Toxic Assets
'I have to go to town, ' she said,
'We'll catch the early bus.'
She'd overdrawn her credit card,
I knew - she always does!
I groaned and then I moaned a bit,
I'm just a country clod,
'I hate the crowds in town, ' I said,
'I'll stay here, on my tod! '
'You'll come with me, ' she said again
And used that piercing look,
The one that gets her everything
She wants, by hook or crook.
So there I was, adrift in town
While she went to the Bank,
To sort out her finances with
Some guy she knew as Frank.
I hung about outside, and watched
Her enter through the door,
Like some black hole in space, I thought,
And shuddered, like before.
I hated banks, and managers,
And credit cards and schemes,
They'd offered me a credit card
But I said - 'In your dreams! '
I wouldn't touch them with a pole,
I just believe in cash,
But wives are like some aliens
Straight from the planet, 'Splash! '
They love to shop, and flash the card
And buy their nicky-nacks,
While we just moan and humour them
Then pay the money back.
And so I stood and waited there,
My patience growing thin,
She seemed to take forever in
That bank, so dark within.
I always knew she'd be a while
She talks a lot, my wife,
She likes to tell the tellers all
The story of her life.
I stood for twenty minutes there
Just hung outside the door,
I thought, I'll give her half an hour,
Then just a minute more.
So that I did, and half an hour
Just wasn't quite enough,
I counted off a minute then
And thought, 'I'll call her bluff! '
I charged head down on through the door
Just like a rampant bull,
Ready to jump and yell and curse,
I thought the bank was full.
But when I raised my head to see
There was nobody there,
Just a row of grinning tellers:
'Can we help you, sir? '
'Where's my wife? ' I yelled, irate,
There was no other door!
The tellers said in unison:
'Go see the manager! '
I did, and he was sitting there
All plump behind his desk,
With dollar signs in both his eyes,
I nearly went beresk!
'So where's my wife, ' I yelled at him,
'She came to sort things out; '
But he just pointed to a chair:
'Sit down - no need to shout! '
'We had to bundle her, ' he said,
With all the other debts,
'The time has come, ' he said, 'we have
To dump our toxic assets.'
'She's just a liability,
Is always overdrawn,
She's bundled, will be auctioned off
To some poor sap, at dawn.'
I staggered off in quite a daze,
Just what was I to do?
I'd have to cook the evening meal
But just for one, not two! '
And then the paper said next day
That Wall Street had collapsed,
The world economy was sick,
And gasping, had relapsed.
And like a pack of dominoes
Each country bit the dirt,
They said that they'd lost billions
With debt, the world was girt.
And then, it seemed, they traced it back
To some small Aussie town,
One woman, always overdrawn
Had brought it crashing down.
I found her planting veggies in
Some old guy's vegetation,
He'd said she had to make it up,
His superannuation.
She got the bill last week, and cried,
She said she'd pay it back,
Two thousand billion dollars she
Has hanging round her neck.
And so I had to part with her
I know just who to thank,
I'll always see her entering
That black hole, called 'The Bank.'
29 March 2009.
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
More Arrogant Than Necessary
Remember a few years ago,
When folks 'with' good credit...
Use to brag about the number of cards,
They had.
'I have all the major ones!
And you? '
None!
'None? Well...
I pride myself on maintaining good credit! '
I'm a true American.
Destined to have bad credit...
I guess!
And 'today' my bad credit prevented me,
From getting a credit card.
I did have one many years ago.
I never used it and was still stuck with a bill.
Charging me fees for 'non-use'.
Oh yes!
Now I've heard...
Not only have some folks experienced,
Tripled interests rates.
They are charged an additional fee...
IF less than two items are purchased in a single month.
AND...'if' the bank is not paid for those purchases,
Within thirty days...
That's another fee!
Years ago I frequented a store called Nellie's
On Canton Street in Hartford.
I was a kid.
Grown...
But a child nonetheless.
It was rare for me to have money.
But I ended up in Nellie's talking with her.
And she'd give me a lollipop.
I was a child using my charm to the max.
One day I licked on a lollipop...
And Ms Nellie said, 'Two for Five cents.'
'I ain't got no five cents, Ms Nellie! '
~That's your last lollipop! ~
Where are they?
What have we done to those teachers?
Who stuck by a decision to feed addicting greed to folks?
Especially to the ones who ain't got no cash.
Or none laying around in a bank.
If 'they' did 'they' would not be closing them!
I demanded my account closed years ago.
And took all of my twenty dollars out!
The manager had stated...
I was 'acting' more arrogant than necessary.
'Excuse me?
Close my account! Now.
And that will be in 'twenty' one dollar bills...
Thank you! '
They are using 'my' money?
And pushing 'me' around like that?
I...don't think so!
I'm glad I did that earlier.
The thought of standing in a line,
'Waiting' to see if my life's savings are safe...
I don't have the patience anymore to do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strangers in Time
I'll ever remember the day she left
In a storm, I was so unkind,
I'd hurled the dinner right over her head
At the wall, and it blew her mind!
