He died for you and me
His death, a victorious testimony
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
Jesus paid It All
He had the receipts
Jesus paid it all
No more spirit of defeat
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
It was a proclamation
we've been redeemed
prophecy fulfilled
God intervened
the battle was won
the sentence was served
His mission completed
the resurrection most deserved
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
No more suffering
No more sin
His death for us
A triumphant win
Jesus paid It All
He had the receipts
Jesus paid it all
No more spirit of defeat
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
When we don’t pronounce silent letters while speaking,
They’ve secret messages to tell, let’s keep them in writing.
Like letter “t” in a word listen has a silent scream for all,
Teaching us the key to understanding, let’s answer its call!
B in word subtle reminds us not to use force or loud demands,
For social situations with grace, be users of soft cues and nuance.
K of word knives says keep them away from children,
To avoid accidents and harm, use them only in the kitchen.
W in write reminds that words are expressions of thoughts,
Scribbling with pen and paper will free us from fear and doubts.
H in honesty or honor highlights our highest moral values
H in hour greets, “Hi! Let’s enjoy life, time’s so precious!”
G in sign, design and resign speaks important marks…signals
Ready to go and build creatively with firm decision, approval.
P in the word receipts demands us to pay financial obligations
P in psychology whispers pay attention on mind and perceptions.
Silent letters in thousand words are all sending messages,
To tell them all, this couplet will definitely run out of pages.
When keepers feed dolphins with flippers,
and see the numbers that come back on receipts,
they find that dolphins aren't very good tippers,
but don't fuss lest they become human treats.
THEY DONT SEE HER
In her car, at the end of the day, she screams.
They don't see her as she does all the work.
A testosterone regime, toying with her dreams.
They don't see her when they ogle and lurk.
Just a chance to see her capabilities.
They don't see her unless she plays ball.
They co-opt her work, a hand up her skirt,
they don't see her as human at all.
All the while she kept the receipts,
she don't care what they think anymore.
They'll take the fall, for their corporate cabal.
They didn't see her walk out the door.
Thank you, Jackson Browne,
and somehow "I get the joy
of rediscovering you"
Thank you, Journey,
and I am 'Faithfully'
learning the lines
of the highways of life
"Wheels go round and round
in my mind"
I will "sleep alone
tonight"
this poem of various songs
will not translate
to tangible meaning for you
the men I love
stopped listening
to my poems and songs
I did and didn't write
but continue to dance to
in silk skirts from consignment
stores that make me feel
like a success story
or an extra in a movie
I have quarters to my name,
cheap jokes and receipts
J.B invited me
to "stay, just a little bit longer"
and my "mother don't mind,
and the union don't mind"
and "please, please, please
say you will"
I have half an hour
to be self-indulgent,
and romantic
How long do you have
to play?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found us in a shoebox,
tucked between receipts and time~
your laugh pressed flat like August wheat,
your eyes still wet with sun.
The edges curl like fingers
reaching for what’s slipped away:
a carnival of fireflies,
the porch swing’s lazy groan,
the way the light would hesitate
before it left the room.
Now the colors bleed a little~
your shirt a faded blue,
the sky behind us thinning
to something less than true.
But here, in this dim silence,
I hold the ghost of sound:
the shutter’s click, your whispered stay,
before the world moved on.
Corruption is a compromise
The pirates fair share
Top state officials legalized
Profit under social care
They are concerned about
Expenses and receipts
They’re checking our accounts
They blame us in deceits
But it’s projection of all those
In power, they believe
We must be damn corrupt by laws
Established to deceive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I traipse along the seashore
where the tide forgets its name,
where the seagulls cry like lost receipts,
where the sand, pale as a sleepless page,
whispers: Look down. Look down.
But I search the horizon instead~
that bluish orange hyphen between here
and whatever comes next.
The ocean licks its lips,
spatting out a shell, half-cracked,
a confession in porcelain.
Is this you? the waves murmur,
rolling their r’s like a drunk god.
I hold it to my ear~
hear the static of a thousand voices
and the hiss of dead radios.
A crab scurries by me, dragging its life
like a piece of baggage with damaged wheels.
