Cooked, ready to eat
April 2027, we meet
The 2026 Finance Bill
A new order, bitter pill
With it you are tracked
Affairs, neatly packed
Taxed here and there
To them, you must be fair
The reverse doesn't hold
Not belonging to the fold
You produce, they don't
Work like you, they won't
Order the world, anew
To benefit just a few
Cannon fodder, the rest
To the front line, the best
My left sock filed taxes on a Tuesday frog,
while a cabbage sang opera to a confused log.
The moon ate a stapler with mustard delight,
then borrowed a canoe from the darkness of light.
I purchased a banana for seventeen clouds,
but the receipt was allergic to yodeling crowds.
A rhinoceros teacup performed ballet cheese,
and a watermelon sneezed in seven languages.
My toaster proposed to a decorative brick,
their wedding was speedy, suspiciously quick.
The minister hamster wore cinnamon pants,
while unicycling ferrets performed tribal dances.
At midnight a turnip became Vice President,
its policies largely were soup-oriented.
It promised free waffles for every raccoon,
and declared every Thursday a ceremonial spoon.
The end is approaching, or maybe a chair.
A penguin just shampooed the national air.
I leave you this wisdom, profound as a sock:
If potatoes can whisper,
then gravy can rock.
Fin.
Or asparagus.
Too much to do looms
like storm clouds above my desk,
heavy with despair
I stare into candle flames
hearing deadlines gnash their teeth.
Within a bubble,
I call avoidance self-care,
hide beneath soft screams;
but my body knows the truth—
comfort loves hiding away.
Encased I feel safe
until the walls grow too close,
air thins, stinks with fear
each new unopened letter
becomes another locked jaw.
Outside, people march
with tired hope in hands and heart,
though bruised, still awake
finding cure for helplessness
inside the struggle itself
I start one small task,
cross one inhibition off;
suddenly my lungs
remember how breathing works
when action enters the room.
Perhaps I’ll own less,
perhaps the world stays unfair,
perhaps love still fails;
yet facing fire head-on
makes the spirit stand up tall.
There’s a despair tax
for caring deeply enough
to keep fighting back;
but the truest form of relief
is to turn around, face it.
A sly squirrel peddled bright tulips with glee,
But his cash stash was shady as can be.
The IRS came—what a fright!
He buried his bucks overnight,
Now he’s rich… in acorns, tax-free!
Did the Yankees win?
Without sin
Challenging monarchy rule
Characterizing King as a fool
Escaping angry courts
Exploring adventurous ports
They came to a new world
Searching for patriotic pearls
Combatting rag tag war
Against red coated boars
Who thought they knew best
Putting rebellious subjects under arrest
Charging them for throwing tea
Into the Boston Harbor Sea
Defined as freedom of speech
Protest reached
Many others
American brothers
Wanting representation when taxed
Stating facts
Until the royals surrendered
Historians remember
Who are we as animals
Herd or family mammals?
Maybe Clockwork Oranges
In the Apple storages?
The Lefts put it clearer
Herd is far superior
The Rights strongly disagree
They stand for a family
For the Middle of the Roaders
We are renters or the owners
Most of the non-party folk
Deem that issue as a joke
As for me, we’re all the same
Under any term or name
Be it herd or family
What we are preferably
Either side can’t cut my tax
So the real sense it lacks.
They sat holding bottles
In their hands
And armpits
Pouring mouthful
Of liquor to fill
Their hollow stomachs.
They gazed at each other
As cat and mouse
And spoke a lot of
Inglish with slain syntax
To devirginate
Their motherland.
The two drunkards!
Spoke of a nation's illusions
And the wilted state of
A nation's elites
Raping the cultural norm
Who raped the temple?
They said something
About Lubowa hospital
And praised the Bus Kingdom
For Grazing well the Gen z's
Digging the tax hole
Who murmured a secured Future.
They gazed at each other
As hare and hyena
And shakily gasped for breath
Of the holy bribe paid
For their nocturnal duties
Poverty pasted on muzzled faces.
Oh, the two drunkards!
Finally hit the climax
And roared at each other of
An accusation of not belonging
Reached for each other's neck
To strangle a refugee within.
© Ankwasa Harlord
Paul Hogan now..A battler thats true' tall tails and long days,
The crocks could tell you.. Also' painter on the bridge
Over Sydney town, tested and tried.' Yet still not bested.' The taxman wanted to make him
Pay up' yet in the end?? Houges; just shot 'em down.'!
the scald war
even the penguins
gotta pay tax to make U.S.
implode on greed glut
‘Pon taxpayers a tad more trust,
On tax kitty a tad less lust,
Tax that dulls no young dream,
Gathers cream just from brim,
Tax too shy to assume,
Lets thousand flowers bloom,
A tax is no broom to clean dust.
_______________________
Happenings |04.05 2015, revised February 2025|
Not that the greed of the governments would let them heed to this unwanted advice. But this ditty is still hopeful, may in case….Wish, it reminds them of what WB Yeats once said: ‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams'…. First written in 2015, ten years later the ditty is still hopeful.
Welcome to my hell
It's where I currently dwell
I hate tax season
If rain were a creature of shapeless form
The taxman would tax some of the jets
That he would regard as beyond the norm
But the tax receipt the rain doesn’t get
It’s a conflict of law and water tycoon
Who irresponsibly floods the land
This affects the climate on Earth and soon
There’ll be more sea and less of sand
By hearing this issues, the rain goes “ What?”
“Who do they think they are, judging me?
I’m closing my tabs, so you fools will get hot
Till you kneel and pray for my new jets to see.“
I wanna retire but I’m barely hanging on.
Lost the fire in my belly but I still log on.
Working hard every day, dreaming to be free,
But can’t afford it in this economy.
Slaving in a sweat shop singing the blues,
Ain’t got time for a Caribbean cruise.
I wanna retire but I’m barely hanging on,
Wondering where all my freedom has gone.
The price of eggs has me crying foul,
But Uncle Sam turns a deaf ear when I yowl.
Where O where have my tax dollars gone?
I wanna retire but I’m barely hanging on.
Seems so strange to spend on climate change,
When me and my friends got no pocket change.
I wanna retire but I’m barely hanging on.
Will freedom be taxed until it's all gone?
Got a raise last week and was feeling good,
Until a gang burnt up my neighborhood.
Fentanyl is killing and our borders long gone.
I wanna retire but I’m barely hanging on.
Got a raise last week and was feeling good,
Until a peaceful gang burned my neighborhood.
I wanna retire but I’m barely hanging on.
Barely…, barely…, barely,
…Hanging…
on
tax the rich
just three words
fair is fair
A devious insurance man named
Max, became a billionaire,
Many moons ago, was only known
As a millionaire,
Now in express mode to become
A trillionaire,
An innocuous looking man knocked
On this billionaire’s
Door, said he was a Tax Officer who
Dealt with non-payment of taxes,
Being a bit of a nerd, the rich man
Immediately collapses,
The taxman asked, do you know
Why I’m here,
No, but it is to do with
My money I fear,
Seems you don’t understand,
Take my advice, stop thinking of
It as your money, it is now ours.
For on your tax returns we have
Spent months days and hours.
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