10 Best Famous Salary Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Salary poems. This is a select list of the best famous Salary poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Salary poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of salary poems.

• All Famous Salary Poems

Written by James Tate | Loyalty This is the hardest part: When I came back to life I was a good family dog and not too friendly to strangers. I got a thirty-five dollar raise in salary, and through the pea-soup fogs I drove the General, and introduced him at rallies. I had a totalitarian approach and was a massive boost to his popularity. I did my best to reduce the number of people. The local bourgeoisie did not exist. One of them was a mystic and walked right over me as if I were a bed of hot coals. This is par for the course- I will be employing sundry golf metaphors henceforth, because a dog, best friend and chief advisor to the General, should. While dining with the General I said, "Let's play the back nine in a sacred rage. Let's tee-off over the foredoomed community and putt ourselves thunderously, touching bottom." He drank it all in, rugged and dusky. I think I know what he was thinking. He held his automatic to my little head and recited a poem about my many weaknesses, for which I loved him so.

Written by Edward Taylor | Loyalty This is the hardest part: When I came back to life I was a good family dog and not too friendly to strangers. I got a thirty-five dollar raise in salary, and through the pea-soup fogs I drove the General, and introduced him at rallies. I had a totalitarian approach and was a massive boost to his popularity. I did my best to reduce the number of people. The local bourgeoisie did not exist. One of them was a mystic and walked right over me as if I were a bed of hot coals. This is par for the course- I will be employing sundry golf metaphors henceforth, because a dog, best friend and chief advisor to the General, should. While dining with the General I said, "Let's play the back nine in a sacred rage. Let's tee-off over the foredoomed community and putt ourselves thunderously, touching bottom." He drank it all in, rugged and dusky. I think I know what he was thinking. He held his automatic to my little head and recited a poem about my many weaknesses, for which I loved him so.

Written by Pablo Neruda | Gentleman Alone The young maricones and the horny muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours' pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of palpitating sexual oysters Surround my solitary home, Enemies of my soul, Conspirators in pajamas Who exchange deep kisses for passwords. Radiant summer brings out the lovers In melancholy regiments, Fat and thin and happy and sad couples; Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon, There is a continual life of pants and panties, A hum from the fondling of silk stockings, And women's breasts that glisten like eyes. The salary man, after a while, After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night, Has decisively fucked his neighbor, And now takes her to the miserable movies, Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes, And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes. The night of the hunter and the night of the husband Come together like bed sheets and bury me, And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are masturbating, And the animals mount each other openly, And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically, And cousins play strange games with cousins, And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient, And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought, Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast, And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly On beds big and tall as ships: So, eternally, This twisted and breathing forest crushes me With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth And black roots like fingernails and shoes.

Written by Ogden Nash | Lines Indited With All The Depravity Of Poverty One way to be very happy is to be very rich For then you can buy orchids by the quire and bacon by the flitch. And yet at the same time People don't mind if you only tip them a dime, Because it's very funny But somehow if you're rich enough you can get away with spending water like money While if you're not rich you can spend in one evening your salary for the year And everybody will just stand around and jeer. If you are rich you don't have to think twice about buying a judge or a horse, Or a lower instead of an upper, or a new suit, or a divorce, And you never have to say When, And you can sleep every morning until nine or ten, All of which Explains why I should like very, very much to be very, very rich.

Written by Edgar Lee Masters | Daisy Fraser Did you ever hear of Editor Whedon Giving to the public treasury any of the money he received For supporting candidated for office? Or for writing up the canning factory To get people to invest? Or for suppressing the facts about the bank, When it was rotten and ready to break? Did you ever hear of the Circuit Judge Helping anyone except the "Q" railroad, Or the bankers? Or did Rev. Peet or Rev. Sibley Give any part of their salary, earned by keeping still, Or speaking out as the leaders wished them to do, To the building of the water works? But I -- Daisy Fraser who always passed Along the street through rows of nods and smiles, And coughs and words such as "there she goes." Never was taken before Justice Arnett Without contributing ten dollars and costs To the school fund of Spoon River!

Written by Emily Dickinson | One Life of so much Consequence! One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I -- for it -- would pay -- My Soul's entire income -- In ceaseless -- salary -- One Pearl -- to me -- so signal -- That I would instant dive -- Although -- I knew -- to take it -- Would cost me -- just a life! The Sea is full -- I know it! That -- does not blur my Gem! It burns -- distinct from all the row -- Intact -- in Diadem! The life is thick -- I know it! Yet -- not so dense a crowd -- But Monarchs -- are perceptible -- Far down the dustiest Road!

Written by Emily Dickinson | The Notice that is called the Spring The Notice that is called the Spring Is but a month from here -- Put up my Heart thy Hoary work And take a Rosy Chair. Not any House the Flowers keep -- The Birds enamor Care -- Our salary the longest Day Is nothing but a Bier.