiting for a master long gone through another gate,
and the ceiling lowers into my chest, heavy, like a lid.
I was the place you ran to when your own house caught fire,
my heart, a steady stove, never too cold, never too greedy,
my ears, two wells where you poured out all your rains,
and you entered me the way you board a train with no destination,
just to no longer be where the walls stood in judgment of you,
just to get far, far away, into a country with no eyes on you.
Our only fear was the descent, the return to bodies,
that ugly moment when the world put its weight back on,
so we took another turn, spun the carousel once more,
put off morning with one more blue breath ~
we believed ourselves healed because the pain had learned to stay quiet,
but silence isn't healing, it's only a wound grown well.
So are you better now? Have your scars bloomed without me?
Did you find a better road than the one we used to take,
one you don't have to pave with your own bones?
I hope so. I hope so hard that this hope hurts me
like a blessing spoken through clenched teeth,
I hope someone taught you to rise without crutches of smoke.
I'm not waiting for you anymore ~ I've gathered my hours off the table like cards,
I've blown out the candle that held your place at the window
and now I'm winding something else: a morning, a silence, a name,
I leave the key under the mat for the man I'll be tomorrow at dawn,
and if, after all, the knock at the door is yours, late, so late,
know that the place you used to run to has moved into me, for good.
It's too hard to please you,honey...
but that's not my personality;
I'm easily taken for a fool...
that's me ...waiting on you!
I've been taken
like a captive man
in a blindfold and you held me
by that puppet's string;
but you became too greedy...
for the happiness I couldn't bring!
Blame it on me,I gave you too much instead;
I felt like that kid asking for candy...
but that was too irresistible and dandy,
easy to give into your wild demand!
And unwillingly to hear me,
you throw stones at me,
instead of soothing love:
cutting off the flame
and acting so brave,
but I can't cross over:
there's no bridge...
only deep water!
Forget about that kid
asking for candy...
I won't stare at you
and whine in pity;
and I stick to these words seriously...
if truth is in you,keep your word!
To be beaten by rain Too greedy for gains To love until it pains
To hate anyone is insane Too speechless to say your name To hold on when nothing remains
070621PSCtest, Bite Size Poem No 11, Line Gauthier
In Days of Robin Hood
In days of yore,
In the days of Robin Hood,
A merry band of outlaws
Rambled throughout Sherwood Forest
(Home of the Major Oak,
North of Windsor Castle,
And south of Hadrian’s Wall).
They dressed in Lincoln green
And whistled in the greenwood glades,
Arming themselves with daggers and swords,
Cudgels, quarterstaves, and longbows,
With which they used to rob from the rich
(Who took from the commoners, peasants, and serfs)
And then cheerfully gave to the poor.
Prince John of England was furious
That they would usurp his authority
And demanded that the Sheriff of Nottingham
Quell the adventurous company.
But to no avail could the Sheriff prevail
Against Robin Hood’s strength and guile,
Who traipsed merrily upon the King’s trails.
The yeomen knew they needed social structure,
Or they wouldn’t be able to live together.
To whom would they turn for judgment
When someone committed mischief?
Each to his or her own, God willing,
And so they were willing to pay the taxes
For some semblance of law and order.
But it was the king who grew too greedy
And demanded more than they could give
That threw the system out of kilter
And caused tempers to boil over,
Leading to bedlam, mayhem, and disorder.
But thanks to Robin Hood and his merry men,
And the barons of jolly old England,
They brought the tyrant King John to his knees
To seal the Magna Carta.
***
Note:
The “Magna Carta” was sealed at Runnymede (located twenty miles west of London, England) on June 15, 1215. The document was the first instance where the King of England agreed to be subject to the laws of the land.
“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions…except by the lawful judgment of his peers. To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right of justice…”
If the cupboard under the stairs could talk
I wonder what it would say
Would it tell me of those who hid in it
When there was rent to pay
What about the poor frightened child
Back in nineteen forty
Locked inside it for hours at a time
Just for being naughty
It could tell of the granda who sheltered inside
When bombs landed on Spion Kop
Crouched inside, hands over his ears
So that he couldn’t hear the bombs drop
Does the cupboard remember the numerous times
When gran hid boxes of chocolates in there
She would go in and eat them on the sly
Because she was too greedy to share
We used to have a gas man
I think his name was Peter
He came about four times a year
To read our old gas meter
He’d open up the cupboard door
And illuminate the meter with his torch
He laughed when we told him that Grandma
Used a match to light a bulb in the porch
I remember when I was five
Playing hide and seek in the house
I was quietly sat in the cupboard
And came face to face with a mouse
He left a long trail of foil
He'd had Grandma’s chocolate for a meal
I got the blame and not the mouse
Imagine how that made me feel
During the war, it was sometimes the fashion
To use the cupboard under the stairs
For food that was on ration
People appreciated what was theirs
It was used as a pantry for Bacon,
Butter, sugar and powdered egg
Some people had extra coupons
While others had to beg
In nineteen ninety seven,
As I’m sure you are aware
Harry Potter, young wizard, at four Privet Drive
Lived in a cupboard under the stairs
Our cupboard is no longer there
And neither is the house
My grandma has passed away
And the chocolate-loving mouse
If you still have a cupboard
And it’s underneath the stairs
Just sit down and think awhile
What could have happened in there