‘That's it! ' she muttered, and grabbed her bag
Went sailing out of the door,
With never a backward glance at me
Or our lives, forever more!
I sat for a week, just waited, thinking
Soon she'll be coming home,
Sat in the dark and hated, loved,
Then thought I'd better atone,
So I took to the streets, her mother's house
But of her, there wasn't a trace,
I tried her sister and brother's homes
And they slammed the door in my face.
Louise had walked right out of my life
And she wouldn't be coming back,
My world collapsed in a fit of tears
But I had to accept the fact,
I walked unthinking into the road,
Was hit by the local bus,
I vaguely remember the ambulance bell
And waking up in a truss.
There was something odd in that hospital,
I couldn't quite pin it down,
The ward was the long, old-fashioned sort
In a seedy part of town,
I noticed the nurse's uniforms
Were odd, like they used to wear
Back in the fifties, as a kid
I'd had tonsillitis there.
There was more than plenty of time to think
And I went back through my life,
Went back to every decision I'd made
Right up to losing my wife,
If I'd just done this, or just said that
I'd have taken a different tack,
So many ways I'd mishandled things
With no chance of going back.
And there, behind each second of time
Was a choice that we'd have to make,
Two paths had always been open to us
What path did the other path take?
Could there be a parallel universe
Where the other half of me,
Had made those different decisions,
Was alive, but happy and free?
It took three months for my wounds to heal
Then I found myself in the street,
It wasn't the town I remembered, though,
It had changed, perceptively,
And I was feeling much younger
So much fitter than before,
A glimpse of my face in a mirror, caught
And shocked me to the core!
I went to the university
And there I saw Louise,
Just as I'd seen her years before
And she waved and smiled at me,
Or I thought she did, but she passed me by
Went up to another man,
Kissed him there in the quad, and then
Walked off with him, hand in hand.
I was back in a parallel universe
Before she'd become my wife,
And now I remembered, Andy Cole
Had caused me a lot of strife,
We'd both gone after the same Louise
In the end, she'd chosen me,
But not before he had done with her,
Walked off, and set her free.
I followed them at a distance to
The place where they shared a flat,
I noticed she wore a wedding ring
And I thought that that was that!
I'd come too late in this scheme of things
That had taken another line,
I walked by her, but she knew me not,
We were simply strangers in time.
Then suddenly I was back at home
And closing the old front door,
I could smell Louise's cooking, it
Was a dish I'd come to abhor,
I took my place at the table and
She handed me the plate,
I said, ‘It smells delicious, dear! '
I'm the master of my fate!
7 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Calling Cards
A sorting office in the old kent road
Caters from coast to most
A nice little number if youre out of work
And arent the sort to boast,
Youre in need of a job, bob-a-job, rob-a-job
Im your man to see
Ill sit Ill listen Ill not say a word
The less said would be best for we
Ooh, what a firm of naughty boys
Ooh, Ive been a naughty boy
We dont want to mark each others card
Except the one you need
I need you and your returns to help
Build my company.
My twins work brighton on a sunny day
They cover town with the shake of a hand
On a high come back coz of no come back
Now theyre working in the promised land.
Ooh, what a pair of naughty boys
Ooh, Ive been a naughty boy
(the allied irish cyprus bank)
(india bank bank of turkey)
(united bank the peoples bank)
(to catch the worm you got to be up early)
Temporarily out of bounds had to move office
Clear out of town
For every problem theres a solution and
I can do without constitution
Dealing cards from up the old kent road
Ive been checked up on my heavy load
You can go but be back soon
Ill have some work for you to groom.
Ooh, what a lot of naughty boys
Ooh, Ive been a naughty boy
(trustees bank, barclays bank)
(the natwest bank, midland bank)
(bank of scotland, williams and glyns)
(bureau de change, the peoples bank)
Ooh, what a lot of naughty boys
Ooh, what a pair of naughty boys
Ooh, what a firm of naughty boys
Ooh, Ive been a naughty boy
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Arrangement
You could have been more
Than a name on the door
On the thirty-third floor in the air
More than a credit card
Swimming pool in the backyard
While you still have the time
You could get away and find
A better life, you know the grind is so ungrateful
Racing cars, whisky bars
No one cares who you really are
Youre the keeper of the cards
Yes I know it gets hard
Keeping the wheels turning
And the wife she keeps the keys
She is so pleased to be
A part of the arrangement
You could have been more
Than a name on the door
On the thirty-third floor in the air
More than a consumer
Lying in some roam trying to die
More than a credit card
Swimming pool in the backyard
You could have been more than a name on the door
You could have been more than a name on the door
You could have been more
You could have been more
You could have been more
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Betrayed!
Giselle and I had been toughing it out,
With arguments every day,
She loved to spend, and I was the bank
To the point that I said, ‘No way! '
Then she pouted, much as she'd always done
And she dragged me into her bed,
That was the weapon she always used
When trying to turn my head.
