The creditor hath a better memory than the debtor.
quote by James Howell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A creditor is worse than a slave-owner; for the master owns only your person, but a creditor owns your dignity, and can command it.
quote by Victor Hugo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eh? !
Going deaf
is such a curse.
Yet my listening's better -
'cos my hearing is worse.
Will it improve
my writing verse
if my listening's better
though my hearing is worse?
But, on the bright side - I'm
truth's creditor, not debtor:
my hearing's worse
but my listening is better...
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bore
Ah, prithee friend, if thou has ought
Of love and kind regard for me
Tell not you bore the stories droll
That yesternight I told to thee.
Nor tell him stories of thine own,
Nor chestnut of antiquitee;
Nor quip, nor crank, nor anything
If thou has ought of love for me.
For sense of humour hath he none,
No gift for telling tales hath he:
Yet thinks himself within his heart
A wit of wondrous drolleree.
And in the golden summer-time
With ear a-cock he roameth free,
Collecting quibble, quip, and crank;
And anecdotes collecteth he.
Then in the dreary winter nights
He sits him down 'neath my roof tree,
And in a coarse, ungently voice
He tells those stories back to me.
He hath no wit for telling tales,
He laughs where ne'er a point there be;
But sits and murders honest yarns,
And claims them as his propertee.
When he laughs I rock and roar;
Ay, laugh both loud and merrilee;
And, mark thou, friend, my martyrdom
He is a creditor to me.
He is a man of mighty power;
In very fact, a great J.P.;
And I, his debtor, rock and roar,
And vow he'll be the death o' me.
Ay, prithee, friend, if thou hast love
For goodly jests or care for me,
Then tell him not the merry tale
That yesternight I told to thee.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sonnet: God, our Lord
O God, Thou art my Heavenly Father,
Who loves me infinitely: my Savior!
My Friend and Guide, my Guardian and Teacher;
My Caretaker and my supreme Master.
O God, my Lord, Thou art my Confessor
Who can forgive my sins, my Redeemer;
The Light, the Truth, the Way, my Protector,
My Mentor and my soul’s Director.
In the Book of life, Thou art its Editor;
I’m a passenger, Thou art the Driver;
I am a Debtor, Thou art my Creditor;
Thou art the priceless Pearl! I am the diver.
Thou art my ship’s Captain, Navigator!
I’m Thy subject, Thou art the Emperor!
poem by John Celes
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Reckless but Tactful
Reckless he was in driving
the City-Bus with a loose brake.
' A rash driver', the college students
who travelled by the foot-board
called him in fear and respect.
He borrowed a lakh of rupees($2000/=)
from a careful creditor.
As usual the lender deducted
five percent for interest
and with two percent he insured
the life of the debtor.
Being rude and short-tempered
he would blow the horn aloud
frequently in the busy road.
If any two wheeler-rider
cross-across the road in front,
he would shout, 'you whore's son!
You want to send me to jail? '
But he had received threats
to his life from his very dear wife
who had arranged some hooligans
to kidnap him and kill him somewhere.
From the death benefit she would get
from the insurance company,
she could settle with her lover
with half of the booty.
But the driver being well-versed
in the laws of life insurance
hanged himself from a tree,
dead old in the premises of the Bus-Depot.
His barren wife and the prudent creditor
couldn't claim the sum assured or insured
from the insurance company.
For the suicide, ' No compensation'.
He had also nominated his sister
to receive the benefits from the Bus-Corporation
-----
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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A Letter For My Son To One Of His School--Fellows, Son To Henry Rose, Esq;
Dear Rose, as I lately was writing some Verse,
Which I next Day intended in School to rehearse,
My Mother came in, and I thought she'd run wild:
``This Mr. Macmullen has ruin'd my Child:
``He uses me ill, and the World shall know it;
``I sent you to Latin, he makes you a Poet:
``A fine Way of training a Shop keeper's Son!
``'Twould better become him to teach you to dun:
``Let him teach both his Wit, and his Rhyming, to Rose;
``And give you some Lessons, to help to sell Cloaths:
``He'll have an Estate, and 'twill do very well,
``That he, like his Father, in Arts should excel;
``But for you, if your Father will take my Advice,
``He'll send you no more, till he lowers his Price:
``A Guinea a Quarter! 'tis monstrously dear!--
``You might learn to dance for four Guineas a Year:
``Then, Sir, 'tell your Master, That these are hard Times;
``And Paper's too dear to be wasted in Rhymes:
``I'll teach you a Way of employing it better;
``As, July the fifteenth, Lord Levington Debtor:
``You may rhyme till you're blind, what arises from thence?
