Best Businessmen Poems
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
differently.
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
Ciao Bella
Early Misty, morning raining in Seattle, businessmen rushing, hitting the concrete
pavement trying to make those battled Seattle dollars. Walking down the street a refine
gentlemen with such style and grace doesn't seemed bothered at all he holds on gently,
yet firmly to Mona Lisa.Past art, living art, art walking in motion beauty upon beauty a
gentlemen with good taste he and his umbrella Mona Lisa.
I imagine a universe without god
What a powerful man !
I imagine a world without man
What a lovely place !
I imagine a country without politicians
What a peaceful land !
I imagine daily trade without businessmen
What a simple life !
I imagine a way of life without machines
What a romantic life !
I imagine a day without women
What a quiet day of rest !
But when I imagine my own self without you
Who I am then …
Everyone needs one
I come and go sick or healthy
I create beautiful pictures-Artist
I write stories-Writer
I use my voice all the time-Singer
I dramatize everything you see-Actor/Actress
I fix your computer-Computer Technician
I repair your vehicles-Mechanic
I heal your pets-Veterinarian
I educate you well-Teacher
I’m their when you’re dying-Doctor
I supply your medication-Pharmacist
I prevent forest fires-Ranger
I take care of your children-Babysitter
I hire the needed for jobs-Businessmen
I translate your words-Interpreter
I keep the people in town safe-Policemen
I solve unwanted crimes-FBI Agent
I make sure you stay in your cell-Prison Guard
I play mind games-Psychiatrist
I fight for your rights-Lawyer
I arbitrate your freedom-Judge
I make decisions that affect my country-President
I fight for this country-Soldier
I hardly rest-Congressmen
I entertain you and your family-Comedian
I make you choke on your words-Debater
Sometimes I rip you off-Telemarketers
I make you lose your house-Bill Collectors
I steal your money in a secretive way-Government
I destroy your country-Mobster
I’m after your president-Terrorists
I may be rich, average, or poor but at least I do my best
Until the end
MY AFRICA
A dusty street, commuters meet
A taxi crowded, a route decided
Street vendors sell, plastic from China
Fresh fruit, dead meat, flies from hell
A cellphone rings, a message pings
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Populations swell, polluted wells
Children dying, old man crying
Nobody cares, everyone stares
Gold, coal, a bloody diamond
Everything's traded, lives degraded
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Guns blazing, wars a raging
No rain, no grain, population with hunger pain
Wilderness retreats where humans meet
Malaria, mosquito born hysteria
Hyena calls, a lion roars
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Witchdoctor belief, the mans a thief
Muti making, money taken, knuckle bones shaken,
Throw the bones, skinny man quaking
Superstitious dread, powdered vultures head
Goats throat cut, ancestor pleasing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Habitats shrinking, a duiker drinking
Rhino horn, elephants tusk, money lust
Charcoal making, our forests forsaken
Aids, ebola, a broken molar
Africa dying, nobody crying
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Dictator for life, a stupid wife
Life is cheap, broken bodies in a heap
A leopard coughs, a baboon bark
Gangsters fighting, drug addicts scoring
Corruption, consumption, businessmen laughing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
The rains have come, a cowhide drum
Wildebeest mating, zebra migrating
The grass is green, landscape clean
Thunder clap, lighting strike, a stole bike
People sowing, maize a growing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Choking dust, untamed lust
Political lies, rugby tries, meaty pies
Little round huts, kids in the dust
Fat cows, little black pigs, a cockerel crowing
Turtle dove calling, a blood red morning
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
"The Industrial Revolution!"
It is the workers' cry,
Who'd rather earn their bread each day
And plan their lives and save their pay,
Than lie and steal and die.
"The Industrial Revolution!"
It is the bosses' song,
Who'd rather teach the willing man
To shape the world with his own hand,
Than 'plain of social wrong.
"The Industrial Revolution!"
Consumers lively shout,
When they can buy what greets their eye---
A sovereign wing that sweeps them high---
Than trudge along and pout.
"O Industrial Revolution,"
Great poets glad declaim,
"You've put man into motion,
You've moved him up to fame,
And Poetry is happier
With lightbulb than with flame."
"The Industrial Revolution!"
The politicians chime,
"Makes honesty a virtue now,
No kings around to hurt you now;
In fact, a king's a crime!"
"The Industrial Revolution!"
Proud businessmen declare,
"Means longer health and greater wealth,
And finer chance of high romance,
Than only low-life 'share'."
The Industrial revolution
Made industry a smile,
That men who think and do their best,
And send their thoughts on long-range quest,
May wear a long long while.
The Industrial revolution!
Now, everybody, cheer!
Strike fires in you for all things new!
Strike truth to where you're going to!
Strike! for your life is here!
Slipping gently towards entropy,
Ownership with an apostrophe.
Braid the loose frays of sanity
Till something true finally answers me.
Troops are marching over many lands,
Tagged cornflower blue--a worldwide brand.
Don't speak out or you will be banned,
Towers implode just as they've planned.
Constantine merged Rome's faiths to one
Keeping time and step with Pagans.
Moloch laughs at our dull compassion
While Illuminati goals corrupt conception.