She spent it faster than I could earn
Though I'd had a win on the gee's,
A seeming broken-down six year old
A gelding with rickety knees,
I knew the horse was a stayer, though
In a field of sprinting mares,
And after the twenty-five hundred mark
Went rocketing past them there.
I'd dropped a grand, two hundred to one,
The bookies had thought me mad,
But I was rolling in bags of cash
That evening, back at my pad.
Giselle had snaffled a grand or two,
The rest went into the bank,
I wanted to buy a house and land
And I had that horse to thank.
Giselle just wanted to spend and spend
And I finally told her ‘No! '
It was more important to save than splash
On clothes or a picture show,
She'd disappear for days on end
Then come back, looking for cash,
And every time that I told her no
She'd use her tongue, like a lash!
I got a call on a Thursday night
To meet her up in the town,
She wanted to meet in the basement
Of a car-park, underground,
I thought I should, I could meet her there
And finally call it quits,
There wasn't a whole lot of love to share,
That part had fallen to bits.
I parked the car and I saw her there
But she stood, and waited for me,
Close to a concrete pillar, then
A shadow was all I could see,
A guy came out and pointed a gun
And Giselle said, ‘Go on, shoot! '
I heard the retort, two bullets fired
As they tore through my business suit.
I don't recall there was too much pain
Just the echoing sound of the shots,
I swayed and crumpled, my knees gave way
I thought I was dead on the spot.
I lay unable to move while she
Rifled my pockets through,
Took my passbook, spat in my face,
Said: ‘That's what I think of you! '
They found me there in a pool of blood,
I don't remember the rest,
The police were sat by my hospital bed,
They said they'd made an arrest.
They'd picked the guy and had matched the gun
When Giselle had put him in,
And he must have emptied my bank account,
She said - It was all just spin!
They thought they'd left me for dead out there,
Had freaked when I was alive,
Giselle thought she could cover herself
By telling a thousand lies,
She'd been ‘an innocent bystander',
She said, was scared by the gun,
She'd wanted to meet me there, she said,
Hit the town, and have some fun.
She came to visit and sat by the bed,
Looked sick and she cried a lot,
She asked me what I remembered, and
I said, ‘Not even a jot! '
I could have had her arrested then,
Made a statement based on fact,
But I had my very own vengeful thoughts,
And that would put paid to that.
The shooter they found dead in his cell,
Strung up with a blue striped tie,
He just couldn't face a life in jail
While Giselle stayed high and dry.
They'd seen each other behind my back
She'd sucked him in for the kill,
I hid my total contempt for her
But it called for an iron will.
It took three months and she moved back in,
She was finally over her fear,
But needed to cover herself, I knew
She'd leave, when the coast was clear!
She had my money, all stashed away,
In a locker at Central Park,
I'd found the key in her underwear
As I roamed around in the dark.
One night I said we should take the train,
Go down and take in a show,
We got to the end of the platform, and
I hustled her down below,
Down and into the tunnel, said:
‘We're taking a shorter way! '
Revenge is a dish served cold, I thought,
I was cold as cold that day.
We came to an iron grating that
I lifted, to hustle her down,
Down on a rusty ladder to
The sewers, run under the town.
I cuffed her there to a water pipe
While she screamed and kicked and spat,
When I left her stood in the sewage there
I could see the first grey rat!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Day That Time Would Stop!
The passageway was longer than he thought
He would have said,
It seemed to go forever,
But the words stayed in his head.
That drumming in his ears was surely
Just the lack of sound,
And could it be, he floated,
With his feet just off the ground?
The ambulance had called for him at just
On half past three,
He'd told his wife: ‘Don't bother,
It will go away, you'll see! '
His wife was more determined than she'd
Ever been before,
She dialled up on her mobile
And she waved him, at the door.
‘It's all just fuss and bother, this, ' he thought,
And flushed quite red,
The fellow in the ambulance
Looked grim, and shook his head.
He tried to give him oxygen, then
Called out to his mate:
‘You'd better put your foot down,
Or we might be there too late! '
He felt the lurch of speed, and heard the
Sirens start to wail,
He only felt embarrassment,
‘Such fuss! Beyond the pale! '
But then the light had faded in the
Middle of the day,
And that was when he found himself
Deep in that passageway!
The light became much brighter, at the end
He saw a door,
It slowly started opening,
He couldn't see much more,
But then he floated through it, standing
Stark within this room
Filled wall to wall with flowers that
Had just begun to bloom!
He stood there for a moment, he could not
Believe his eyes,
A crowd of happy people jumped
On out, and yelled: ‘Surprise! '
Then streamers and balloons appeared
And tangled round his feet,
He stared at them in wonder as
His heart had ceased to beat!
His father stood there grinning, he had died
Before his time
While his mother wiped a tear away,
She'd left when he was nine,
And all the aunts and uncles from
His distant memories,
Now stood and charged a glass to him,
And smiled, and shouted: ‘Cheers! '
‘He doesn't know what's happened, give him time, '
Said Uncle Ron,
‘We're just so glad to see you - My!
