Best Commercially Poems
Shoulder to shoulder
Yellow petals, smiling faces
A field of delight
sunflowers are grown commercially here.
It is amazing to see fields of them..all facing the same way.
Barely seconds into something, already hooked.
Why question anything if you know your stuff?
You know best that it’s easy to be overlooked,
Especially when you’re a diamond in the rough.
Undiscovered diamonds are beautiful no less,
Though nobody looks, for it seems a time waste,
It didn’t catch the eye, the moment won’t press,
Still there sits a wonderful creation, ever chaste.
Seemingly distant, yet inside shines with allure,
If not an established masterpiece it is known,
The unfamiliar treasure has naught to reassure,
The hallucination of becoming a precious stone.
All the treasured pieces and items universally,
Either tell a great tale, or will fetch a fine price.
The wallflower diamond untold commercially,
And without a story, could be mistaken for ice.
A review of all my poems there is
sometimes reference to the toilet
I make no apologies
I'm not a shrinking violet
'Cause here's the way I see it
the world is full of sheet
Here is an example
it's to do with what i eat
At night what I consume
is a large bowl of green salad
Yesterday no exception fresh from garden
much variety I can add
There's perennial greens
sweet leaf korean ginseng and more
There's a tree moringa
it's leaves add to the score
In India Morigna it's regarded as a miracle
full of much nutrition
But here now in Australia
it's subject to attrition
Sales of moringa powder and also the tree
now commercially banned
Lack of long term research
they say that is why it has been canned
Apply this crazy principle to so much crap
freely sold within the business market
Example these toxic covid vaccinations lacked research
caused many to give up and finally cark it
There's many other products
that could be added to the list
Products consumed for centuries
no research how did we exist
These governments will never suffer
any symptoms of dimentia
No brains exist
in a state of permanent absentia
The opposite word of vaccuum
it's called a plenum
How to turn this madness round
we need a new addendum
These thoughts that I've now penned
are really rather fleet
I hope I have convinced you
that this world is full of sheet
As kids we called it Springsure’s Hill,
A wonderful place to hone our skill,
Playing in scrub till light was gone
Hide and seek with my brother Ron.
We knew the birds; they knew us too,
Bellbird, Thornbill, Black Cockatoo,
Bandicoots strange digging habits,
Along the fence line trapping rabbits.
There is no sunrise on Springsure Hill,
But sunsets do my senses fill,
Every tree has an orange glow,
Shroud of nightfall follows shadow.
Never ever thought I’d see the day,
When all that scrub was cleared away,
But I’m not to worry it will be fine.
On the hill they’re planting pine.
They’re cutting down trees to plant more trees,
It don’t make sense until one sees,
How quick does grow this foreign pine,
Every row is a perfect line.
The hill grows lush and a sea of green,
With not a thing growing in between,
Dark and eerie, nothing more,
A blanket of needles on the floor.
Gone are the Goodia, the Correa,
Heath, Tree Ferns and Grevillea,
Ragwort thrives on the outer fringe,
Enough to make the farmer cringe.
They’re cutting down trees to plant more trees,
It don’t make sense until one sees,
Chainsaw, Log truck, Crane and Gantry,
Cutting down trees…commercially.
I note the slope on Springsure’s Hill,
With rows of stumps and waiting till,
Scotch Thistle, Blackberry, sun and rain,
Have Springsure’s Hill back green again.
Who controls our banking?
Ruinous fees for money lending.
Who questions their investing?
Why so dear for money lending?
Who does profit from accounting?
Our finances they're controlling,
While our economy they're ruining,
They're amassing fortunes pecuniary,
Big business for them, commercially.
Let's questions their accountability
For our faceless Australian economy,
Profits overseas they're sending---
So much for Australian banking!!!!!!
Major Sir William Newenham Montague Orpen, KBE, RA, RHA (27 November 1878 – 29 September 1931), was an Irish artist who worked mainly in London. Orpen was a fine draughtsman and a popular, commercially successful, painter of portraits for the well-to-do in Edwardian society, though many of his most striking paintings are self-portraits.
His painting inspired this small verse
Christmas Day will never be the same
Whilst companies who will only think gain
It's charms now diluted
Commercially polluted
Frankly, the fat cats are solely to blame
Johnny Thunders… Room 37.
John Anthony Genzale JR, a man that did the drugs and booze,
Not only born to live but ultimately born to lose.
Born in fifty two he loved the game of baseball,
But would never cut his hair that was his little league downfall….
