Better requires less of the bitter,
And more of the Guinness.
Better requires less of life on a platter,
And more serious efforts to clean up a mess.
Better requires more reason for a natter,
And less reason for chatter that is meaningless.
Better requires more use of brain matter,
And less use of fixes that are useless.
Better requires more names that are dapper,
And less numbers that give only errors to address.
Better requires wallets that are fatter,
And less taxes for the mad hatter to bless.
Better requires more home runs from the next batter,
And less coaching by those who are clueless.
Better requires less glass to shatter,
And more children to progress.
Better requires empathy in quantity, more than a smatter,
And failure to appreciate the opposite sex, a sign of weakness.
Better requires more waste turned into matter,
And nature, to fear less.
Better requires perfect people to scatter,
And those who strive for better to be free of stress.
Better requires kindness not to clatter,
And envy to be no one's mistress.
The fair was filled with pies of every sort,
And Simon longed to taste a single slice.
Approaching the pie baker with a snort,
And begged for food without proper price.
The baker sneered, "Your coin must first suffice,
Before you bite this golden, flaky crust."
But Simon smiled and gave some odd advice:
"True wealth is found in starlight, not in dust!"
The crowded marketplace began to trust
The penniless philosopher’s strange scheme.
They threw away their wallets in disgust,
To chase after a wild, pastry baked dream.
Thus Simon ate for free while others prayed,
By selling nonsense, all his debts were paid.
If time were the minted money of the world,
we’d care to safeguard our wallets every instant,
making sure the valued notes don’t fly away like seconds
through the extravagant course of the darting minutes.
If time were to turn into the legal tender,
we’d carry the unseen folders in our chests,
filled with currency as precious as the years we get,
that we long to live in affluence every wealthy hour.
Sunrise time would be morphed into prized fortune
with splendorous riches enshrined in valued moments.
The crypt of dawn would turn into mental locker
where the gold coin of each second we’d warily keep.
Time would come for us with gilded hours to be spendthrifts,
for giving it generously to a destitute lonely friend in need.
The rationale to rightly own the treasure of time
is to squander it on something that requires it most.
He seemed to know,
All life beyond his nose.
Indeed, he was smart-
Smart enough to wear a shirt,
Pressed, yet stitched with holes.
He wore shoes,
With wooden soles,
Unpolished, laces loose,
Yet confident,
His head high, it rose.
His uncombed hair-
A thicket pried the sky,
A gentleman late for work,
Along the streets of Newark.
In the city's hustle,
Vehicles crawl and hoot,
Beep-beep, through crowded routes,
That bear no fruit.
Pockets weep in emptiness,
While wallets stink and reek,
Of sweat with no pay.
He sits, waits, sweeps,
In a shop his stage, customers play,
They bleat, he bleeds,
Pale and incomplete.
One laughs, another scoffs,
Believing him mad,
Greedy for a joke, he isn't-
For all, he's just an old man,
Cherishing the little,
They will never grasp.
Monday morning sneaks through shack and grime,
Bullets whirr where drug barons plot their trade,
Gatas tread gingerly.wasting hours and time.
The spaza hums,mugs chime,Rooibos Tea in the lane,
Bambinos sidestep shadows,mae geri into dustty tins,
Old timers murmur incantations under the day's first pain.
Smog sprinkles from braai stands where mamtanies fry,
Pirated Kalashnikovs twinkle in the sun's first glare,
Yet souls beat steady,declining lies.
Klevahs shuffle,wallets empty,agrrements whispered fast,
Tiny tots peep through windows,hearts throbbing loud,
Even in agony,a tenacious hope holds steady steadfast.
Through shacks,mirth trembles,sharp but bright,
The day starts with grit,with pain,with dreams,
In this dream struggle, the spirit fights for light.
Candlelight and Romance
Suddenly, Portugal was flung into darkness
electricity stopped, and nothing functioned
anymore, credit cards were useless
and those types of cards were the norm as
people carried little cash in their wallets
the day was wounded, walked unsteadily
towards evening, few had thought of
buying candles, the town of Cascais was
fearful and quiet
Having lived for many years in the outer
corners of the countryside where the supply
often failed, was prepared, we had candles
and means to light them
The evening was quite romantic; we sat on
the sofa held hands, telling stories from
our youth, it was almost a disappointment
came back on, the hours of darkness had
brought us closer together
The earth requires it there.
The poets do not like the lyrics.
As the tsunami approaches the lands
The poem integrates without a solution.
As the summit talks upheld information
Global warming, tariff continues debating:
China not backing down, and we, the poets
Surprisingly asking what’s next?
A poem like this doesn’t comprehend
That earth requires it there,
Make it make sense, this Tariff war
About percentages, or principles of humanity
Make it make sense, make it a kind world
Make it turn water into red wine,
Make them say, “We are for the small people,
And not the profit holder’s fat wallets,
Make the world spin like a Bitcoin machine:
The more money there goes a burden of responsibilities there:
He who pay the Pied piper call the tunes:
,
I wake up already tired,
eyes heavy from screens and sleepless nights,
stomachs empty, wallets thinner than dreams,
parents fighting over bills, over nothing,
over everything.
at school, the hallways are battlefields,
words sharper than fists,
hands that shove, mouths that sneer,
judgment like a plague
spreading from locker to locker.
I scroll through images of perfection,
faces carved by filters, bodies built in mirrors,
wondering why I don't look that way,
why I don't feel that way,
why I don't fit at all.
