National Poetry Month and the April Anathema
Who is your favorite poet? What form of poetry do you like best—sonnet, sestina, villanelle, limerick, blank verse, free verse, haiku? What is your favorite poem about? The list of topics is extensive; a popular few are: nature, love, death, another person, violence, time, emotions, war, youth, the meaning of life. Poets.org offers poems for every occasion (at least 65 of them).
We may be inspired in April, National Poetry Month, to read more, write more and think more about poetry. But April also brings darker thoughts inspired by that other phenomenon that grips each and every one of us on the ides of April—Tax Day, just two days away! If you have not filed yet, you might best cease reading at this point and get immediately at it. Otherwise you might appreciate that the subject of taxes has also fallen within the purview of poets. Here are a select few poems that have appeared in the public media regarding that motif.
The Tax Poem (one of the oldest and best known, by an unknown poet)
Tax his land, tax his wage,
Tax his bed in which he lays,
Tax his tractor, tax his mule
Teach him taxes is the rule.
Tax his cow, tax his goat,
Tax his pants, tax his coat.
Tax his ties, tax his shirt,
Tax his work, tax his dirt.
Tax his chew, tax his smoke,
Teach him taxes are no joke.
Tax his car, tax his grass,
Tax the roads he must pass.
Tax his food, tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.
Tax his sodas, tax his beers,
If he cries, tax his tears.
Tax his bills, tax his gas,
Tax his notes, tax his cash.
Tax him good and let him know
That after taxes, he has no dough.
If he hollers, tax him more,
Tax him until he’s good and sore.
Tax his coffin, tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he lays.
Put these words upon his tomb,
“Taxes drove me to my doom!”
And when he’s gone, we won’t relax,
We’ll still be after the inheritance tax.
for those of you who think receiving a big tax refund is a gift from the government:
this haiku by John Baglio
Where’s my tax refund?
The feeling of found money
Sweet self-deception
Taxes a limerick by Barbara Bowles
Hail to the April season of taxes
Refined through endless years of praxis
Spring calls us to play
Instead we must pay
Isn’t it a wonder so many are fractious?
Another Ode to the IRS another limerick by Marsha Hood
It’s April, I can’t stand the tension
Crunching numbers to file an extension
I can’t make a dent
Like the top one percent
It’s taxing to not have a pension.
Ode to Taxpayers by Carol Stahl (an optimistic reminder)
The kids are in school
The firemen fight fires
The bridges stand sturdy
The pot holes are filled
The hungry are fed
Every April we show what we value.
Paying our taxes sees who we are.
No Title by Joshua Christolear’s wife (not so optimistic)
Waste of time
Senseless forms
Take my money
Spend it poorly
Untitled by Neal Levin (A “Frosty” knockoff)
Whose forms are these I think I know.
Tomorrow is the deadline though;
My income I must first declare,
And I’ll find out what I owe.
I dread this awful questionnaire,
I grind my teeth, I pull my hair.
I wonder how much they will take
As I perspire in despair.
My head begins to pound and ache.
I start to sweat, my fingers shake.
I owe too much, I’m in too deep.
Here has to be some big mistake.
There’s nothing I can do but weep.
I’ll have no money left to keep.
Just lots of nights of losing sleep,
Just lots of night of losing sleep.
Everybody pays a tax
Doctors, lawyers, quarterbacks
Teachers, waiters, lumberjacks
Publishers of paperbacks
Salesmen who sell Cadillacs
Socialites who shop at Saks
Take some comfort in these facts
Everybody pays a tax.
And finally my own contribution to the poetry of taxation:
April Anathema (from Another Season Spent, a volume of poetry by Richard Allen Anderson
Vabella Publishing, 2013, available at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.)
The taxman cometh each spring of the year
demanding cruel tribute. (For what? I’m not clear.)
I’ll give up my share—but not one cent more—
enticing deductions like a skilled matador,
while crunching the numbers like a financier.
I’ve read the 1040 instructions, oblique and austere,
completed all worksheets—incredibly queer,
plugged in numbers ten hours or more
till blood pressure readings staggered and soared
like the national debt. The taxman cometh!
Forms, schedules and records litter the floor—
one big I-R-S pain in the pos-ter-i-or.
Ignoring one detail would be cavalier,
Sure to be found by a tax scrutineer
sniffing deep in a mainframe like a Black Labrador.
The terrible deadline draws crucially near
and thoughts of an audit send shivers of fear.
Maybe I need some professional help
to fend off or deal with that Labrador’s yelp
when April is here and the taxman cometh.
Richard Allen Anderson http://richardandersonblogs.blogspot.com
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