That and his bad dad, but Johnny Volume would soon rule..
Along with the Jaywalkers at Quintano High School.
Then in sixty eight he would go to Fillmore East,
At a bar called "Nobody"'"s"on Bleeker Street
He would learn to drink his Bourbon ice so neat.
Then he was a sales clerk at the Da Nazz Leather Shop,
He would meet some future Dolls, then they were the "Actress"'"s."
But it was just a whistle stop..
Renamed Johnny Thunders after a comic book of the same name,
The New York Dolls were formed
His life would never be the same…
Two critically acclaimed Albums
"The New York Dolls" "Too much too soon"
But both commercially void,
Not enough to buy a Coke spoon..
In seventy five the Dolls broke up
Those trash glams all with attitude ,
Even bands today look back
With nothing but hard rock gratitude.
Johnny then formed The Heartbreakers ,released one brilliant LP
Los Angeles Mother F@kers
Know as L.A.M.F.
What an album I do decree…
Though I still love "So Alone"
A solo of such class..
He drifted here and there,
Then it was alas…
He lasted till nineteen ninety one,
His heroin a complete addiction..
But his death it was a mystery
There should have been a murder conviction!
Many rumours surround his death, I do suspect foul play.
St Peters House Hotel, New Orleans, such a great cliché.
Gangster dealers gave him LSD
Ripped off his Methadone supply..
Pretty sure they killed him,
Such a sad goodbye.
His room number was thirty seven,
It was ransacked of all his possessions,
What is known for certain,
Is there has never been no confessions..
"You can"t put your arms around a memory,
Don"t try don"t try..
You"'re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
Cause you"re living with me
We"re one and the same."
Nice one Johnny..
Sadly missed.
Encouraged by a teacher I adored,
I wrote a little poem at age nine.
I don't remember writing any more
till that same lady taught me in ninth grade.
One day when we were talking at her desk,
I saw a single laminated sheet.
I took a closer look and realized
the childish cursive on the page was mine.
She'd saved "My Winter Poem" all those years
and brought it as my gift. I almost cried.
When, as a poet, I feel uninspired,
I think of one who cared so long ago.
********************
Almost five decades later, I clicked "Send,"
and my first full-length manuscript took flight!
I prayed and waited for a "Yea" or "Nay"--
“Not right for us” or “We will publish this”!
Regardless of the outcome, I'd be glad
I’d mustered courage for this first attempt.
My memory of conquering the fear
of clicking “Send” is vivid to this day.
********************
My book came out about four years ago.
Commercially, it isn’t a success,
but I have no regrets. My bucket list
now lacks “Submit a full-length manuscript”!
Date: November 25, 2020
Poetry Contest Title: What Have You Kicked Off Your Bucket List placed 1st
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
What’s in Your Whatchamacallit
Capital One asks “What’s in your wallet”
I’m thinking what’s in your whatchamacallit
Biosolids is the official label
The aftermath of last night’s dinner table
If this isn’t clear, I apologize
I don’t want to get graphic in young reader’s eyes
But let’s cut to the chase, get to the scoop
There’s gold and there’s silver in everyone’s poop
Researchers have found at least 50 metals
In the biosolids when all of it settles
Substantially enriched in rare platinum group
So much silver and gold in treatment plants poop
Waste products produced by a million of us
Is about 13 million, let’s further discuss
With the US population let me make this clear
We are pooping out gold at 4 billion a year
Poop has been gathered from big towns and small
With commercially mineable concentrations in all
It’s not really clear how it gets in our waste
Hair products, cosmetics or food that we taste
No matter the source all researchers conclude
We send silver and gold down the defecate tube
Another true story from your Uncle Mike. Not only am I not getting rich writing poetry, I appear to be flushing away millions down the toilet.
Commercially,the road wasn't helping,
It wasn't giving basic facts about evil which rise against its walkers,
Birds were making statements to draw our attention towards those melling,
Distraction kept being thrown upon minds of hawkers,
Their selling products were ceased and stolen,
Mouths were opened to chastised against those task force,
It never got them tormented over their indescency at a grinchy remorse,
Traffic jam now kept the scene badly heated at all cost,
Those who won't let go of their avenue for fetching satisfaction made no repose,
Others also kept themselves fully under glope,
Who should be blame?
Who should fulfil the desires of fans to the game?
Policies kept increasing from axis to axis,
Whilst, actually no soul has power over taxes,
Power brought out from the ocean,discriminations and heavy punches,
Out of fed up,war concludes the lives of citizens in there,
There after,the president is pleading and fasting to reflex,
But,it's too late for this insanity man and his fellow leaders,
Indeed,power trends till it breed societal killers.
