Poverty
A Poem by Erundur Anwamehtar
02/29/2004

the dissatisfaction that haunts the most
isn’t with authority
it’s the anarchy, the anarchy within
chains, chains, cannot change this pain to profit

joy has no hold, better decisions are not bold
many languish hating the poverty around them
there’s a better way, a better way, one way
to end the poverty

capitalism can’t save us, communism escapes us,
we need a better way, a better way
to end the poverty

sweating blood, sweating blood alone
nothing would get done if he didn’t go farther
the better way, the one way
there’s a better way, one way
to end this poverty
the starvation of our souls
find the way to make us whole

Poem: For Getting By
Author: Erundur Anwamehtar
Date Written: 01/13/2004

I’m not perfect, I never claimed to be–
which is odd, ’cause it’s expected.
It’s what I expect.

What do you expect from me?

I know I can’t change.
Yesterday’s a stain,
but I can add it up and spend tomorrow living.

There’s no reason not to live tomorrow,
no reason not to live today.
There’s more to life than goodbye.
It costs more to not remain idle;
it’s the price of striving for survival.

I know I can’t change.
Yesterday’s a stain,
but I can add it up and spend tomorrow living.

What do you expect?

I expect to get by, I’ve seen it
in the life of that other guy.
I asked him what made him so angry,
why his hands wanted to grab and shake me.
He couldn’t explain it as we walked,
not even the vodka would talk.

His course took him
across the street, but he got by
because the cars stopped.

I can’t stop thinking that if I were drinking
I’d be stuck paying seven bucks
every time I wanted to get by.
And the charge for getting high!

I’d lend my change to a drifter
who could spend it swifter,
but I’d rather give more than just this life.

I want to see him live.

Poem Title: Accursed Paperclip
A Prose Poem by Erundur Anwamehtar
Date Written: 1/8/2004

Another lonely night in Longmont, and I’m listening to emo while fighting a paperclip. “Office Assistants”, how I loathe you. It’s the guitars, bass, piano, and drums that get me by; otherwise, that paperclip might die. His shifty eyes watch me and a light bulb’s yellowed surface gives him a raunchy glow. If I could, I’d grab him with fingers and pull him apart as the clock’s hands walk their path. Now he’s dancing, and I know it’s not to my music, not to my beat. Dancing without feet makes me despise him more. I’ll teach him what a pretzel looks like. He’ll give out no more tips after I’ve warped him. His eyes still watch, repeating the same motions, repeating, repeating. Will this end? This will end. I will upgrade.

Psalm 56:13
For you have delivered my soul from death,
   yes, my feet from falling,
that I may walk before God
   in the light of life.

Title: Turned Grey
Poet: Erundur Anwamehtar
Date Written: 12/14/2003

my thoughts turned grey today
today, when the sky grew cloudy

people think they know
they know it’s girls that bother me
“you can’t stop thinking about them”
but the people don’t know
they don’t know what’s bothering me

what’s bothering me isn’t so simple
it’s not girls, it’s not so simple to understand
when they ask, I don’t want to tell them
to tell them what it is
I want to tell them nothing or
“what’s bothering me isn’t so simple”
but it’s not so complex
it’s a lie