Marcus came to collect the rent today;
The final coins for a life lived in the shadows.
He said the debt was paid in full,
The struggle settled with blood and time.
He took his things and turned to the light,
But he forgot his hat upon the chair.
Maybe he left it as a quiet promise,
A reason to turn around when the road gets long.
I’ll keep it in a safe place,
Away from the dust and the reaching wind.
Perhaps the freedom won’t fit him like he thought—
Maybe, just maybe, he’ll come back for it.
I rhyme for coins,I rhyme for fame,
But landlords rhyme with none of the same
They want rent,not metaphor
They say'' your poem won't mop the floor.
I wrote a sonnet,soft and brave-
He mailed it back: ''Pay or Pave!''
So now I rhyme to save my head,
My muse sleeps hungry, my landlord's fed.
The debt of soul to Nebro came through the cross of gnosis
Through strength of spirit, though no mortal sacrifice could pay that debt
Christ the vine became that tree of gnosis to pay the debt
As I cleaned out my mother-in-law’s closet
I thought “she would never let anyone help her without payment”.
Less than five minutes later something floated down from the ceiling.
A dollar bill.
Through what alleged transgression stand I now accused?
Is there guilt to be found in a drowning man who by exchanging all he has ever held gains the salvation of but one more breath? If guilt doth indeed exist in such act I stand willingly before those who proclaim themselves worthy of judging me under such charge.
Though I be accused and brought before the arrogant I openly proclaim the righteousness of my soul far greater weighted than their simple understandings as all scales of justice lean in favor of no payment due !
This many guys dislike its mention
Including an owner of mansion,
From avowed lover walking away
And next time block his coming their way…
For even the steadfast tax payer
Regular payment not his prayer;
One could swear there’s no Tax Payer Max
Who wouldn’t want the rules to relax!
As often as not tax evasion,
To depletion of wealth aversion...
What makes a citizen a patriot,
Long prattles about it like parrot;
‘Very proud’ the delivering voice
Though doubtful over it would rejoice…
In US a political risk,
Your rival handling the matter brisk
In Nigeria treated like God’s tithe,
Easily, payers like struck snakes writhe…
Tax payment states its own energy
“Mass non-payment nation’s elegy.”
Don't pardon non-payment of dues.
Check what in your account accrues;
I'll be here to assist with clues;
Don't folks leave to a thing abuse...
For all school Bursaries no dews,
When parents vow it shall be ruse
Later, you'll find out it's no use
Starting a thing that clashes brews
Choose a fine time for unpaid dues
With secret joy these crooks suffuse
Sometimes, an all-night play of blues
When your blind sympathy you use?
Work with alot of money,
Keep someone to become busy,
Sand someone to become crazy.
It needs time and harry,
Stolen when not be carefully,
No time for the family.
Why don't you be Franc?
Went home at fourteen thirty?
Although teaching is not easy.
I tucked my black wallet
back into my pocket.
They wait their turn,
Watching from the sidelines.
Cheerfully chattering, they speak,
Perhaps of weather.
Then suddenly they’re off!
Swooping down, they glide,
Wings extended in crucifix,
They brake. Alighting softly
Onto the pavement.
Here there are seeds scattered.
Tossed each day by a frail hand
From the porch above.
There is a bond here. An understanding.
Food for song.
Cheaper than cable TV,
At times more entertaining.
They finish now. They’ve had their fill.
They launch together,
Land together,
Watch and wait together,
From the bushes at the side
Of the pavement below the porch.
Tomorrow the hand will come again
To pay them for their song.
When in the dark of heated greed,
There was a shock, a unemployed face.
It had whispered of bad weather,
A storm of flashing commerce.
Parchments expanding the stain of green,
By the light of reflecting fleash.
Man has power in dollers,
Captilism mentaly teases the masses.
Encourging the action of fantsy.
A dream exposed for payments.
Desire in the bare undernieth.
To the Devil and the one percent.
But I to, in my sweet sigh,
Of my Shakspear gaze,
For that strangle of golden lights.
The price is,
The pound of fleash.
Sin’s Payment
Haiku: by Tom
December 6, 2020
It was so destined
the payment for mankind's sin
was manger to cross.
no din less more pronounced upon your ear
scallions separated blend to meet the stew
when hearty hearts drink out the broth of fear
and bury those with heavy hearts they knew
long mornings sun bestowed upon
when laddies grew beneath
and lads to lasses onward come
to part the laurel wreath
Tis hill we fools apart the path will travel
hats upon a head no longer there
and when to meet the layers to unravel
and when is left the floor yet barely bare
in ages ancient passed behind the eye
I long the longest sound to whisper now
and you may bring the bringing all for aye
but never will this song be singing low
ye cannot enter here nor can I come
for this the place that none can call their home
to hither yonder plain and tip to dome
none can worship all that worship some
some drink to fill the tears that they have lost
some cost is paid for every spill we see
though our hearts may fairly break each day
each day is payment fair for what we be
No living creature owns the land
the water, the oceans and the sand
as this is Mother Nature’s grand
for all life to be land and free
but the creation of need to greed
requires are planet to pay a fee
Payment For Shade
Autumn 2019
11-15-2019
By: Miracle Man
My payment for the shade,
during deep summer’s swelter.
Is that when Autumn comes,
leaves fall helter-skelter.
Autumn always brings with it,
A few unwanted chores.
Leaf eradication becomes,
my temporary job outdoors.
Our two acre yard is a hodgepodge,
of crepe myrtles and trees.
Leaves are falling prematurely,
from an early seasonal freeze.
I blow, rake, grind, and bag,
but they don’t go away.
Each time the wind changes,
More pass by, and some stay.
It’s now rained three inches,
and to the ground they’re pressed.
Creating another minor problem,
which must be addressed.
The ditches are leaf packed,
and now water won’t run.
But hey, God didn’t promise,
to pack each day with fun.
While I’d prefer sitting,
by the fireplace making S'mores.
Or napping in the recliner,
Producing periodic snores.
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