The weight that you've put on!
You must have seen it coming, all
That pain before you drop;
It's common to us all, you know,
The Day that Time would Stop! '
He paused to think about his wife, and
Wondered if she cried,
Or simply shrugged her shoulders when
She heard that he had died,
The heart that he no longer had
He knew would never mend;
He stood erect and dignified -
A funeral to attend!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Itsy Bitsy Spider's Mrs
Itsy Bitsy Spider had it tough from the very start,
All he really wanted was to win the Mrs' heart,
But Mrs Spider was angry after a huge fight,
And scurried up the water spout, away from Itsy's sight.
So up went Itsy to the top of the water spout,
But when he reached the top the Mrs gave a shout,
Her rainfall of tears made him run back down,
And that's when Itsy decided to go to town.
Round and round Itsy ran, round and round the town,
"Help! " he yelled, "Help, help! The Mrs pushed me down! "
"I cannot take this pain" he cried, "We haven't spoken for hours"
And a kindly young gentleman said, "Why not give her flowers? "
Flowers, Itsy thought, that will prove I'm devout,
So up went Itsy, up the water spout.
The Mrs pushed him down again, tears in her eyes,
And quite distressed, Itsy gave an unhappy sigh.
Round and round Itsy ran, round and round the town,
"Help! " he yelled, "Help, help! The Mrs pushed me down! "
"I cannot take this pain" he cried, "I saw a tear in her eye"
And a jolly old baker said, "Why not make her a pie?
A pie, itsy thought, that will be the best tack,
So Itsy went up the water spout with a pie on his back.
The Mrs pushed him down again, moaning words of hate,
And Itsy didn't know how to make her emotions sate.
Round and round Itsy ran, round and round the town,
"Help! " he yelled, "Help, help! The Mrs pushed me down! "
"I cannot take this pain" he cried, "She says all we have is hate"
And a pretty little girl said, "Why not bring her on a date? "
A date, Itsy thought, that will ensure forgiveness!
So Itsy clambered up the spout, not wanting any less.
The Mrs pushed him down again, after her tears had rained,
And Itsy wished he could prove that his love was not feigned.
Standing at the bottom of the spout Itsy wondered what to do.
He thought and thought and then suddenly, he knew!
The way to win the Mrs' back was to simply tell the truth,
It can't be so hard, he thought, I've loved her since our youth.
At the bottom of the spout Itsy yelled to Mrs,
"My dear, my dear, how I miss your kisses! "
"I miss your lively eyes and your happy smile,
I need you back right now, if only for a little while".
"Please, oh please, you cannot just say goodbye,
Because if you don't forgive me, I know that I will die"
At the top of the spout the Mrs' rain stopped flowing,
Before Itsy new it, sunshine was growing.
Itsy saw the sun in her eyes and climbed swiftly to her side,
And Mrs Spider beamed at her husband with joy and pride.
poem by Lenore Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One-Sided Conversation
She sat, head bent,
In her old, grey chair,
The blinds were pulled and drawn,
The shadows caught
In the gathering gloom,
But she moved not at all;
Her husband, stood by the old oak door
He'd cleared his throat to speak,
'You wanted to see me, then, ' he said,
A pallor upon his cheek.
She knew, he thought,
She knew full well
His cheating, shiftless ways,
He'd married her more for her money
Than for her wit, her charm or grace.
She'd warned him once
She'd warned him twice,
She'd said that he made her sick,
Now he was the one who was feeling ill
As she still refused to speak.
'I 'spect you want
Me gone, ' he said,
And waited for some response,
She sat, head bent in her favourite chair
As he stood there, like a dunce.
'I need some money,
A thousand pounds,
Will get me out of a fix.'
The way she sat, and stared at the floor
Meant: 'No, I'll give you nix.'
He mopped his forehead
With trembling hands,
The sharks were closing in,
If she didn't come to his rescue, well,
He'd seen what they'd do to him…
'I beg you, think
Of your own good name, '
But she wasn't listening then,
Her face was grim, she stared at the floor,
With nothing left for him.
He went to a drawer
And took a gun,
Then held it up to his head,
'I'd never have thought you could be so cruel
To the man who shares your bed.'
The air grew chill
In the silent room
As he let out a plaintive cry,
The shot rang out, but she didn't move
As he fell to the floor, and died.
The doctor came,
And the police, of course,
But the wife still sat and stared,
The husband lay on the bloodstained rug
As if she'd never cared.
'It's very odd, '
Said the sergeant then,
But the Doctor suppressed a laugh,
'He's only been dead for an hour, ' he said,
'She's been dead for an hour and a half.'
9 April 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reconstruction
So, the bank has bust it's boiler! And in six or seven year
It will pay me all my money back -- of course!
But the horse will perish waiting while the grass is germinating,
And I reckon I'll be something like the horse.
There's the ploughing to be finished and the ploughmen want their pay,
And I'd like to wire the fence and sink a tank;
But I own I'm fairly beat how I'm going to make ends meet
With my money in a reconstructed bank.
