Death is the key that will open a miser's coffers.
Sierra Leonean proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Miser and his 3rd Wife
1
The Old Miser
my husband is dying
and he makes me promise
I must put all his money in his coffin
when he dies
“O my legal third wife
the only one surviving -
you must put all my money
secretly in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring away all the money
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
2
Now, he’s dead
and I’ve arranged for his funeral
and while everyone’s busy
with all these preparations
I dutifully take all his money
from the hiding place
which he whispered to me
with his last breath
and he bit my ear and he snarled:
“Put all my money
in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
3
So I take all his money
and bring it to the bank
and deposit it in my name
and make a cheque out for 10 million
and put the cheque below his head
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you can take all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When misers die, children open up their coffers.
For Years/ A Miser Of Every Minute
FOR YEARS/ A MISER OF EVERY MINUTE
For years
A miser of every minute
For my work.
And now near old age
I understand
All that time given to works
Never to be read,
And so
A seeming tranquility.
If all my time wasted
Why be a miser
Any longer?
And yet,
What have I done?
Can I somehow still
Do something?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Oh, I wish I were a miser; being a miser must be so occupying.
quote by Gertrude Stein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The miser and the open-handed spend the same in long run.
It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The miser does not own the gold, it is the gold that owns the miser.
While the miser is merely a capitalist gone mad, the capitalist is a rational miser.
Suicide Of Farmers
When the whole families of some
are jobbing in banks and offices,
the sons of farmers
frivol away with politicians
seeking a job.
The womenfolk of farmers
labour all the day in fields
lose their florid face
and roam as skeletons
They fall on evil days
if the darker clouds fail to burst.
Rising in the early morn,
they hurry to places far off,
seeking work in the earth.
Till they be back at midnight,
with some savoury packets,
their children wait unfed
like the fledglings in nests
with sorrow-laden faces.
Heaping praises on the rich
they borrow loans to send their sons
to colleges which they haven’t seen.
They obey the orders of the affluent,
speak of their own bright sons as dull ones
to be assured of their favours.
The coffers of the banks
scoff at them to open
unless some bigwigs give signal.
But the money lenders open the coffers
and do business in rural towns.
If anyone of the family is not in a job
the pang of suicide has a peck at them.
They don’t beg or lick
the palms of newly sprung up rich.
When some families die,
the Govt. fail to care
and the land shivers here and there.
You stop not their tears
and the nation will be reduced to a rubble.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Save for Them
A miser as I am,
I shall leave a huge wealth.
No regrets for it.
My children will have it.
Otherwise also other than
Them who will conduct
My death anniversary?
I save for them to spend.
(02.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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O death
Oh, Death, о h Death, oh Death,
Won't you spare me over til another year
But what is this, that I cant see
with ice cold hands taking hold of me
When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,
who will have mercy on your soul
Oh, Death, о h Death, oh Death,
No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
Oh, Death,
Well I am Death, none can excel,
I'll open the door to heaven or hell.
Oh, Death, о h Death,
my name is Death and the end ïs here...
poem by Kaitlin Skelding
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The Crying From Misery
The miser has concussion when sick,
It is unholy and right if you end;
It contains blessings, the world,
When holiness has defeated;
We are holy, and they are so unholy,
The miser has concussion when sick
Too sick he is that it matters.
The misery of babies is like angelic crying,
You have divine nature when child
And lose when miserable more,
Like an angel it is, then adults shall change,
When babies were also them, also them.
The misery of babies is like angelic crying.
The miser has concussion when sick,
The misery of babies is like angelic crying.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The miser, starving his brother's body, starves also his own soul, and at death shall creep out of his great estate of injustice, poor and naked and miserable.
quote by Theodore Parker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recognition: Now Your Silence Is Always Part Of Me
Now your silence is always part of me,
where you lie naked on the examination table
before they slice you open after your death
and much too quickly life frolics past
and now I want it so much differently.
Now your silence is always part of me,
with past moments that I cannot avoid,
when a holy man says some words from scripture,
before they slice you open after your death
and totally separated are you and I
where my hand rests on your breast,
now your silence is always part of me,
you that once full of life, carelessly free
could bind your love as a oath to me,
before they slice you open after your death
and I wonder what remains in these moments
where I have to lie down that, which had been between us,
now your silence is always part of me,
before they slice you open after your death.
poem by Gert Strydom
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