You’re overthinking it,
says the wind,
but the wind always says that.
At twilight, my silhouette stretches long,
a black rope thrown toward the sea.
I tug. Nothing tugs back.
And the moon, that cheap spotlight,
clicks on—illuminating
only how far I haven’t gone.
Poem published at creativeramblings.com/writing-prompts/writing-challenge-27/ on February 22, 2026
It doesn’t take a second
for us to find our rhythm
I’m totally locked in
the moment I’m with him
I feel the beat
like electric heat
whenever I’m with him
I feel complete
there’s no other guy
who can compete
as my pulse increases
as if with sweet kisses
you can take it from me
I’ve got the receipts
we’ve been together for years
and I think he’s for keeps
.
.
A song for this:
15 Minutes by Julian Lamadrid
Emotions and Math by Margaret Glaspy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You find them first in the attic dust,
spells written on the backs of receipts~
bleached ink, promises curled at the frayed edges.
They taste of cinnamon and static,
whispering in a tongue your brain
almost remembers.
Strings, too. Not the kind that bind,
but the ones that fray~
a sweater unraveled by time,
a puppet cut loose,
still jerking its limbs in the dark.
And the forgotten things?
They crowd the corners like shy ghosts,
holding their breath.
A locket with no face inside,
a key that fits nothing you own,
the slow dripping of a faucet
that stopped being fixed
long before you were born.
You could cast them all,
these leftover incantations,
but magic is heavier
when it has nowhere to go.
So you let them settle~
spells without syllables,
strings without anchors,
lost things learning
how to stay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
December,
whispers melting fast~
promises scribbled on receipts,
dog-eared hope curled in midnight’s fist,
unread.
Unless it's an Indian gift from the karmic sky-gypsies
it’s not going to last.
Maybe you have lots of it,
but sooner or later
the 'told you so' pigmy bobble-heads of Mu
will make it known to you
that they are watching your every distracted move,
and their taking receipts
back to long abandoned thrift shops.
Amazon's plastic chop suey
will keep you spinning in circles like a drunk skunk.
The very wealthy flush it 2 times
just to clear their own much trapped crap.
Stuff is also for the downtrodden masses,
who renovate it to fit their cramped lifestyles.
In the end it’s all utter clutter
that digs the captive soul
deeper and deeper.
Best to gather together what no one wants
then wait,
until inevitably -
they do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What was I thinking?
The receipts pile up in the dark~
a grocery list of half-baked epiphanies,
a parking ticket from the heart.
I folded my courage into origami cranes,
but they flew off with someone else’s wind.
The leftovers in my mental fridge
have grown fur and begun to sin.
The clock ticks in a language
I used to understand~
now it just spells my name
in Morse code, hand over hand.
What was I thinking?
The answer’s in the attic,
wearing my old jeans,
laughing at static.
We worship thee of glass and light
A flawless surface, polished and bright
Reflecting back at us like a beautiful lie
The truth trapped inside with nowhere to hide
Its flat surface holds so much power
We come back for answers within the hour
Designed for praise yet it stows defeat
The tears in our eyes, our own receipts
We seek validation through a shiny metal
Our pride as delicate as a flower’s petal
Between the reflection of a digital screen
Or the silver metal that reflects us so clean
It’s time to pick up the hammer and say
‘I hate how I see me, this isn’t the way’
Deliver the blow, witness it’s final days
Cuz each day you don’t, the stakes will be raised
So always remember that breaking the glass
Is the best way in life to stop being harassed
By your own insecurities, don’t ever let them show
Because you’re more beautiful than you already know
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man in the elevator swirled in, a spectral glee,
the ghost of Christmas past, a ghoul from my history.
His chains? Not iron, but my Visa receipts tallied high—
Do you recall last December? he hissed with ghoulish eyes.
‘Twas a most expensive shopping spree.
Remember the velvet reindeer? The LED tree?
We passed Accounting, he moaned APR and interest fees~
those shall be the financial death of thee.
When doors opened at the lobby, he vanished... almost
Left one crumpled statement stuck to my coat~
Merry Debtmas, loser! the fiendish Dickens ghost wrote.
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