I pull at my skin,
I whisper my names in secret,
I wonder if I should even be here—
this world that tells me
I am too much, or not enough,
so I start cutting.
I was born into a losing hand,
and nobody told me
that I could still bluff my way to something good.
2025.1.29
Hippy horay, it Chinese New Year Day.
Every Chinese, believes they are one year older,
They may not be necessary wiser.
Last night, they went to sleep,
With full of food in the fridge.
Wearing the new pyjama or night gown in bed.
Lot of fresh money notes in the purses or wallets.
So when they wake up in the morning.
Believing, every day for the rest of the year,
They shall always have food to eat.
Clothes to wear and money to spend.
They shall wear red or bright colour at least.
They greet family members and their love ones,
The nicest words and wishes to one and another.
They young and single and unmarried members,
Happily receive red packey or AngBao from parents,
Sweet lollies and cakes shall be offered.
I am in my pink floral pyjama,
All I wish was a happy and healthy life with no drama.
Happy Chinese New Year for everybody including me.
In Autumn
In Autumn pumpkins hang out in
hedge mazes, corn visits wreathes in
Finland, spices go to
music festivals, photos of
chestnuts do
the splits, marsh mellows make
prank calls, haunted houses tailgate
tourist buses and
fire trucks and
ambulances, porcupines stop
thinking, umbrellas talk
24/7, squirrels read
encyclopaedias, jam people pretend
to be dead, candle people pretend
to be deaf, scarves wear
boots, maple syrup gurgle
nursery rhymes, hens learn to
play the
banjo, chickens lay
cell phones, cherries chase after
bunnies, cupcakes plant
trees, wallets take out
the garbage, and
mittens dip themselves in
cream cheese.
First Quarter Moon
The first quarter moon wants me to
learn to
speak curly hair language. If I don’t their
rage concerning being bullied by
prunes the size of
cement trucks will
cause: more cracks in
paths. The first quarter moon also wants me to
take a
wallet out to
dinner. Wallets love to
treat themselves too, but they won’t go out to
dinner unless
asked; eat my trash to
help reduce trash waste; take vacuums out
jogging. Vacuums thrive in
sweat. The first quarter moon also wants me to
soak a
filing cabinet in
banana juice. It stops their sporadic
shivering. The first quarter moon also wants me to
decorate tissues. Decorated tissues feel
sexier when
decorated. And finally the first quarter moon wants me to
roll scented candles down
the west driveway. Candles crave
dizziness. It calms
them.
To the tune of:
All I Want For Christmas is You!
I can eat a lot for Christmas
I just like to sit and feed
I don’t care for shirts and sweaters
Fish and Chips are all I need
I don’t need no mistletoe
Chocolate cakes and cookie dough
Get me in the mood
All I want for Christmas is food!!
I like seafood and Italian
Shrimp and pizza set me free
I don’t need new pens or wallets
Sandwiches are fine for me
Yes, and steak with baked potato
Sour cream and buttered bread
So much better than a gift card
I’m so happy when I’m fed
Wrapping presents takes its toll
Send Chow Mein ( with six egg roll)!
Not to be too crude BUT
All I want for Christmas is food!!!
12/11/24
Why do politicians lie
And our wallets deftly pry,
Puff and bluster all the time
Their intent to cheat sublime.
Are we dumb or just naive
Of that talent to deceive,
Smiles aplenty to go round
While broken promises abound.
Why venerate them so
And not tell them where to go,
Pay good money after bad
The whole thing is rather sad.
When we put them to the test
They begin their quest with zest,
But time passes all too fast
Their resolve's not there to last.
We vote them out and start again
And get another just the same,
This conveyor belt of life
Sure to bring us yet more strife.
What solution may we ask
To complete this ingrate task,
Maybe ply them all with drink
Hoping this will help them think.
As to us, let's tune them out
Find a corner where to shout,
Release the loathing and emotion,
Survive the show and the commotion.
Let's be real and rather blunt
Lest our message we might stump,
There is another old profession
That earns its money by the session.
We might as well embrace the ride
Taking bumps full in our stride,
For if we blot out all the noise
They become mere soulless voids.
Autumn
Let us begin in the current season, Not the season of beginnings but of seasoning.
Leaves bold
Wise, old
Winter
Hither it comes, white or gray, falling, failing, smarting, incredibly enlightening.
Lets go
New show
Spring
New birds of millenials herded into facebook frames, those cribs engaged with each month’s age. I look on, remembering how this boomer’s recollection is in a box, more than one.
Face crib
Ad lib
Summer
Watch those new birdies fly. Life is fleeting. Parents hold onto their wings, sometimes clipping. Grandparents no longer open their wallets to show their pride, but with much more intensity and videos, besides, put the kids front and center for thumbs up, hearts, exclamations, tears, never anger.
Emotes
Devotes
Above mentioned places, how I feel so for you with an m p
mark holland, who dragged you all through, the agony of con-vid oh
What a 'to-do' I beleive hes proud of locking your elders? Away And proud of that potion..The coercion and hey! He's
Glad that your churches were closed all around he's proud
Of how upon the truckers they came down, if you've blood clots
He's happy.' If your homeless and sick, he's estatic he was
Paid well. His wallets real thick, not as quite; as thick as his
I Q now thats something else yet back to my thoughts on
His inflated self' i lhear' he advises eye contact, why not
Take him at his word? Confront how he stands before you in
True actions get heard.!
Sub Categories
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