So let chrish ourselves with equality and live to the fullest.
Pong
First commercially successful
Video game technology
Pong arcade video game
Made by Atari
Loved by millions instantly
Started an 80 billion dollar industry
Pong -no Ping-
Just Pong
Simplistic graphics still astound
Mesmerized by the sound
Blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Pong, blip
PONG!!!
Hah! Point made
In the shade!
First to eleven
In Pong heaven
Blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Pong, blip
PONG!!!
A social lubricant it became
Relationships formed
Playing the game-
Rocking to our favorite songs
Staying awake all night long
Taking turns playing Pong
Pong -no Ping-
Just Pong
I knew a man who was raised by a farmer,
who had a very large family; and this man that
I knew was one of 8 boys and 6 girls. This family
farm was located on some of the richest soil
in all the world, and it was surrounded with
great scenery. But unlike his father, he never
became a farmer but worked long and hard for a
company up North that made farming machinery.
An early retirement brought Bill back to the family farm
that was then being leased out by a younger brother to other
farmers. It wasn't long before Bill became a fisherman. Bill
loved to fish, and if anyone ever asked of the whereabouts
of Bill, all they'd have to say was, "Bill's gone fishing".
I was never privileged to go fishing with Bill, but his
sister, my wife, would often speak of the great fisherman
that he was. She'd gone fishing with Bill a time or two, and
would tell me that it seems that the fish knew Bill personally.
Of all the nets cast into the same plot of water, it appears that
the fish raced to Bill's line more than any other in the water.
Bill the fisherman was not in it commercially. It seems that next
to actually catching fish, giving fish away was Bill's greatest joy.
081722PSCtest, A Jolly Fisherman, Julia Ward
You’re a consumer pawn on the cargo chessboard,
being merchandise moved
by the mighty,
free-market bellow powers-that-be:
The Babble Tower titans of industry
And the fawning, vote hopes that you have
is advancing
conveyor belt backwards
The packaged progress that you ballot bought
is expired, retrograde liberty
It’s so commercially uncool
to be a grin shill, shiny used tool —
a patsy E-bay product sold down perdition road
Material serendipity ~ Ignorant bliss gluttony
is the narcotic, marketing mirage
of merchant debt slavery
Arise, to another automated labor dawn,
and get usury pressed on the profit iron board
Let the starch resistance in your lungs
feebly be diminished echo expunged,
on the first and third week of each month
Stop the clock grindstone ... get spend happy
Pass Go and retail sample
all your Mediterranean mall eyes can eat
Strap the credit Boardwalk bank accounts in;
enjoy the lavish buffet discount weekends,
those gorge giddy sinful getaways
Letting your pursed lips coin splurge comfortably
Tomorrow sorrows is yesterday hangover yawns,
courtesy of some loan shark upper-class spawns
giving you more underwater mortgage freedom
Atlantis dream house of plastic bondage
is a back-to-the-future, antiquity straw commodity
Buy another fetter timeshare bronze skin link,
written in New Roman font invisible ink:
An emancipation contract redacted permanently
Then pulse pawn a purchased posterity lot
of pyramid beggarly,
plantation shade retrograde liberty
Today, he’d be, affectionately, Gus.
At fourteen, his talent was precocious
But his paintings of women caused a fuss.
To this, his reaction was ferocious
Ending in apoplectic rages plus
Tsunamis of swearwords quite atrocious.
A lot of Klimt’s patrons were mesmerized
But critics and public were scandalized.
His paintings, too erotic for that time,
Those works of wonder from his Golden Phase:
“Tragedy”, “Judith”, and “The Kiss” still chime
Striking instant chords with us as we gaze
At the work of an artist in his prime
With flowing lines and colors that amaze
As magical as ancient alchemy
Creating his own immortality.
Klimt’s conduct with women was outrageous.
Although it appears he never married
Females within his reach were courageous.
He wore no undies and those who tarried
Found this naked state disadvantageous
As many were bribed, cajoled, and harried
Such that he fathered fourteen kids, at least.
He must have been a really sexy beast.
But this aside, he had the Midas touch
That turned his paintings into solid gold
Literally and commercially - so much
He never worried about being sold.
Buyers came knocking at his door as such
Begging portraits. So, in the money rolled.
His art charmed both Fascists and civilians -
Gus’s paintings now cost many millions.