Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Ode Business Poems | Ode Poems About Business

These Ode Business poems are examples of Ode poems about Business. These are the best examples of Ode Business poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Ode | |

TIME

Time is a great cure 
For what I'm not sure
Time is only for this minute
If you live another a cure is in it!

Life is time and living it is the cure
Working is the blood of being secure
Money, money, money needs no friend around
Good health is times only sound!

So,  P.S. My friends have the Time of your life!

The Silver Scribe


Details | Ode | |

Chelsea: Sweeping Up London's glories

 
The club that stamps authority when in its Zenith Chelsea! The club with a zero tolerance even in a zero percent ball possession. Chelsea! Breaks, makes and keeps records. 86 consecutive home games unbeaten, for instance. Chelsea! Splashes the cash as money talks, raping all other teams as Trophies walk who else would it be? Chelsea! Who wants to challenge us? Who are you by the way? Oh! Pathetic Arsenal! We need no manual to give you some rough Anal. No wonder you cannot remember your last final. Cover your shame with a wig. The hole needed to hide, you must dig. Acquiring a Trophy, for you, Is like bathing a Pig, cos you will still go back to your trophy-less ways. When you stamp your name on the champion's league then, would we consider you, big.


Details | Ode | |

Waking up is Dangerous Business

Waking up is dangerous business. 
Killing time, wash the dishes. 
Open the bottle, swallow silence, 
Brainwash the kids, quell defiance. 

Or maybe it’s just me. 
Or maybe it’s just me. 

Break them down, impose the dogmatic
Walk away, consider it emphatic. 
Instill false virtues, pass the world into the hands of the meek. 
Destroy opposition, leave the whole world weak. 

Or maybe it’s just me. 
Or maybe it’s just me. 

Waking up is dangerous business. 
Contemplative kids end up in ditches
Passive aggressive logical corruption
Chop the garbage fine, for easy consumption

Or maybe it’s just me.
Maybe it’s just me..


Details | Ode | |

myrrh marred marinas

myrrh marred marinas and goose-stepped geese 
set sapphire to salacious rhythm under the absent sun… 
a fantastical flamenco curtailed caustic cues, 
nine-balled eighths shot straight to the soul, 
pool for the favelas, thought for the fools… 


Details | Ode | |

VICTORY TODAY FOR 32BJ: HOW SWEET THE SOUND

It was time for the New York Residential Division contract to be renewed
but the Realty Advisory Board desired the members to get screwed
that wanted the members to give some of their benefits back
but 32BJ leadership stayed focus and on track

so on and on and on the bargaining talks did go
but the union refused to have any give backs nor accept the word no
we don't bend over, we don't back up and we sure as hell don't back down
our President Michael Fishman and his team stood their ground

it came down to the wire and neither side would concede or give in
until we had a rally with 10,000 plus members and called on our political friends
and at the midnight hour the new agreement went into effect
32BJ's leadership got the members exactly what they'd expect

they kept all 10 of their contractual sick days
and no percentage of their healthcare do they have to pay
they will get a raise in all four of the contract's years
and there will be no hiring system on a level that is two-tiered

VICTORY for 32BJ the union that never backs down
VICTORY for the New York Residential Division 
HOW SWEET THE SOUND



Details | Ode | |

Carissa

     
Oh, to the mine that filled the minds,
with it's gold lust and lore's,
millions of tons, moved by fathers and sons,
passed through her glory day doors.

Like thunder that rumbled the ground Neath their feet,
the classifier pounded the ore through the screens,
in a building that shakes and wobbles and leans,
for more of the precious glory day dreams.

Repetitive pounding of the stamp Mill hammers,
like the sounds of a thousand distant drummers,
pulsating waves that slap the chest,
watered down memories are all that's left.

The grind stone's worth, like a glacier crushing earth,
vibrates the vertebrae of the spine,
unsettled pace, that's passed by space,
pushed forward through double-vision minds.

So goes the procedure,
with no time for leisure,
for the ghostly goal,
of the Carissa Gold Mine.                                              


Details | Rhyme | |

ode underwater

I've got this listing, sinking feeling
that I owed most of my life to my bank.
Hands in the air, reaching for debt ceiling,
yet another fine mess, with no one to thank.

Guns all put down, the pen reigns mightier
can't fight the bank, let alone hit myself.
Contracts contracted, assurances flightier
seems the whole world's overextended itself.

I ode some words, I owed some dollars
'course everyone I talk to is in the same boat.
Can't answer my phone for collecting callers,
looking to ourselves, line of credit, to float.

I'm maxed they've determined, but I'm appealing
my mortgage, in arrears, beyond my credit score.
All my creditors say that defaulting is stealing
I gave a stone and blood, still they want more.

Seems to everyone, I owe myself, that's no joke
shouldn't be depressed, but maybe I oughter.
Dunno if I'm myself, or like all nations folk,
I've underwritten much of this ode underwater.

'course if I owe some B and B owes to C 
and C owes somebody else...well back to me,
then it seems that we all owe to each other,
our mountain of debt is brother to brother.

Would some rebalancing of our balance sheets
starve our children, kick us out into streets?
Maybe we should waive our bankruptcy hearing
and admit it's to life we're really endearing.

© Goode Guy 2011-06-10


Details | Rhyme | |

Ode To The Edit Centre

She’s dead, she’s gone, she’s not coming back.
She’s run off the rails, gone off the track.
She used to have power, was on the attack.
Those days are gone, no looking back.

She was a business, she made me a living.
Didn’t make me rich, but she kept on giving.
To me and all those who I employed.
But she’s had her run of which I’ve enjoyed.

I saw the end coming but refused to bend
Change the direction, make some amend.
Kept fooling myself, that is I kept on trying.
I’d make a living, my business not dying.

There are those who still play my game.
Are making money, not me, not the same.
Perhaps they are much smarter than I.
I see their success and ask myself, why?

Soon, very soon, I will shut off the phone.
Those few that support me will be left alone.
For I am forever done with this endeavor,
I’m saying goodbye, it’s now or never.

I’m on to new challenges that life has to give.
I’ll rise from the ashes, continue to live.
The name of my business was The Edit Centre.
And for 27 years, my life did I lend her.

But she’s on oxygen, she’s barely breathing.
I can’t look at her face and tell her I’m leaving.
If she could hear me, I’d tell her it was fun.
Made me complete for twenty and then some.