"It's a safe and sure investment!" But it's one I can't afford,
For I've got to meet my bills and bay the rent,
And the cash I had provided (so these meetings have decided)
Shall be collared by the bank at three per cent.
I can draw out half my money, so they tell me, from the Crown;
But -- it's just enough to drive a fellow daft --
My landlord's quite distressed, by this very bank he's pressed,
And he'll sell me up, to pay his overdraft.
There's my nearest neighbour, Johnson, owed this self-same bank a debt,
Every feather off his poor old back they pluck't,
For they set to work to shove him, and they sold his house above him,
Lord! They never gave him time to reconstruct.
And their profits from the business have been twenty-five per cent,
Which, I reckon, is a pretty tidy whack,
And I think it's only proper, now the thing has come a cropper,
That they ought to pay a little of it back.
I have read about "reserve funds", "banking freeholds", and the like,
Till I thought the bank had thousands of assets,
And it strikes me very funny that they take a fellow's money
When they haven't got enough to pay their debts.
And they say they've lent my money, and they can't get paid it back.
I know their rates per cent were tens and twelves;
And if they've made a blunder after scooping all this plunder,
Why, they ought to fork the money out themselves.
So all you bank shareholders, if you won't pay what you owe,
You will find that on your bank will fall a blight;
And the reason is because it's simply certain that deposits
Will be stopped, the bank will bust, and serve you right!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tin Bank
Speaking of banks, I'm bound to say
That a bank of tin is far the best,
And I know of one that has stood for years
In a pleasant home away out west.
It has stood for years on the mantelpiece
Between the clock and the Wedgwood plate--
A wonderful bank, as you'll concede
When you've heard the things I'll now relate.
This bank was made of McKinley tin,
Well soldered up at sides and back;
But it didn't resemble tin at all,
For they'd painted it over an iron black.
And that it really was a bank
'Twas an easy thing to see and say,
For above the door in gorgeous red
Appeared the letters B-A-N-K!
The bank had been so well devised
And wrought so cunningly that when
You put your money in at the hole
It couldn't get out of that hole again!
Somewhere about that stanch, snug thing
A secret spring was hid away,
But _where_ it was or _how it_ worked--
Excuse me, please, but I will not say.
Thither, with dimpled cheeks aglow,
Came pretty children oftentimes,
And, standing up on stool or chair,
Put in their divers pence and dimes.
Once Uncle Hank came home from town
After a cycle of grand events,
And put in a round, blue, ivory thing,
He said was good for 50 cents!
The bank went clinkety-clinkety-clink,
And larger grew the precious sum
Which grandma said she hoped would prove
A gracious boon to heathendom!
But there were those--I call no names--
Who did not fancy any plan
That did not in some wise involve
The candy and banana man.
Listen; once when the wind went 'Yooooooo!'
And the raven croaked in the tangled tarn--
When, with a wail, the screech-owl flew
Out of her lair in the haunted barn--
There came three burglars down the road--
Three burglars skilled in arts of sin,
And they cried: 'What's this? Aha! Oho!'
And straightway tackled the bank of tin.
They burgled from half-past ten p.m.,
Till the village bell struck four o'clock;
They hunted and searched and guessed and tried--
But the little tin bank would not unlock!
They couldn't discover the secret spring!
So, when the barn-yard rooster crowed,
They up with their tools and stole away
With the bitter remark that they'd be blowed!
Next morning came a sweet-faced child
And reached her dimpled hand to take
A nickel to send to the heathen poor
And a nickel to spend for her stomach's sake.
She pressed the hidden secret spring,
And lo! the bank flew open then
With a cheery creak that seemed to say:
'I'm glad to see you; come again!'
If you were I, and if I were you,
What would we keep our money in?
In a downtown bank of British steel,
Or an at-home bank of McKinley tin?
Some want silver and some want gold,
But the little tin bank that wants the two
And is run on the double standard plan--
Why, that is the bank for me and you!
poem by Eugene Field
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Credit Crunch Blues
Well i woke up this morning
I swear the sun just wouldn't shine
When the day took to dawning
My woman laid it on the line
'Ain't buying you no more whiskey'
And you ain't buying no more time.
I got the credit crunch blues
I'm gonna blow the bank away
I got the credit crunch blues
I'm gonna say my piece today
I gave you all my money
You gone and turned your head away.
Well I'm hiding from the rent man
There ain't a bill that i can pay
I'll be living in a tent man
I hardly eat from day to day
Some pig give me the swine flu honey
The 'doc' he said 'just stay away'.
I got the credit crunch blues
The man he say he got no work
I got the credit crunch blues
A weaker man would steal or shirk
But i just pray to Jesus
'Lord send it down for one more jerk'
Yeah i got the credit crunch blues
I'm gonna blow that bank away
I got the credit crunch blues
I'm gonna use my 'piece' today
You city boys took my money
Now sure as hell you're gonna pay!