``But Debtor and Creditor brings in the Pence:
``Those beggarly Muses but come for a Curse;
``But give me the Wit, that puts Gold in the Purse.''
From what she then told me, I plainly discern,
What different Lessons we Scholars must learn.
You're happy, dear Rose; for, as far as I find,
You've nothing to do, but embellish your Mind.
What different Tasks are assign'd us by Fate!
'Tis yours to become, mine to get an Estate.
Then, Rose, mind your Learning, whatever you do;
For I have the easier Task of the two.
poem by Mary Barber
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Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Sonnet III: Taking My Pen
Taking my pen, with words to cast my woe,
Duly to count the sum of all my cares,
I find my griefs innumerable grow,
The reckonings rise to millions of despairs;
And thus dividing of my fatal hours,
The payments of my love I read and cross,
Subtracting, set my sweets unto my sours,
My joy's arrearage leads me to my loss;
And thus mine eye's a debtor to thine eye,
Which by extortion gaineth all their looks;
My heart hath paid such grievous usury
That all their wealth lies in thy beauty's books,
And all is thine which hath been due to me,
And I a bankrupt, quite undone by thee.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Making Love With Memories
You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.
We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.
I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.
And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Stanzas For Music: They Say That Hope Is Happiness
They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;
And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
Alas it is delusion all:
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
Come As You Are (LP Version)
Come As You Are"
Come, as you are. As you were.
As I want you to be. As a friend.
As a friend. As an old enemy. Take your time.
Hurry up. The choice is yours. Don't be late.
Take a rest. As a friend. As a old memory, memory, memory, memory.
Come. Dowsed in mud. Soaked in bleach.
As I want you to be. As a trend. As a friend.
As an old memory, memory, memory, memory.
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun.
Memory, memory, memory, memory (don't have a gun).
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun. Memory, memory...
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Extraordinary
There is nothing in my life,
Found extraordinary.
There's not a creditor I have,
That doesn't want to get paid.
I'm not saved from a rent I pay.
Utilities are there and just wont go away.
Nothing in my life I find extraordinary.
I do what I do to get things done.
I'm accountable for what I do and don't try to run.
There is nothing in my life,
Found extraordinary.
I do what I say and that's what it is.
No multiple choice I give as a quiz.
There is nothing in my life,
Found extraordinary.
There's not a creditor I have,
That doesn't want to get paid.
I'm not saved from a rent I pay.
Utilities are there and just wont go away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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Memory (Thy Shall)
Thy shall not slumber,
Thy shall not wake,
A memory so fragile,
So delicate it may break.
A memory so lost,
So unwanted it tears apart,
Until it dies,
It shall go back to thy start.
A powerful memory it may be,
Or a memory that shall be overlooked,
Thy one shall let it see,
How thy memory is like a book.
But how powerful thy memory is,
It has to be stronger than a good memory,
A memory that has passion and feeling,
A memory that has greatness and becoming myself, I, and me.
Until that kind of memory is shown,
Thy memory shall be looked upon near and far,
Thy memory shall be kept hidden,
Until it shall be who we are.
Thy shall not slumber,
Thy shall not wake,
A memory so fragile,
so delicate it may break.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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The creditor gets a pledge from the good payer.
Farewell Dark Gaol
Farewell, dark gaol. You hold some better hearts
Than in this savage world I thought to find.
I do not love you nor the fraudulent arts
By which men tutor men to ways unkind.
Your law is not my law, and yet my mind
Remains your debtor. It has learned to see
How dark a thing the earth would be and blind
But for the light of human charity.
I am your debtor thus and for the pang
Which touched and chastened, and the nights of thought
Which were my years of learning. See I hang
Your image here, a glory all unsought,
About my neck. Thus saints in symbol hold
Their tools of death and darings manifold.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Creditor. One of a tribe of savages dwelling beyond the Financial Straits and dreaded for their desolating incursions.
quote by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Creditor
The creditor have seized all that you have because,
You couldn't pay your debts;
But try to obey those who have the rule over you!
For wisdom is not for sale.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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For each letter received from a creditor, write fifty lines on an extraterrestrial subject and you will be saved.
quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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