Best Boardrooms Poems
We cured death on a Tuesday,
launched the trial on a Thursday,
by Friday, 14% of the test group
was gnawing on the janitorial staff.
Still, the press was kind.
“Remarkable resilience,” they wrote,
as Unit 42A chewed through its restraints,
and tried to bite a cameraman.
We called them SoulSavers™,
engineered for eternal youth,
a proprietary blend of nanites, CRISPR,
and just a dash of hubris.
ReVive™ hit the market with glowing ads:
"Because Forever is a Family Value."
But the legal fine print… oh, the fine print:
May cause mild memory loss, spontaneous moaning, and cannibalistic cravings.
They rose in boardrooms first,
CEOs with perfect teeth
tearing into interns
like gourmet hors d'oeuvres.
By Q3, the infection was global,
but stocks soared--
because someone monetized the mayhem,
packaged brains in biodegradable boxes.
The living now hide in Costco bunkers,
bartering soup for silence,
while ReVive™’s jingle
plays softly from every abandoned screen:
“You can’t spell ‘afterlife’ without 'life'--
Sign here, and live again!”
So yes, we cured death.
We also cured peace.
And now we walk among the ruins,
clawing for comfort,
with half a heart and half a face,
still under warranty.
Author's Note:
This poem is what happens when you read Tom Woody’s contest prompt and accidentally engage the undead half of your brain. It’s a free verse romp through biotech gone wrong, corporate chaos, and a sprinkle of satire. No contest entry--just undead fun.
Categories:
boardrooms, dark, horror, humor, life,
Form:
Free verse
You know that summertime is gone
when a chill is in the air
when snow is in the forecast
and hockey sticks appear
when kids with toques and earmuffs
show up on every street
stick-handling wayward tennis balls
on tar and on concrete
when flags of northern nations
unfurl on jacket backs
with favored players featured
on shirts and on backpacks.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
The stars, the stats, the standings,
team trades and injuries
consume us all the season
and test our expertise.
In cubicles and staff rooms
at desks and boardrooms too
the talk is all of hockey pools
and who is picking who –
Russian or Canadian
American or Czech
Swede or Ukrainian
Finn, German or Slovack.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
And when we’re old with fires banked
and we forget most else
we’ll hanker back to storied games
and golden stars whose very names
excite our feebled pulse:
Hull, Lemieux and Richard
Beliveau and Fuhr
Orr and Howe and Harvey
Gretzky and Lafleur
We'll hear again the rising roar
And then the call
He shoots, he scores.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
Categories:
boardrooms, sports,
Form:
Blank verse
The white Kermode bear or the Spirit bear is an endangered subspecies
of the Black bear that is only found on Canada’s west coast.
Thanks to the efforts put forth by Simon Jackson at the age of 13 in 1995
and The Spirit Bear Youth Coalition which now spans 87 countries
all over the world; not only is this bear protected but its habitat is as well.
The poem rotates from the voice of the bear to the voice of Simon Jackson.
where are they now?
my brothers and sisters
clad in snow- white fur
our life supporting rainforest
loggers, extinction on the horizon
passion born of the wild
vision beckoned me a B.C boy
my strong will, a voice became
protect the white one, Kermode bear
save its precious, fragile home
our numbers just hundreds, dwindling
Simon Jackson, hear my plea
your empathy I sense
see deep sadness in my eyes
ensure our salvation
Spirit Bear, your plight will be heard
by CEOs, boardrooms, halls of government
with my friends I’ll lead the campaign
you will not stand alone in the night
“The present shouts…the future whispers”*
your promise, resonates through these woods
hope emanates from my soul
Spirit bears, place trust in Simon
our love for the forest he shares
our lives he cherishes
to keep your sacred land
our youth rises hand in hand
we listen and hear your cause
fighting for a greater good
our spirits unite as one
*Quote from The Spirit Bear Coalition website.
Poem written by Carolyn Devonshire and Sandra Stefanowich
Categories:
boardrooms, animal, environment,
Form:
Free verse
Find me in classrooms
Frantic page flipping in search of
the tools
Who'll one day equip me
So I can make rules
Find me at the helm
Bare-foot and big bellied
Home-makers to boardrooms
....And woman tells you what to
do
Stereoptype make me those
types
Opposing sex finds it perplexed
A timid female's muscle flex
Lady, don't you show your
strength
Woman, lay there
Here curves so fine, her hips so
fair
Born to be spent
Please him, please him
Bear him an heir!
Bear him nations
Honour him with cause for
earth-shattering celebrations
Family portrait
-Picturesque-
Yet I am portrayed...