-Oh yeah.
poem by Kevin East
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Up In The Attic
I took a room in a boarding house
In a seedy part of town,
I hadn't worked for a month or so
And was feeling rather down,
My girl had left with another guy
Who promised her thrills and rings,
While I could offer her take-away
Among other boring things.
I really felt I was down and out,
The insurance wasn't through,
I'd caught my arm in a roller, and
You know what that can do.
With plaster up to my elbow, I
Could get no sort of work,
So had to exist on the government,
And I felt like a prime jerk.
I'd always been independent
So my pride had taken a hit,
The landlord hurried me out
As soon as the rent was behind a bit,
The boarding house, it was ancient,
A Victorian red brick,
A mansion once, but converted
Into rooms, for the broke, and sick.
I sank in a deep depression,
I could barely go out the door,
Fish and chips was the staple meal
That I bought from the corner store,
I'd slink back in to my tiny room
And eat from the daily news,
The only things of the world outside
That I learned, were the column views.
I'd thought Denise was my passion,
My charm in a mundane life,
I'd thought she'd always be there for me
And asked her to be my wife,
But that was before the accident,
She'd hummed and hah'd, ‘We'll see! '
But set her star on the shiny car
Of the guy who came after me.
I lay and thought of her often,
I thought she was most unkind,
And tried to maintain my anger, but
Could not get her out of my mind.
What made it worse, as a sort of curse
Were the sounds from up above,
The guy, up there in the attic,
Laughing, joking and making love!
The girls tripped up in the evening,
Up the stairs, right past my room,
I heard them giggle and whispering
As I lay there, deep in gloom.
I wondered about the attraction,
Was he rich, this guy, or what?
So why was he there in a boarding house
In an attic - what had he got?
The music came through the ceiling,
I could hear them dancing there,
They kept me awake to the early hours
As I slumped in an old armchair,
They'd come in pairs, or one at a time
And they'd leave, but just on dawn,
After I'd heard the bedsprings creak
And a low, but sultry moan!
He and the landlord were thick as thieves
But I never caught sight of him,
I asked him once, ‘Who's the guy up there?
It sounds like he's running a gym! '
‘Now don't you bother your head, my lad,
He's a friend, and an honoured guest,
He don't take kindly to strangers, so
Just keep to yourself, it's best! '
I started leaving an open door
So I'd see the girls who came,
Dressed to kill in their mini-skirts
They all looked much the same,
One evening, one came very late
When I'd thought I'd have some peace,
She stopped by the door and looked at me,
And I blurted out, ‘Denise! '
She caught her breath and she looked at me
Then hurried on up the stair,
Determined she wouldn't talk to me
As I sat in a mute despair,
I thought at first to follow her
But I slammed the door, said ‘No!
I'm not going to play her silly games, '
But listened from down below.
The music played and I heard her voice,
Her laugh, but soft and sweet,
She certainly had no thought for me
As I slumped there, in defeat.
I heard the bedsprings creak at last
And I knew it was over then,
But she never came down the stairs that night
And I woke, just after ten.
I wanted to turn the light on, but
It seemed to have blown the globe,
I climbed on a chair to change it, and
It flashed, just like a strobe,
Something was dripping along my arm
Sticky, the colour of mud,
I jumped off the chair, and opened the door
To the hallway, it was blood!
I ran up the stairs, two at a time
And I kicked in the attic door,
Denise was naked, such as she was,
She lay, spread out on the floor,
I took out the guy with a single hit
And I looked at the mantelpiece,
For there was a head on a metal spit,
And I cried out, ‘No! - Denise! '
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Terrorist
I lived in a block of service flats
Right next to a power grid,
The endless hum made my mind go numb
And infected all I did.
I couldn't sleep as the hum grew loud
At night, in the wind and rain,
Even the walls vibrated, and
They rattled the window-panes.
I pulled the pillow up over my head,
I tried sleeping upside down,
I rammed thick towels under the doors
Lay wide awake, and frowned.
I tried complaints to the Power Co.
Who laughed, and said, 'We'll see...
If anyone else complains, we might
Build a whole new facility! '
He grinned, and I took a poke at him
Right over the counter top,
They called the guard and he tossed me out,
And threatened to call a cop.
My life was falling apart by then
I staggered back to my pad,
I hadn't slept for a month or so,
I thought I was going mad!
I'd just got back to the balcony
When I stopped myself, mid-stride,
For out from the next door flat, a man
Peered out, then went inside,
He slammed the door in a hurry then
As soon as he saw me there,
I heard him whisper as I walked by
In Arabic - I declare!
A swarthy man with a big black beard,
Dressed in a chequered shirt,
There'd never been anyone living there,
I knew that for a cert,
I wondered if he was squatting there,
Remembered to lock my door,
I didn't want midnight visitors calling
Waiting for me to snore.