With a punitive eye beneath the skin
Mankind’s been declared the pathogen.
So an age of ignorance was ushered in
With aims to squelch the soul within.
Rotating parties deflect shared shame
Allowing complacency to be blamed.
Splintered populations can be tamed,
And bombs tend to leave bodies maimed.
Thieves steel gold and filch the free press,
Bobble heads working to keep up stress,
Businessmen sponsoring all this mess.
"We've got some pills if you feel depressed..."
We inherently trust their authority
As they outlaw nutrients due to toxicity.
In an effort to organize bioactivity
They count on our enduring apathy.
We protest lies, so they've built some pens.
Peace simply means they'll take our weapons.
"So go buy a widescreen for your den
To watch us start your wars again."
Even the name Bilderberg is a joke.
As they like it they’ve managed to fleece us broke,
Locking humanity into the yoke.
They sold the world lies before they ever spoke.
Crypto-eugenics is a fatal threat,
Academia functioning as a stooge pet.
Look into those eyes; they've got no regret
To kill us all off like they're clearing a debt.
Global control would only serve them well,
Micro chipped souls have no secrets to sell.
Salivate each time you hear their bell
Or they'll call themselves gods chasing you through hell.
Our oppressive puppet liars, they will not quit,
So don't waste breath saying, 'I'll submit.'
Words of our liberty are just and legit,
And truthful self-rule is a righteous fit.
When bureaucrats state dissent is treachery
In truth they've already sold their loyalty,
They still threaten our sovereignty.
Reclaim our human right to be free!
In Myanmar,
We wish to be writers.
But our pens have been snatched.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
we wish to be doctors.
But we have been banned from higher study.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
we wish to be businessmen.
But we have trade license cancellation.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
we wish to dedicate our lives to serving the country.
But we have been kicked out.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
we wish to love the country.
But we have been targeted for their bullets.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
we wish to have dignified future.
But we have no better chances to achieve.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
We wish to visit freely.
But we have no freedom.
Because of just being Rohingya.
In Myanmar,
We wish to get our citizenships back.
But we have been victims of genocide.
Because of just being Rohingy.
She sits on a street corner with a teardrop in her eye
Wishing she were in the cars of the people driving by
Her mother left with some john about two months ago
The man with the eviction notice didn’t care she had no place else to go
She carries in her small backpack everything she owns
The coming of the winter colds is in the winds that have blown
The bed she made on a City Park bench can comfort her no more
Her absences in the public school do not entice anyone to go looking for …
… the poor little black girl that nobody cares about
She has potential deep inside of her buried beneath the hunger pains
But nobody in this busy world recognizes what there is to gain
She is doing everything she possibly can to stop from turning tricks
But the only thing her mother taught her was how to hide the bruises from her kicks
The Styrofoam cup she holds out to strangers hasn’t collected any coin
People just leave her looks of disgust as if she is at fault for being forlorn
Shadows cast by the high-rise buildings grow longer with the setting sun
As commuters begin their journeys home she stands up in front of everyone …
… and the poor little black girl lets out a booming shout
“I don’t do this because I want to; being abandoned was not my choice;
I tried quietly to ask for help – but today I will use my voice
I turned thirteen years old today – the anniversary of another girl’s mistake
Is it too much to ask for, just once, a piece of cake?”
“You can pretend that I don’t exist; you can pretend that you’re better than me;
You can long for that future day when I am no longer here for you to see;
You can hate me and fear me and just turn your head the other way;
But you will see me again, sitting by our Father to hear your excuses come judgment day”
Businessmen and businesswomen stopped for just a minute
They looked around at one another not sure of the message or how to spin it
Then continued towards their taxis, subways, ferries and their cars
She stood alone after the sun went down beneath the twinkling stars …
It is up to you, now, to determine how this story turns out
When government spends more than it collects in taxes,
it borrows money from a central bank, and must pay it back with interest.
Government never has the money when the loan is due,
so the burden of this debt falls on the taxpayer, me and you.
When local banks need money, they also borrow from a central bank.
A $100.00 bond gets loaned out to its clients at 10 times the amount.
The central bank and local banks create money out of thin air.
There is nothing backing it, nothing substantial is there,
but when incompetent government defaults and local banks fail,
we the taxpayers must bail them all out, or face some time in jail.
The federal withholding from every blue collar worker's paycheck,
is not taxes, it is our weekly loan payment for this perpetual debt,
a debt we did not create nor do we deserve,
yet we keep feeding those parasites at The Federal Reserve,
a privately owned bank, governed by a handful of businessmen,
who have a stronghold on not just my country, but many worldwide nations.
These men hire untold numbers of lobbyists to put pressure on Washington,
to establish laws to protect their corrupt monetary system.
There are more laws on the books protecting their banks and corporations,
than there are laws protecting the human rights of our citizens.
Banking is in the business of manufacturing risk.
I say the risk is too great to allow banks and banking to continue to exist.
It is time for a new global emergent society,
governed by a Resource Based Economy.
Flourish,
Flourishing as the sun shining you daily
Rejoicing as abundant rain watering your fields
and creating some dams
for farming fish and feeding your animals.
