I need
coffee
to calm
my nerves
after doing
this year's
tax return!
It happens over there,
a suburb, a state or half a world
or more away from where I live
in a quiet street with roses and hedges
hanging over front fences
with newly planted trees spaced
along a footpath the council truck
waters once a week.
For anything to get past
and make it to here must be filtered,
sanitised and packed in biodegradable
pouches and come with conditions
clearly stated in print bold enough
to see at arms length and most
important of all, have an off switch
that can be activated by an app
on a phone or a remote control.
What's more, it must be kept short
not taking too much time for it to clash
with commitments I previously made
over a coffee at the gym or make
me feel bad by its content or tax
my nerves by taking me to a place
which I have no desire to go.
So, I would be pleased if you kept it
over there, housed within the confines
of a television screen and sandwiched
between ads and promos for the latest
"Reality" show. And to keep
my conscience pristine, provide
an address I can send
a small donation to on my credit card
with a receipt so I can claim
the expense on my next
income tax return. Thank you.
About Priest and His Face Would Ponder
About priest and his face, we did ponder,
And maybe some spell he may be under;
Have heard he can hardly carry a note;
Sounds like someone run over by a boat.
Of your mind, priest tried to make invasion;
He forgot equation you use for persuasion,
And does have a great ability to associate,
With pleasant parents who would be great.
After all of the statistics, we had compiled,
Found out our new priest is an only child;
Trump did take us on a rather difficult ride,
So surely will have to let God be our guide.
Priest's wide broad smile had been spread,
And no doubt, by Jesus will want to be led,
On by our priest who us was sure to spurn,
Knowing he did receive income tax return.
Jim Horn
I received a letter from the IRS
According to them, I’ve been overly blessed
No tax return
I’ve come to learn
Will come and go, unpunished, at this address
Easter Egg Hunt On White House Lawn
Where have all the lovely children gone
Hunt for Easter Eggs on White House lawn
In memory of President's that by have past
And Obama who had been our very last.
Trump is new President and current one
Of handicapped reporter he once made fun
And then he went much further than far
Made fun of a family who bore a Gold Star.
My tax return is now finished and completed
Trump won't show his repeated and repeated
And of whatever it is he may be in pursuit
Behaves like little kid who thinks he is cute.
My patience will wear thinner and thinner
Have a President who is a political beginner
Only thing he cares for is his family affairs
And all the money with Russia he shares.
Even Trump's day does come to an end;
Some more of our money he had to spend;
Then he realized there is not enough security
To protect himself from his each impurity.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
This is a re-post of this poem.
Had some people who wanted to read it.
Jim Horn
Easter Egg Hunt On White House Lawn
Where have all the lovely children gone
Hunt for Easter Eggs on White House lawn
In memory of President's that by have past
And Obama who had been our very last.
Trump is new President and current one
Of handicapped reporter he once made fun
And then he went much further than far
Made fun of a family who bore a Gold Star.
My tax return is now finished and completed
Trump won't show his repeated and repeated
And of whatever it is he may be in pursuit
Behaves like little kid who thinks he is cute.
My patience will wear thinner and thinner
Have a President who is a political beginner
Only thing he cares for is his family affairs
And all the money with Russia he shares.
Even Trump's day does come to an end;
Some more of our money he had to spend;
Then he realized there is not enough security
To protect himself from his each impurity.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
This might strike many of your fancies
while disturbing others. Whichever, it
is sure to wake you up.
jth
Finally Had to Fudge It
What do you know about my new nuance?
And when erratic may have to ensconce
So I must give God my whole entire
Before I eventually will have to expire.
Have honored God with poem I shall present
Now if I can only have all of His consent
And my poems which were purely putrid
Had been expelled for poems being illicit.
Lately a lot God to me has increasingly meant;
Poems from heaven to me have been sent
But because of a big possible blunder
They have been buried and are now asunder.
Lightening and thunder both did appear
Which is when God said to have no fear;
Much of my anxiety soon started to grow;
He watched me write poetry here below.
So with myself I had started to be stern
Worrying about my insignificant tax return
Due to piled up bills and being over budget
Wife told me to go ahead and fudge it.
Does this sound familiar?
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
www.poetrysoup.com
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com
I have four more poems to create before
my total will be 800. This will put me near
the top 50. Wow!!!
Get Out of Cooking
It either ended up being tall
Or really had seemed so small
When you want it to sound best
For it to pass each and every test.
Even when harder you will try
And in the end blinked each eye
What in middle managed to be caught
Had become some small simple dot.
What you found after further analyzing
Turned out being something surprising
For a while longer after you would yearn
You owed money on income tax return.
Guess that time of you its starting to be
When my wife had wanted for her and me
On another nice cruise again to go
But ended up boat to China which was slow.
Then guess what happened, Oh my Lord
We had our fiftieth anniversary on board
After further inspecting and much looking
What she would do to get out of cooking.
Laugh, laugh and laugh some more.
Even after our thoughtful twilight nears
You guessed what will happen in two more years.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
When the internet goes down,
When you have no good shoes to wear,
When the only thing in the cupboard is bread and jam,
My friend, you shouldn’t care
When your friends no longer see you,
When you cannot buy a beer
When you pay your tax return
Things aren’t so bad here
When you see the ASBO adults
When the branch is shutting down
When love becomes a story
Then begin to frown
When the government goes down,
When you have no clothes to wear
When the only choice is food or power
Then my friend I care
Romney Loses to the President
By Elton Camp
Six years to be president he waited
The outcome he understandably hated
He said whatever people wanted to hear
And sought every chance to bend their ear
“That skunk who’s in there now is no good
So to elect me as president is what you should”
“It’s true that I am a fellow who’s filthy rich
But I still have concern for those in the ditch”
“Yes, it’s a low rate of income tax I pay
But it’s legal and ought to stay that way”
“No, you can’t see my income tax return
To see what I give and how much I earn”
“Okay, in foreign banks I keep my dough,
But that’s nobody else’s business, though
“While that yellow Big Bird I like okay,
He’s a needless expense that must go away”
“You’ll wish you didn’t re-elect that slob
When he can’t help you to get a job”
Romney may not be as ungracious as this
But he’s bound to be miffed at his miss
One day, I saw a very unusual thing
in a business newspaper I was perusing.
It was a brief story present on the front page.
A taxpayer considered this thing an outrage.
He was a very honest and straightforward man,
an American from the island of Saipan.
This is a territory in the Pacific;
the Marianas Islands to be specific.
He filed his Federal Income Tax return.
He did not omit anything that he would earn.
The territory was reported as “M. I.”
Some IRS agents soon caught this with their eye.
It appeared that somebody goofed up again.
He got a state income tax form from Michigan.
i love that these keys still speak to me
i love that you still speak to me
in dreams
as to
where and when
did i lay my head on manure
and kept doing it
over and under
leaving once and for all
as a last resort to
the familiar stink
that i've grown to love
it always flows new energy into my soul
while
i see that
the world is fluegeeying
down your throat
and i can't see that love was part
of that
the big stamp in history is trampling love
into some twisted creation
that is as useless
as a
a personal tax return
attached on the lapel of a corpse
dog meat!
corraled people
feel either extremely
agitated
or flowing towards
walmart
thereby
challenging the origin of their own
thoughts
or buying brand new
plastic shelving for the dog house