Late that night I heard his footsteps
Out on the balcony,
I peered on out through the blinds, and saw
He stood with his back to me,
But in his hands was a strange device,
With wires and a dial, I swear,
A bomb, I thought, and began to tremble
'What if he puts it there? '
The grid was next to the balcony
Supplied this side of town,
The power to the local Army Base
Would go, if the grid went down,
As in a flash, I realised
The man was a terrorist,
'You never can trust a man with a beard'
I'd read in the yellow press.
For days I saw him come and go,
My eyes hung out of my head,
I wasn't thinking too straight, or I
Would have phoned the police, instead.
But I thought I could catch him unawares,
And maybe, get a reward,
I'd be in the papers - 'There's the Man -
Put a Terrorist to the Sword! '
I crept about, disguised myself,
Peered in through his window there,
Three men were sat at the table,
They were all dark skinned, not fair,
They each had a big black bushy beard
And the table was covered in tools,
Some copper wire and a big black box -
'They think that we're bloody fools! '
'They think that we're bloody fools, ' I said,
As I turned to walk away,
I hid at the end of the balcony
'Til the sun went down that day,
They came on out, just after dark,
Leant over and touched the grid,
Fitted some wire and a big black box
Then went somewhere, and hid.
I waited 'til all was quiet there,
Then ripped off their copper wires,
Picked up their big black box and smashed it,
Down on the concrete tiles,
It was then that I heard an alarm go off
And lights were flashing blue,
An army of cops said - 'Down on your knees!
That's right; we're talking to you! '
They drove me down to the station then,
And took my fingerprints,
They wouldn't tell me the charges, just
Stood round me, dropping hints,
'You're going down for a long, long time,
We've had you on our list,
You're a trouble-maker, born and bred,
A typical terrorist! '
I caught a glimpse of myself just then
In a mirror on the wall,
I hadn't shaved for a month or so,
So bearded, gaunt and tall,
I wore my dirty chequered shirt,
I think that did me down,
They thought that I was the culprit
Not the saviour of the town!
The three guys were technicians, so
They said, when they'd simmered down,
Indian Techs who worked for them,
The Power Co. in town,
They'd had a complaint about the grid
And had come to check the hum,
They'd brought some special meter box -
I felt myself go numb!
I copped six hundred hours in court,
And a fifteen thousand fine,
That box was worth a million quid
They told me at the time,
I wear a beard and sunnies now
So nobody sees my face,
I live in a new apartment and
I've given up complaints!
15 January 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Been There Before
There came a stranger to Walgett town,
To Walgett town when the sun was low,
And he carried a thirst that was worth a crown,
Yet how to quench it he did not know;
But he thought he might take those yokels down,
The guileless yokels of Walgett town.
They made him a bet in a private bar,
In a private bar when the talk was high,
And they bet him some pounds no matter how far
He could pelt a stone, yet he could not shy
A stone right over the river so brown,
The Darling River at Walgett town.
He knew that the river from bank to bank
Was fifty yards, and he smiled a smile
As he trundled down; but his hopes they sank,
For there wasn’t a stone within fifty mile;
For the saltbush plain and the open down
Produce no quarries in Walgett town.
The yokels laughed at his hopes o’erthrown,
And he stood awhile like a man in a dream;
Then out of his pocket he fetched a stone,
And pelted it over the silent stream –
He’d been there before; he had wandered down
On a previous visit to Walgett town.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Woman and A Web Cam(Name Revision)
The women said but I only need your help
With money in hand
Please with support me but not ever know me
I say to you the writer on the other end
How can you blame the victim
With plans wicked and full of deceit
Robbing the poor only if to get off your feet
The body with a video is your tool
Through the internet you sell it
A cam so tiny with lies you speak
I need help you ask
As if you were the first come past
You say I'm moving to your town
Where maybe my soul can be found
I need friends, a job, and your credit card number
Only in a complete slumber
Could I miss something so amiss
With my blissful ear I listen
If I could help you my dear
But it's beyond all redemption
Every word spoke is a horrid thought I must control
Sorry but I will not fall down that rabbit hole
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Knock, Knock
Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And twice He knocked then stayed.
It was my choice, I could ignore
And that's why I delayed.
He walked away.
I watched Him leave
Then got on with my life,
To sin like others who deceive
And cause all sorts of strife
Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And I watched Him inside.
I knew He knew my every flaw,
Not one could be denied.
I stood my ground, He left again.
I let Him walk away.
I struggled every now and then
With fears of Judgment Day.
My bank account looked mighty fine
As fifteen years passed by.
To think that all that cash was mine.
How come my soul felt dry?
Lord Jesus stood there at my door,
With fear I turned the key.
And simply stared at Christ with awe.
You see, He died for me.
Lord Jesus entered as my friend,
Yet also set me straight.
My useless life came to an end,
God's love to celebrate.
I sighed I'd made Him wait so long.
Those years I can't restore.