As part as a future that I did
not choose
They took me from school
Paint me heartless, silent
canvas
Muted muse erase my colours
Deafened maestro sing in
silence
Made of soil, a bag of bones
Numb my soul
So I won't know, how
Wretched prison locked its doors
Who sold my dreams to cement
floors?
Who stole from me my room to
grow?
How I still breathe
I'll never know
I lost my soul
When I was sold
Categories:
boardrooms, education
Form:
ABC
casting away all pieces and parts
of an existence full of casual talk
of board rooms full of rage
lost bodies in burning classrooms
full of philosophy and apathy
on foolish babble on time
lost and found morality
memories based on foundations
of aimless travels
looking skyward
casting thoughts incalculable
emotions of love
hate or disdain, unimaginable
full of the rage n pain
playing the blame game
who are we to say
rooms full of empty views
the apathetic feuds
glass shards, crack
crazy crystalline harts
like falling cards or raining stars
as bodies burn in lethargy
casting stones into the ocean of tranquility
small are the thoughts that ripple large
reflections hard as yesterday’s tomorrow insane
cast away photos in a scrapbook of memories
pieces n parts of arcane life, disregard
full of white rooms and silent storms
staring into the mouth of madness
casting all way the pieces
parts of an existence full of casual talk
in classrooms of apathy n despair
watching burning bodies sitting
in boardrooms full of misery
looking into a city, feeling its toxicity
counting the bloody beads of a rosary
Categories:
boardrooms, allegory, allusion, analogy, anger,
Form:
Rhyme
Every day there I am, out there.
Smartly dressed, all smiles, like I care.
Trying to fit in a world that has no fittings.
Standing straight and decent, in spite of my beatings.
This world is so cruel, yes I can see.
It Stands between me, and what I can be.
Am not a human being, but a keeper of rules.
I live in a prison with no bars, me and the other fools.
It begins in the morning when my eyes open.
I am tethered to the wishes of rich old men.
Am merely a small peace in an endless game of chess.
They move me when and where they wish, and pay me less
I am paid just enough to make sure me and my family affords.
Small luxuries manufactured by companies of my lords.
Soap, cooking oil and some cheap booze.
They have everything to gain I have everything to loose.
They get their money back whichever the case
And I must get back to work to stay in the race.
They give bonuses and loans to the fast rats.
As they lick their fingers laughing and remaining the fat cats
The fat cats in their boardrooms make easy bets.
That the fast rats will never in time repay their debts.
The fast rats may have scored somewhere around a B plus.
But their only place in society will always be the middle class.
I am no fast rat, maybe a slow and dirty one.
For me I wonder what the cats have in plan.
All in know is that everything they discuss in that boardroom.
Is not for my welfare , but for my doom.
Still dreams flirt with me in my near impoverished state.
Like a fool proposing on a blind date.
I am so naive to think I can beat the puzzle.
For mine is but a mere and struggling hustle.
To the fat cats I declare war in form of justice.
I won’t stop fighting, kill me if you want peace.
For I might soon sire some crying babies to feed.
I won’t let their hunger be preceded by your greed.
My dreams failed, I will fight for theirs with a passion.
I will die than watch them become victims of ration.
I may not be living the life I want out there,
But the life of my kids is all I am left to cares.
Categories:
boardrooms, heartbroken,
Form:
Rhyme
.
There’s an urgent
Need To collar
A Device. Humans
In politics In boardrooms
A Wearable Necktie
With Microchip
To sense lies
and beep
Is easy
doable.
Dress code
New Formal
A lie detector
It shall Sense
Nerve signals
& temperature
Breath pattern
Physiology etc.
Any aberration
Slightest twitch
Instrument will
Flash and Beep
No Deception In
The New Formal
This we just need
Serious not funny
Make it mandatory
For Accountability
At the highest level
Politics- Commerce
A fool- proof device
Is a billion collar plan
Shall Save The World
From Men in Authority
From Corrupt Humans’
Lies and Deception
A Mandatory
Wear
In New Normal
Categories:
boardrooms, analogy,
Form:
Concrete
The winds of war are starting to howl,
rumors of war beginning to spread even now
Emissaries of governments speak lies at negotiating tables,
full of vomit of distrust ...
as the gathering storm blow those past crushed bones of dust
into the roiling air
Fear mongers go down into hidden, subterranean installations
to prepare
for the looming destruction that will rain from the air
Death don't care
how many bodies will be littered
on the ground everywhere
The foul wind begins to blow from the gathering storm
Merchants of war congregate in their smoke-filled,
dark boardrooms ...