You are burgeoning in the eyes
of some lazy folks
who have big mouths
to talk senseless speeches in the streets
and forgetting their arable lands
which are fitting for industrial agriculture.
Flourish,
Oh! Laughing deafeningly sometimes
when I focus on some tête -à-tête debates
Which concern poverty in rich continent like Africa.
Some folks suffering because of some circumstances
and others dependence due to sluggishness.
Flourish,
DRCongo has more billionaire businessmen
and some politicians
who keep their money in their mansions
and banks
in Europe, Asia America and other African countries...
Other rich people hide their money under the grounds
than investing in industrial fishing and agriculture
and infrastructures to uplift
the economy of the Country.
June 23/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
Constance la France
....F WORD CHALLENGE....
Morning
brings
light
to the beleaguered citizens
of
the
metropolis
Sun shining bright
is reflected
in the songs
that
businessmen, workers, and students
sing
on this new day
Old problems fade in the glory of
this day
Peace - like a mighty river
touches all of
the urban masses
Love or its' equivalent
dances before us
We feel hope running in our blood
and a new day coming
Visions of a better world
delight the senses
allow us to feel
our way
to a new, much better
reality!
I could grow roses, and collect their nectar,
For newly wedded pairs’ perfume.
Or lilies, the Persian young lovers would secretly present their bashful beloveds.
Or could process the early-ripening fallen apple,
Foreigners would slowly have
Seeing the fiery sun
Setting into the gloomy sea;
On the sandy strand bask alongside naked
In the blazing summers’ afternoons,
Kissing French, playing with the watery-sand—
Barefoot.
Or could have fed the fowl
In high fenced Open-farms;
Fed them corn fed them wheat,
Allowed them take long flights
And watched them with love, dust bath.
Watched them dozing on trees’ branches
In the summers’ tiresome mid days
And, loved the old-cock’s crowing in the dawn
As his prayer to God.
So, bred to tens of thousands
And sold their big brown eggs, at good price.
And Ah! Cried loud, the old ailing hens would die.
Or reared goats and sheep in the nearby forest’s meads
And in the summers’ full-moon nights
Visit my large flock,
The grasslands across the sandy mount, stony crag.
Oh! The old shepherd’s ancient-Arabian tale,
Sitting by the flaming fire near their tent’s door,
His busty wife’s baking breads,
Watched by the lips-licking dog
Sitting on his legs.
I would though not
See the auction of my grown bucks,
My herders rather would, in my absence.
And like that English nobleman,
Formerly was a poor boy
And reared sheep;
In his palace had a hall,
He visited the crooks and robes
Whenever! Felt by mistake proud.
I could have lived like the tradesmen
Live, the real luxurious life,
Poets, painters and teachers
Can, only imagine of!
But the True Lovers Ah! Ah!
Live an adventurous life, heroic!
Work harder,
Wait long gloomy nights, travel sandy sunny miles
And then, earn a fear-fraught, fleeting, strange moment-of-joy!
So, I chose to be a lover…
And gratefully! I live a busier life;
More demanding
Than the businessmen or tradesmen or any statesman
Shall claim.
MY NAME IS?
I always wake up feeling paranoid but never alone,
How many faces and shapes will I take?
Like a snake which sheds its skin, I change every time from one country to another,
Wearing different faces, different masks,
I feel blessed and fortunate each time I help someone,
I helped improve people’s lives,
Living the dream life,
Feed the poor, provided shelter to the homeless,
They all seem to love me,
I have lived for ages,
I have seen wars; diseases and famine wipe out generations,
I will never really die,
Humans depend on me for survival,
My dark side emerges every time,
I sleep with prostitutes, slay queens &drug dealers,
I Made men & women kill for me,
They Offer sacrifices and demonic worship,
Some even worship me,
They have burned me with witches, but I keep coming back
Rising from the ashes like the phoenix bird,
Just to get a piece of my power,
I have brought down emperors, monarchy and countries,
I have led men to slaughter and began revolutions,
I have been buried with dead presidents, kings and wealthy businessmen,
Some church members preach for me and lead their congregations astray,
Tonight I will dine with evil men whose hearts are dark,
My company will be heroin, cocaine, meth, molly, alcohol and purple haze,
Some will purchase this products overdose, others will murder just to get a piece of the pie,
I lived with cartels, gangsters, mobsters and they all love me,
They hide me on mattresses, carpets, ceilings, hidden cabinets and safes,
Some wrap me up in rubber bands, plastic bags,
Yesterday my company was the desert eagle, ak47, Uzi submachine gun, 33 callable pistols and m16,
These weapons of war will take innocent lives and wage war between different countries,
Will I ever die or go to sleep forever,
I am just tired of living this life,
Tomorrow they will print my brothers and hand me out,
I come in different denominations,
They call me Money, Benjamin’s, ace, bling- bling, dough & cash money.
One thousand dead businessmen
Zombies of emotionless regimen
Sharply dressed
Black suit and tie, freshly pressed
Leather briefcases, to seem professional
This march of skeletons is quite exceptional
DECAY
Burst into dust and wither away
Corruption and greed let them die
The next thousand corpse march includes you and I