Taxes Poems

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I am a Democratic Socialist 
I believe that the People should rule
I believe that the taxes collected
should be used for each life-saving tool

For nobody gets rich on a island
and it isn’t just fortune or luck
It takes legislative-corporate corruption 
it is capitalism, running amok

All those products the billionaires sell us
charging upgrades for every new year
Truth be

taxes '25

(It’s that vernal, infernal, tax season. How about a tax avoidance vignette? It’s poetic—in it’s own way)

Some students at a table near us in the dining hall were discussing America’s financial inequities. One guy was saying that we ought to “tax the crap” out of billionaires and their billions—and there was agreement all around—the consensus

Full-Grown Delinquent

Woke up yesterday morning with a dreadful thought -
fall property tax was due last November and this is
the end of January. I am a full-grown delinquent.

I am also recently widowed; my Mister always did taxes.
But God had brought it to my attention (who else,
could I hold responsible?) so I faced the music.

Went to the bank

The Blooming Block

Sitting on the block of the day
Looking into amethyst abyss 
No longer seen as hunter or prey
Disenfranchised like blue cold kiss

Watching the animals fight their wars
Knowing some win some lose
Feeling the wrath of attention whores
Singing their hill street blues

On the block of irrelevant images 
Whatever the dress of the time
Homeless roaming toward suttle scrimmages 
For

Where Does Our Taxes Go

High tech time, yet, we
Still have hanging bridges
Where our taxes go?

Cheap, on Our Dime

Every year when taxes are due, I pay mine to the full,
Even though some other people call it a bunch of bull.

Some don't pay their taxes for there is an aberration.
As time goes by they holler, "Statute of  Limitation".

They live in a life of luxury, these entitled few,
Expecting us to pay their way, since

mundane

rising from bed in the morning
seeking shelter when it's storming
idly whiling stray hours away
dreaming there will be better days
fabricating a self-image
with a more prominent linage
doodling on back of a letter
shunning life as a go-getter

paying of various taxes
wielding rhetorical axes
stopping by the grocery store
dealing with muscles which are sore
waiting in the queue at the bank
musing why

Taxes

We never get away from paying taxes- even after death if owed

Death N Taxes II

I have heard all your excuses 
I have listened to all your pleas
It is time to pay the pipers 
With the sweet tears of your misery
Ahh the suffering 
You have to surrender all your taxes 
Now it is time for me
They always say the only thing IN life 
That is inevitable, is death and taxes
And

Death and Taxes

I'm doing my best, at what I can, I've absorbed some
Life from boy to man, uncertain at times, now i find
Times are uncertain..' Much fear and denial while some
Are tearing the curtains.' The established fear-mongers
Peddle; the lies, same as before, so much sympathy? homilys
DIsguise; and furore.' A main threat is something will be taken away'
As

Death and Taxes

Someone once said 
“The only assurances in life is death and taxes!”
I’ll let you read the fine print, I’ll send the faxes
All there is; is death and taxes!
Watch me grind my sliver axes 
Watch the blade gleam in the slow moonlight 
I like the way it sparkles in your hooded eyes
You have paid your dews,

Death and Taxes

Unto the earth below my end commences
for I have committed life’s last offences.
  But not even death will save
    me from taxes in the grave
and now I can’t deduct living expenses!


            Written: March 2014

Death and Taxes

Memory kills time,
as time kills life…

Faster than a paid assassin,
colder than a dream that’s stolen

—surer than the tax man knows

(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)

End of the World

"The end is near," the short-wave said.
"Before midnight, all will be dead."
I aim to leave my baggage here.
For my warted nose should I fear?

April fifteen and taxes due
Can I afford to be so lax
As to ignore my yearly tax?
Pinch me, pinch me, I hope ‘tis true.

Will my love share claret and cheese
Before God winnows wheat

Back Taxes

Hangovers are a back-tax on fun.

To paraphrase T.S. Eliot: 
"Can last night just belong to last night?”

I’m not thinking about sins and penance 
or making any bound-for-failure resolutions.

I’m giving myself a mental health break.

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