Dividing the spoils from the soon-to-be laid waste lands,
and the vomiting of distrust begins again
Territorial maps will be shifting with the wind,
as multi-national corporations confess their inside trading sins
to their false profits and false gods
Baleful winds of destruction is howling at the door
The gathering storm of war has arrived
upon the shore once more
Categories:
boardrooms, death, perspective, war, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
echoes cry unto the night
street fires erupt from burning vessels
hostile takeovers from empty boardrooms
melting pot full of lost dreams
euphoria fills the midnight air
tantilyzing treats of mass destruction
various colors of a nation bleeding
desperation grips us from the core
paradise is no more
yesturday becomes a myth
tomorrow is bet on a lottery ticket
words are banished
luck is borrowed
fingertips scraped for identity
tongues cut off to stop wars
menstrual cycles become holidays
television is no longer used to transform our children
blackmail is as common as the flu just more deadly
mars and jupiter are the new earth
the world is taking over by robots
we are no longer us
now we become what was
just a little food for thought
Categories:
boardrooms, confusion
Form:
From his hands white, hang blood
diamonds and fur, keys to boardrooms
and shoes shined for climbing
ladders, a cushion upon which to sit
at the table. The eyes of a black man,
glittering, see a seed in his hand without
soil in which to sow. An Indigenous
woman’s face fades from a missing
person’s poster, one of the Canadian two
thousand. A millennial dresses for a party
as an American Indian, red stripes on
their face, drunk in a plastic tepee. When
you grazed your knee as a child, what colour
plaster covered your skin? As one family tosses
out cartons unopened, bought but not
eaten, another father stands counting coupons
cut, in a queue snaking. I introduced my
boyfriend and came out; you just brought
your girlfriend round for tea. Somewhere in
Central London a polar bear was spotted
sweating and thin, trawling bins for scraps.
Categories:
boardrooms, analogy,
Form:
Didactic
An artist smashes thick flaking paint the canvas seethes in boardrooms cigar doom winks
fat killers with gold rings crack their fingers melting glaciers flood the cities of rome union
jacks old glory tears flow down cheeks of countries shaking in war boots marching to
screaming huts of the breaking countryside clinging to ropes splintered wooden fences rusting
milk cows squeezed dry boarded homes soldiers sleep in spit gods stand in stone drinking
winter cathedrals yoked with old women in flowered dresses white pearls and rosaries
touching their hearts singing prayers behind eye lids shut windows and locked doors mute
crying sirens of the baying cities
Categories:
boardrooms, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
Cast Down
I am a young girl with a delicate mind
to be molded,
Sitting in the front row with a pressed sundress
and hands in dainty white gloves gently folded.
My society is a cast system that allow me to go
no further than this station.
There is no upward mobility, no promotion.
The government genocide my girls,
saying there are too many in our world.
They are not as important as the males
that are pushed forward to assail.
My husband died,
therefore I must be ostracized
and live in the City of Viridian, on the streets outside.
I’m only 15 and the law is the blame,
that when my husband died I am to be shamed.
I’ve been here since the beginning of time put here by
The Master of birth,
creator of earth.
In my land singing songs in my voice
Can be a deadly choice.
I have dwelled in caves, houses, palaces, and shanty huts
I live in the hottest and coldest of lands
I’m a queen of nations
with many challenging vocations.
I’m suppressed by Taliban regimes
I am too one of God’s most prized creations
Living in depressed nations
Man forgot how special, delicate
and strong I am. But if I smile
it could mean my exile.
I must go through body mutilation
Only to rise up as a tribal creation.
My mother sold me
for a month’s supply of tea.
My husband suppresses me,
ignore me like I’m an invisible shadow,
a fly on his shoulder.
I the woman, have to break up boulders.
Not allowed to speak to move about with the free
spirit I am.
Used only for whispers and closeness at night,
Not for my mind or my insight.
To bring about the birth of another that will
stifle my flight.
who will ignore me while learning
the unequal culture of this place,
judging me if I am in the sunlight showing my face.
I sit in boardrooms among the tailored made suits,
dictating the plans of the day.
They stare at me with silent harsh words.
I’m one of the brightest recruits.
Being strong, intellectual and watching my back,
climbing the ladder pass the glass ceiling
Working with small minds being ever unyielding.
Still at times suppressed and cast down.
I refuse to walk with my eyes on the ground.
I thank those before me
that had the strength, patience and endurance that led us to be free.