I tell you this, you can't go wrong
If you open the door.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Painter’s Agony
I want to paint that river
And the scene behind it
The boat and the boatmen
I know everything about
That river
My association with the river
Many a hundred memories
Evenings and sunshines
Floods and slow water
I have lived my life
On the bank of that river
I want to paint
Paint it with the most beautiful colors
I want to borrow some colors
From the colors of paradise
And I love the town
That lives beside the river
Old and dusty
Where shall I take you
In that small town
Every nook and corner
Shall tell you that it knows me
I want to paint that town
In colors of heaven
I want to carry a few children
And take them on a tour
I want to see the town with their eyes
And then go to the riverbank
And meditate for a while
Drink the wine of nature
And get lost into the world of beauty
And flow with the river
Enter every house
My heart throbs in harmony
With every heart in the town
Give me colors divine
Colors from the other world
For I want to paint
That river and that town
(This poem is about a small town on the bank of river Indus)
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Rambling, Gambling Willie
Come around you rovin gamblers and a story I will tell
About the greatest gambler, you all should know him well.
His name was will o conley and he gambled all his life,
He had twenty-seven children, yet he never had a wife.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
He gambled in the white house and in the railroad yards,
Wherever there was people, there was willie and his cards.
He had a reputation as the gamblinest man around,
Wives would keep their husbands home when willie came to town.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
Sailin down the mississippi to a town called new orleans,
Theyre still talkin about their card game on that jackson river queen.
Ive come to win some money, gamblin willie says,
When the game finally ended up, the whole damn boat was his.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
Up in the rocky mountains in a town called cripple creek,
There was an all-night poker game, lasted about a week.
Nine hundred miners had laid their money down,
When willie finally left the room, he owned the whole damn town.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
But willie had a heart of gold and this I know is true,
He supported all his children, and all their mothers too.
He wore no rings or fancy things, like other gamblers wore,
He spread his money far and wide, to help the sick and the poor.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
When you played your cards with willie, you never really knew
Whether he was bluffin or whether he was true.
He won a fortune from a man who folded in his chair.
The man, he left a diamond flush, willie didnt even have a pair.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
It was late one evenin during a poker game,
A man lost all his money, he said willie was to blame.
He shot poor willie through the head, which was a tragic fate,
When willies cards fell on the floor, they were aces backed with eights.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
So all you rovin gamblers, wherever you might be,
The moral of this story is very plain to see.
Make your money while you can, before you have to stop,
For when you pull that dead mans hand, your gamblin days are up.
And its ride, willie, ride,
Roll, willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin now, nobody really knows.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Town Types No.17- Mr Bodge the Banker
Mr Bodge, the banker, was a power in the land;
His city bank had granted him an autocratic hand;
For our town was most remote from commerce centres then,
And only Mr Bodge could know who were our solid men.
So Mr Bodge within his bank reigned with a pride immense,
And rich men and poor men, they paid him deference;
For who could know when droughts would come to jeopardise some plan?
And one word from Mr Bodge might save or sink a man.
He shone among the 'silvertails,' a leading social light,
Well dressed, well groomed and painfully polite.
He entertained the Governor, when he was in our town,
Magistrates and M.P.'s and others of renown.
In full beards and top hats, with such a fancy spread
That the fat cook at Flynn's pub went nearly off her head
Cold collations, caviare, foods till then unknown,
And all were sure that Mr Bodge had money of his own.
He beamed on Peter Connor when he came into the bank,
For Connor was our squatter and a man of social rank.
He beamed on all the 'silvertails' of his exclusive set;
He frowned on cocky farmers who were over-long in debt.
'My bank considers character,' he'd sternly say to those.
'If you can't pay the fifty pounds, I fear we must foreclose.'
And, tho' small men called him a snob, most of the town agreed
That Mr Bodge, tho' hard at times, was very just indeed.
He once went on extended leave, and all the town's elect
Gave him a champagne send-off. 'Twas the least one might expect.
But when he overstayed his leave there was a mighty din,
The bank sent its inspectors up and called its money in
Or tried to. But old Connor failed, and Collins at the store,
The chemist and the auctioneer and half a dozen more.
And men long talked with bated breath of that depression dire
When Mr Bodge, the banker, left the old town in the mire.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Our Town Ghost
Five of us were playing cards
while outside someone was banging
as if, they were constructing something.
I got up to see who it was,
but there was no one there.
I scratched my head and returned
to the hand I was playing.
About a half an hour later,
we heard someone walking about.
With torch in hand, I went again to investigate.
Again, there was no one there.
I shone the torch up and down the street.
The footsteps had stopped by now.
We could only guess it was the ghost,
which roams around our little town.
It hurts no one and no one is afraid of it.
Some say it our old friend Jock.
Other say it is someone else.
Unless one of us sees it, we will never be sure.
Whoever it is we wish
they would show themselves occasionally,
so we would then know whom to say goodnight to.
5 February 2009
Authors Note:
I belong to a small Western re-enactment town called Deadwood.
The town is haunted by an arrangement of ghosts, none of them harmful. A number us have witnessed several unusual things. The poem recounts an incident, which happened one night a few years ago when five of us were playing card in the back of one the building at gone midnight.
poem by David Harris
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