Ode Business Poems | Ode Poems About Business
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The club that stamps authority
when in its Zenith
The club with a zero tolerance
even in a zero percent ball possession.
Breaks, makes and keeps records.
86 consecutive home games unbeaten, for instance.
Splashes the cash as money talks,
raping all other teams as Trophies walk
who else would it be?
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.
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
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…
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.
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