Categories:
boardrooms, abuse, discrimination, inspirational, endurance,
Form:
Light Verse
Because once a time in a round mud hut
at the edge of the bottomless of pits,
I know that a three- or four-year-old roars with his gut
And he wipes snot with a broken jersey that barely fits
Because on the ratchet corners and bended streets
A growing child runs dust on tracks that gone bicycles drew;
And on his shined cheeks a laugh draws and sweeps
And he basks in the pastoral sun like a songbird and crew
Because the year is 2000 or 2001
And a child’s barely grown father must run to the city.
He must beg— (for working’s sake) ‘til pride comes undone—
The city that spurn him benches, toilets, parks, opportunity
Because ghosts of the ghoul that a people slayed
still lurk and parade office parks and boardrooms,
a child’s barely grown father must wade relics of Apartheid
In spaces of bigheads where he dances mops and brooms
Because a three- or four-year-old is now twenty
And the heirloom in his father’s stock is but lack;
I must work the same zero and struggle as plenty.
I must be black.
Categories:
boardrooms, anger, black african american,
Form:
Quatrain
Courtesy of one or more tradesmen,
first Monday in September set aside
for employees able, eager, ready
and willing to acquire money
to marry groom or bride
climb the corporate ladder or
become an artisan, entrepreneur, technician
to side step getting rung, drafted
like an oxen plow, commandeered and chide
by management as insubordinate
till retirement or join kiln fields
once the music died
from plane over exertion, yet nonetheless
sweat of brow efforts praised I espied
searching me noggin brief history re:
aforesaid day, where barbecues fried
dispersed aromas recognizing efforts
of workers with quality control as guide
grievances against danger challenged
sense and sensibility stalwart did not hide
the shenanigans that took place inside
sense and sensibility
without prejudice nor pride
boardrooms in tandem with glories of
American made products from those
who put figurative nose to grindstone –
just common everyday Jane's and Joe’s
who weathered extreme temperatures,
whereby bodies froze
but thanks to those who battled elements
at large and snatched doze
birth of brute efforts eventually
earned reserved renowned
borne couple shy of
nineteenth century, whence sound
of industrial silence replaced with
parades where hoof beats did pound
burgeoning and bustling city streets
echoed along hardened ground
fealty to country soldered
with faith, federation union freedom
and job security did thence abound,
which holiday underwent
transformations as bustle
and hustle proved myth regarding
land of milk and honey –
from straining of muscle
whereby life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness less of physical tussle
set (thank you Masons and Dixons)
cornerstone to an invisible
complex edifice originally from New York
forgotten builders, farmers, machinists,
et cetera who laid groundwork
wrought by destruction
from Civil War largesse and pork
loosed from the bottle in
Antebellum South, when off flew cork
freeing a genie, which became rendered
supremely courtly poet, i.e. this former dork.
Categories:
boardrooms, america, appreciation, celebration, culture,
Form:
Rhyme
This purgatory of cash
which turns our humanity from one
to one against the other
a spiritual infection of loves unguarded desire for life
and life, embalmed with economic ethic
wraps itself in knots around an emotional heart
Bank balance of a masculine religion
and a soulless material solution
and to this ideological male supremacy
purchased the absent disregard of heaven
Constantinople's facetious little twit
Constantine's book scribbling clique
brings the fetish doll of woman
and in idolatry worships her subjugation
of original sin
and by their order Eve must accept the blame
Domain and dominion of every thought
to calculate for what ever the cost
of one single human life
as to God some vain abstraction
in gold adorned and eloquent ritual performed
with the feminine ethos nailed to its cross
instills this bias interpretation
small minds disfigured the essence of holiness
woman defined by the Madonna
or Magdalene as a temptress
Through murderous bloodied ripped waring centuries
a hoarded wealth gathered therein
domination, dominion and domain
the alpha impetus of the fascistic man
all for their money
and by their money
wrote a history of such viscous atrocity
Male but a symbol of elitist separation
the core of humanities division
turns us all from one
to one against the other
The world but a business machine
its immutable laws of sacrifice and trade
a graphic enterprise for profit and loss
depicted in the cold surgery of secret boardrooms
dominion, domain and domination
by the egos struggle for recognition
leads the bartered hours to Adams billable paradise
Enjoy those trinkets
and ignore the disease
as it eats its way through the life and soul of humanity
Dominion, domination and domain
to cast their weakness into the shadows of strength
and in their jealousy and envy
disguised their own fear of second best
spit upon the priestess
she who comes so much closer to God
in giving birth
is still the mirror of creation
Categories:
boardrooms, eve,
Form:
Free verse